Chapter Text
Noise.
They were making so much noise.
Vincent wasn’t a stranger to the large, loud crowd. Heck, everything that he did for the last three decades had literally required him being in the spotlight and addressing a big number of people from the stage. However, right now, despite how there were just about five people at best in the room with him, he found himself feeling not just on edge, but on the verge of coiling panic. He supposed, the fact, that they weren't exactly people didn’t help one bit. Despite his best effort to keep a stoic face, his eyes not all that subtlety kept swiping toward the door, as if reaching exit could somehow magically transfer him back into his own bed, away from here.
But the more he thought about it, turning it inside his head, the more it made sense. Perhaps, he was still in his bed after all, and this was all a dream! A weird, bizarre and rather ghoulish dream, but dream nonetheless. And when he wakes up, everything will be back to normal. He will get up, brush his teeth, dress up and probably, phone Manny. Maybe, even apologize to him for the fight they had this morning.
His old colleague turned personal agent, was rightfully concerned about Vincent’s ‘crazy’ idea of giving his speech at a place, which by his own words: lacked any basic safety measures. But as it goes, Vincent in his typical manner, refused to listen. He had aggressively insisted on being right about how little of the big deal it was. At first, because he thought so and then, just out of sheer stubbornness.
But unfortunately, this resulted in an actual shouting match between them, and Vincent in the throes of anger had spilled the content of his glass into the man’s face. And looking back at it, he realized that it was a bit too much. Not only drinking whiskey first thing in the morning, but this kind of attitude toward a person, who had enough patience to stick with him for nearly nine years in a row.
More so, Manny was the one who introduced his nephew — Ethan — to him and that kid happened to be surprisingly handy. The amount of money, he was able to save by forcing the young man doing a few different jobs for a fairly humble paygrade deserved to be bragged about. Because what could he say? He didn’t own a successful TV channel in the past by simply taking what once was Bob’s and rolling with it. Hah, no. He had to personally figure it all out along the way too. See for himself what worked and what didn’t. And you guessed it, he had made the station function even better, than it ever did before him!
At least, until he didn’t get bored of it and thought, that he might try to use his talents elsewhere. Climbing further and further up until he, by some mistake, had apparently fallen straight into biblical Hell itself, if fragments of his wild imagination were to be believed.
And speaking of them, they were talking among themselves non-stop for twenty minutes now and he couldn’t for the life of him to focus on any words in particular. It was as if he was hearing them speak through a tunnel. But to his small relief, he could, at the very least, state that they spoke in English. Even if it felt rather comical to pay attention to such insignificant details, when he was currently pressing his body into the cushion of an expensive looking sofa, digging his own nails into his forearms like this could save him from any potential threat.
Part of him insisted that he’d treat this peculiar vision with lack of seriousness. That he’d just let the dream continue in its natural progression, but something about all of it set his teeth on edge in a way he had never experienced before. Since those creatures clearly couldn’t be truly peaceful by design. They were a tad too big < in comparison to him > and too odd looking to not be dangerous! Besides, why would he dream about Hell, if it wasn’t a nightmare?
Vincent took another closer look at them, trying to pin-point which one of them was the most deadly one. The cat-bird-mixed thing, maybe? Its hands or erm, paws rather, looked large enough to easily crush Vincen's skull like a watermelon, if given a chance. It probably won’t even take all that much effort on the creature’s part. Just one light squeeze and his head would cave in or maybe, even pop.
The mere vague picture of said gruesome scenario made him positively nauseous. And just a tiny fraction tingly like he had drunk a very bad punch.
Wordlessly, he pressed himself even further into the cushion, before stopping his attention on the next monster in the room. This one was fairly tiny. A fish-like thing with glasses and dressed in a dark long coat. So perhaps, this one he would be able to handle just fine. Mostly, because theoretically, Vincent could dropkick him across the room, if he really wanted to. But then, there was another small impish thing, who stood next to him, only it was red and seemed to be a female and it kept staring at him with blank unblinking expression. So perhaps, the size didn’t really matter, since this one had creeped Vincent out way more, than the cat humanoid with wings, and two strange looking women, who he learned were named Charlie and Vorgy or Veggy or something like that. He didn’t try too hard to memorize their names to be honest, because it wasn’t important.
The discussion, that he sort of missed was also not very important either, but he couldn’t deny that he found himself even more on edge, when everyone was suddenly looking at him again. He was a sucker for attention, sure. But right now, he found himself wishing that they would just ignore him entirely.
“Guys, guys! Calm down!” the blond female demon (?), Charlie, exclaimed, posing herself in front of him, as if this could somehow make Vincent feel any better, that he couldn’t see who was doing what now, “I think, we kind of scare him a little!”
“Oh, you don’t say.” the cat-like creature reported dryly, before taking a swing from what appeared to be a bottle of vodka, “I mean, it’s not like he looks like he’s about to piss himself or anything.”
“He looks more like he’s about to pass out, I’d say.” Veggy commented dryly.
The cat sighed, like he hated to spell it out for everyone, but did so anyways, “Just give him some space is all I’m saying.”
“Well, I mean we did —” Charlie tried, “But —”
“Are serious? You were into his face the second he opened his eyes! If I was him, I’d be fucking scared too!” the cat said, pointing at Vincent, who distantly registered the action, but offered no response of his own, besides drowsy blinking, “If he’s really a human this must be fucking terrifying for him!”
“I know that, but I just thought that if I show him that we mean well, he will be less tense. I didn’t thought, that he would scream, when he saw me…” Charlie finished with a sad sigh, “I probably already messed it up, didn’t I?”
Veggy was instantly at her side, supported both in her voice and her expression, “Oh, honey. You did well. It’s just —”
What they talked about next sort of escaped Vincent again. He found himself droning them out. Even if it wasn’t a fully conscious choice on his part. His thoughts had, unsurprisingly, drifted to his dogs next. He sort of wished, that he could have them with him as silly as it sounded. Honestly, even having his pet piranha here would have been nice. Vampir was a fish with a temper, but at least, there was an unmistakable familiarity to him.
< It was easier to deal with a predator, whose patterns you knew. >
“I mean, there has to be an explanation to this, right? There just has to be one. Stuff doesn’t just happen. But I just don’t know what to do here! That’s a bit much even for me!” Charlie cracked her knuckles, eyes flickering nervously between him and her associates, “I mean, I had never seen or interacted with an actual human before!”
“Fuck, bitch. So we don’t count as humans, then?” the cat said, scowl deepening even further, “Good to know.”
“What!? No, no, no! Husk, you know that it’s not what I wanted to say! That’s not what I meant at all! It’s just — I mean, geez, just look at him!” Whittman could have swore that he saw actual sparkles inside her starry gaze, which ironically enough didn’t make her appear any less intimidating, when she leaned over him like that, “He looks so, so squishy! And he’s sooo small in that very human way too! And his eyes are soooo pretty! So gosh-darn pretty! I can’t!”
She made a horrid, pitchy noise, which positively assaulted Vincent’s ears, but more than anything, had made him pull up his legs onto the couch, pressing them closer to his body as he shrunk into himself. Now, pretty much stuck in the corner as if the couch could somehow shallow him whole in case of unforeseen emergency.
“Babe, easy there!” the possibly-vegetable–named lass came to his rescue at the right moment, putting a hand onto the other female’s shoulder and preventing her from actually reaching out toward Vincent’s cheek or hair, or god knows what else, “At this rate, he really would piss himself or faint, I think.”
“I hope, he'll do both!” came a third voice, that until this moment wasn’t part of any discussion.
Everyone, including Vincent looked down at the red one-eyed creature, who now had a strange dreamy expression on her face. It wasn’t even lustful or mocking, but rather delighted at the prospect of such open humiliation, like it was some kind of secret religious experience.
Vincent, who until that moment didn’t say a single word either, decided to break his silence as well. “You.” he said, voice creaky and tight like he had swallowed something nasty, “Don’t you speak to me.”
“Uh, Niffty, please don’t — erm, don’t say stuff like that. It’s very impolite.” Charlie tried timidly, as if she was afraid that the smaller woman would get upset at her words. “We had talked about this only recently, remember?”
“I remember! But I think, it’s cute when men piss themselves!” the tiny creature replied with a giggle, and batted her eyelashes and into some middle distance. “And I love cleaning!”
Out of fear for his own sanity, Vincent had refused to ‘connect the dots’ here, instead trying to remember how much coke he snorted, before bed in order for his brain to conjure something like this, all the while everyone began talking over each other again. But this time, it wasn’t about him, at least.
“Argh. Niffty. Seriously, don’t say those things to the guests or to — well, literal people, I guess.” Veggy berated half-heartedly, “I’m sick of all the complaints that we are getting because of this.”
“Well, with all due respect, Niffty’s interest can be purely scientific for all we know!” the fish-thing said, raising one finger up, while keeping his other hand behind his back. “We have to take this into consideration!”
“Scientific? You gotta be fucking kidding me!” the cat snorted, looking at his bottle with a mixture of contempt and passive-agressive resignation, “Do you really think, that she doesn’t get off on that shit? Because I have some news to break to you, pal!”
The fish gasped, seemingly insulted on the maid’s behalf, who just giggled again. “Preposterous! I’m certain, that Niffty would have never —”
“Guys, that’s enough! We still haven’t figured out what to do here!” Charlie gestured vaguely around the room as if to make a point, “And we have to do something. I thought about contacting Emily and asking if Heaven could assist us, but I’m not sure if they had encountered something like this before either. Besides, I mean —” her face pitched oddly, as if she didn’t want to address the elephant in the room, yet had no choice, but to do so, “Not to imply anything, but he technically fell down in here, so you know…he’s probably not a winner, I think…? Uh. Maaaaybe?”
“For fuck’s sake, just ask the guy who he is and how he got here!” the cat, Husk (?) snapped, “Sure, he looks shocked, but at least, he might tell us how the fuck he got here in the first places!”
“Or we could ask your dad? He might know something about this.” Veggy proposed, which for whatever reason seemed to make Charlie very uncomfortable and squirmish.
“Ah. Oh, um nooo. No. I don’t think, that we have to! Dad was — you know how he was after that whole thing with my mom. I don’t want to bother him with something, that we can handle ourselves. Because we totally can. I’m sure of it, yeah…totally!”
The other woman didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press on any further, “...If you say so.”
“Why are you still talking about this? I had offered you a very elegant, and may I add quick solution to find out for sure, if he’s —”
“For the last time, Baxter! No, we are not cutting him open!” Veggy exploded, making Vincent aware that apparently this whole ‘cut him open thing’ was discussed right in front of him, but he somehow missed it. Huh. Oh well, he heard worse things about himself, he supposed.
“Vaggi is right, Baxter. We won't do that. Not under this roof. Never that. No.” Charlie said, receiving an irritated scoff from the small fish sinner. “But alright, let’s try out Husk’s idea!”
“Eh, what idea?” the cat asked, appearing to be mildly intoxicated already.
“Let’s start from the beginning!” Charlie said to no one, before fully turning toward Vincent, who eyed her warily, not trusting her openly friendly smile and placid demeanor one bit, “Hello there! Again! I know, that we probably didn’t leave a good first impression, not with Cherri Bomb pretty much dragging you in here inside a trash bag and not with all that screaming that you did earlier, when you just woke up! Which is, nice voice by the way! You can hit some impressively high notes! But um, welcome to Hazbin Hotel! I’m Charlie Morningstar, the Princess of Hell! And this is Vaggi, my girlfriend and those lovely people – I mean, sinners – are Husk, Baxter and our maid, Niffty!”
“Hiiii!” the red creature waved at him with a bizarre level of enthusiasm, as if she legit saw him for the first time. “I’m Niffty and I love cleaning and killing bugs!”
Vincent ignored her, looking between all other beings in the room. Mind still hanging up on the combo of the words Hotel and Hell the most. And just like he did in a lot of very nerve-wrecking situations, — even if this was a dream, just a very weird dream, and nothing more, remember that, Vince — he said the first coherent thing, which managed to form inside his foggy brain, “You should have just told me, that I’m in Texas. I would have come prepared.”
The joke landed so flatly, that you could psychically feel its corpse slap against the floor with dull thud. Mostly, because everyone besides Husk had stared at him with blank faces, apparently not getting a reference. The cat seemed like he got it just fine and simply wasn’t impressed. Which was rude. Ethan would have liked this joke or at least, pretended like it was worth a few chuckles.
“That was —” Charlie slightly cringed, “I don’t really get it, but I’m sure that it was very funny and very clever! But let’s start with the basics. What’s your name and where you are from? I know, that Earth has a looooot of places! In here, we just have Seven Rings so it’s not all that varied, I guess. And oh-oh, what you did you do while you were aliv — I mean, while you were up there! I’m sure it was something interesting!”
Vincent sized her up, mostly out of habit than any actual intuitive notion. Then he spoke, hence slowly due to a slight fog of confusion, that just refused to leave his brain. Perhaps, she had a right to talk with him like he was fucking senile, after all. “You want to know who I am?”
Charlie eagerly nodded. “I’d love to! I like learning new things about others! And it might help us find out why you are here too!”
For a second, Vincent considered saying nothing or straight up lying, but then again, did it matter if he said the truth inside his own dreamscape? Probably not.
“My name is…Vincent. Vincent Whittman, and I’m a —” well, he was many things, but he supposed, that his recent occupation was the most prominent and impressive one, “I’m a leader of a very influential network group. I used to work as a TV show host at one point, then I was a producer, later in life an owner of a TV channel. And I’m from —” his brain staggered. He blinked. “I’m…”
Hm yes, where he was from, exactly? He was from Virginia, right? Or no, wait. Maybe, he was originally from New York? Or was it Nevada? Or even, Vegas?
No wait-wait, he was supposed to give a ‘show’ there last night. But Vincent himself had come from a different state. Or did he? What was the name of his hometown again? And in what year had he left it?
Those questions should have been easy to answer any other time, yet he found his mind being suspiciously blank.
“You know that’s funny.” he heard himself say, his arms still loosely wrapped around his frame as he stared at his own knees with a pinched expression. “I don’t think, that I remember where I came from. This had never happened to me before.”
“Oh.” Charlie’s eyes clouded with sympathy, her expression falling as well, “That’s – that’s okay, it’s totally normal, if you can’t remember some things! I think, it might happen because you are a human! Like, an actual one, not a sinner! So maybe, the Hell's air messes with your perception?”
“An air?” Whittman echoed dully, “It can do that…?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know for sure, but Baxter might help us find out if you require some kind of treatment! Cherri said, that she found you at a local junk yard next to old V-tek TVs, and that she thought you were dead at first, but then you stirred and she didn’t know where else to take you, so that you wouldn’t have ended up kiiii — worse to wear. Because Hell isn’t exactly a safe place to be at. Even if I promise, it’s not all that bad. It's just a little bad. Like sometimes. Or well, like all the time? Kinda. But it’s NOT that terrible, I swear! It can be good sometimes too, if you find the right people! Just you know, maybe avoid some districts and Overlords and other things…that…sounds good, yes?”
Vincent attempted to recall what she just described to him. Because the junk yard? What would he have been doing there in the first place? And then, the next thought came in. What exactly did he do last night? He had a fight with Manny in the morning. He had snorted coke at noon. During the evening, he was preparing for his big show, and had snorted more coke. But it was strange how he couldn’t recall how it all had ended. What happened afterwards.
He gave his speech, he was sure of that.
He remembered the hum of TV static behind his back. Comforting and soothing. He remembered the red light bleeding from the dozens of screens. He remembered the people creeping closer and closer, tempted by the brighter future that he promised them. And that was pretty much it. He had no idea what he did after that point on, if anything at all. Had he blacked out during it? Or did something else happen?
A strong wave of unease, which flooded him with those vague theories made him feel queasy. As if his skin was suddenly too tight for his own body.
“Cherri also said, that you mumbled something about a headache and water.” Charlie continued her retelling, hence in more careful intonations like she was afraid to set him off, “But there wasn’t any water where you’ve been. Just a bunch of old TVs and other tech garbage.”
He had no idea, who that Cherri Bomb person was. Nor why everything about this sounded so funky and nonsensical. Almost like a weird morning kid’s show. But it was indeed beginning to give him a headache, or maybe, it was always there and his shock simply dulled it down, making the sensation so background that he didn’t even register it until now.
“I don’t remember that.” he said finally. “None of it.”
“And that's totally okay if you don’t! I’m sure that it will come back to you, but while we are here, can you —”
“TV-man!” Nifty suddenly yelled, pointing a thin clawed finger at him with a large smile on her face.
“Yeah, Niff. The man said, that he worked at a TV station.” Husk commented, giving her a flat look over the brim of the bottle.
“I liked your show!” she added, still addressing Whittman directly, as if unlike him, her memories suddenly became crystal clear, “I watched it every Sunday with my husband!”
Veggy, who turned out to be Vaggi — not much better, to be honest — looked between them with a thoughtful look. “Watched his show, huh. Husk, Niffty is from the 50s, isn’t she?”
“From what I know, she is. Why?”
Vaggi’s eye lit up with realization, “Because then, it means —”
“That Vincent is also from the 1950s!” Charlie proclaimed happily, catching on too, pointing between them, “It means, you two lived at the same time period!”
“Well,” Baxter pressed his glasses further up his odd-shaped face, “this explains his flashy get-up and hairstyle.”
“I thought, he looked like a stripper.” Husk said with a shrug, “No offence, pal.”
Vincent would have taken a lot of offense with this, actually, if he had stopped being confused why they spoke of 50s like it was a past time period and not the current one. Did this dream – because, yes, remember you’re dreaming, chum — supposedly take place in some distant future? The red and tackish furniture around him stated otherwise. And what’s up with that Victorian era wallpaper, then?
However, to think about it, a lot of things didn’t make sense in dreams, didn’t they? He once dreamt about being an astronaut, while also somehow attempting to buy a piano from the local flea market. And his second grade math teacher was also there for some cryptic reason. So perhaps, it wasn’t weird at all that it was a future, which was still paradoxically stuck in the past.
“Niffty, what else do you know about Vincent?” Charlie asked the maid, crouching down next to her, “Anything, that can be useful for us?”
“Hmmmm,” the little thing hummed thoughtfully, rolling on the balls of her feet for a moment, before her large eye widened, “Oh, I know! He died on live television!”
Charlie blinked stupidly once. “Uhhhh, what?”
“For real? Was there even a live television back in the 50s?” Husk muttered, “I can’t fucking remember.”
“Maybe, she is mixing something up again? I mean, she did it before.” Vaggi proposed, “Won’t be the first time.”
Charlie let out a small pitchy laugh, “Niffty, I don’t think that —”
“No.” Vincent said flatly, despite how something slimy and twisting settled inside his guts. He felt tingly again, but in a swirling, prickly way that settled over his skin like a cold, itchy blanket. “No,” he repeated, a bit louder, “I’m not…dead. That’s absurd.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Husk reported, not baiting an eye, “but if you are here, the chances are that you are not alive anymore. This isn’t the place for living, mate. Only for those, who kicked a bucket and did shitty things while being on earth.”
“We don’t really know this yet.” Charlie said, fidgeting nervously with her collar, “He really looks and feels alive. Well, I think, that he does, anyway. I touched him when he was unconscious, and he was very warm and soft! We had to get him on a couch, after all — and oh, wait, shit. This sounded so fucking creepy, didn’t it? Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry! Please, don’t hate me for saying this! Please!”
“Khmm, as I said previously, there is only one way to find out for certain whether he’s dead or not. We have to get him into my laboratory." Baxter stippled his fingers together, his glasses reflecting light in sinister fashion, making his tiny teeth look sharper somehow, “Then, I can dissect him properly and give you an answer you are so desperately searching for!"
“Yeah no. Again, no dissecting, none of —” Vaggi scowled with latent disgust, “None of that weird science crap!”
“You were electrocuted to death!” Niffty exclaimed suddenly, “We all saw it!”
Vincent felt like air was punched straight out of him. He went very-very still. “What…?”
< ‘I will be your voice, and we will redefine what it means to rule the airwaves!’ >
No.
That was —
NO.
“I’m not dead.” Vincent repeated again, but as soon as the words left his mouth, the smell of stale water was filling his nostrils. Distant, yet sharp as a bad memory, that he didn’t wish to look at, but which didn’t require his consent to exist. So once again he insisted, “I didn’t die.”
He had walked out of there afterwards, didn’t he? He must have. He should have.
“And there was a laaarge crowd of people with you! They were all cheering!”
< ’Trust me, and your future will be brighter!’ >
…no.
He shook his head, once, twice.
That wasn’t how it went. It couldn't. It didn’t.
“You all stood in the crater of water!”
Yes, he —
He did remember that. He was indeed standing in the water. He remembered the way electricity crackled above his head like a living organism, shining like an artificial halo. Bristling and hissing. Sizzling with deadly warning, that Manny attempted to tell him about in the morning. And he also remembered the thinly felt smell of something burnt. Like a rubber, that someone stroked with the end of a playful flame for way too long.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Eyes glazing over into nothingness.
< ”Are you nuts? It’s fucking dangereous, Vince! Water and electricity mix way too well, and you know that! You risk getting someone hurt! Or worse, fry them to death!” >
< ”Tch, you worry too much, Manny. It’ll be fine. It was always fine. Just trust me with this, alright?”
He thought he had — it was — f̳ͧu̩̔̇͢l͐ͪl͔̝̓̽ õ̹͇̳f̡̻̱ g̙̝̉̍̕͞͡l͈ͩ̂à͙̄s̥̦̜s̫ͦ….? And burnt plastic. And something snapped like a wish-bone on Thanksgiving. < His neck? >
Wait, what. What.
< ‘Now, who's ready to be baptized into a new era of entertainment?’ >
“You jumped around and talked a lot! You looked kind of crazy, actually! Your shoes must have been full of water! Wet socks are pretty nasty! Bleh! If you wouldn't have died, you might have caught a cold!”
His lips twitched, jerky and neurotic. “N-no, I — I —”
The searing pain inside his skull —
The blood —
“And then, a big TV fell on your head and killed you and everyone else! It was veeeery bright!”
“Alright, I’ll have to stop you here, Niffty! Let’s — let’s not talk about it right now, how about that?” Charlie interrupted abruptly, looking a bit panicked herself, “I know that this is —”
Vincent laughed.
At first, it was a barely audible sound, then it grew louder. And it was heartful and up-beat, containing the amount of building hysteria that had no reason to exist. No fucking reason at all.
“I get it. That’s great, ha-ha!” he said between the cackles, finally letting his feet touch the floor again. Trying his hardest to ignore how disturbingly solid the structure felt under his dress shoes, “It’s one of those dreams. I get it now. You want me to believe, that I — ME — that I had what, died in some puddle of water from an electrocution? That I had choked on my own bloody vomit, while my brain got fried? That – that’s rich!”
He must have ‘powdered’ his nose a bit too hard last night. He had pretty crazy dreams, when it happened. Or Andrew must have sold him a bad bunch. Yes, this could have been it. A result of a bad coke, which caused a bad trip.
“This is —” he leaned back into the couch, suddenly feeling a bit more at ease with how ‘real’ everything was, “I might have to write this down, after I wake up. This sounds like one good script! I mean, me dying and getting down here? That’s brilliant! That might be what my program needs. Surreal dark comedy skits like this! I’m a damn genius!"
It surely would be better for production than mediocre stuff, that he had to approve back, when he took over Bob’s station. They didn’t have a lot of fresh ideas nor many talented people, considering that Vincent was very careful with who he hired. But this? This was a potential gold mine. He doubted, that anyone else would have thought about something like that. Or could to.
Ha, ah. Gosh, when will the room stop spinning?
< Andrew was so gonna get it, when he woke up. >
“Uh, Vincent?” his eyes slowly found Charlie’s own. She looked concerned. “Are you…okay?”
“You told me, that you are the Princess of Hell, right?”
“Um. Yes!” she smiled, hence a tad unsurely, “I’m the one, who opened this Hotel so that we could rehabilitate sinners and let them ascend to Heaven! There was that whole mess with Extermination and the First Man. Adam. A-and then, there was what happened LAST YEAR. That whole thing with that holy weapon and declaration of war with Heaven, and my name getting trashed and my dad being used as an energy source — and even more people had died as result than the last time, and Alastor had been kidnapped and I had no idea what they did to him. Probably nothing, honestly, but still, I —”
“Babe.” Vaggi said, giving her a side-look, “I think, that it’s a bit too much extra info for him right now.”
“Yeah, I imagine that might be. I’m sorry. I guess, it must be pretty wild to try and wrap your head around all of this! But it’s not that bad, I promise! Or alright, it gets pretty bad sometimes as I said before, but it’s not always this way! There can be a happy day in Hell, in our Hazbin Hotel!! I actually had a whole song about it! Do you want to hear me sing it to you or —”
“Execuse me, but Hazbin Hotel?” Vincent's smile was very un-gentelman-like, “That’s a terrible name! How did you come up with something this stupid?”
He will totally rename it in his script. Something with V should do nicely instead.
“Well, it wasn’t named this at first.” Charlie admitted with a certain delay, “Alastor had re-named it. My dad didn’t like the name much, either. But Alastor insisted that it stays, so we kinda kept it?”
“Speaking of him, I don’t think that Angel and Cherri would be able to keep him occupied any longer.” Husk said, pointedly glancing at the door, “He was already suspicious about you being all secretive about something. And he saw that Cherri was carrying a big trash bag upstairs.”
“I wasn’t secretive about anything!” Charlie denied hotly, “I mean, I guess I was, but it’s only because I’m not sure that we can trust Alastor with Vincent just yet, considering that he’s, y'know, has a specific taste in food and all that? Not that I don’t trust him or anything! I want to trust him, of course, I do! But I also can’t trust him with this. Not really.”
Husk chuckled, “I’d say, you should have thought about it before dragging a fucking human here.”
She groaned. “I know that’s bad. I know it, alright? But what else should I have done? Cherri is right, it’s not safe for Vincent to be anywhere else. He’s fragile compared to us. Anything could happen to him, if someone find out that he’s a human!”
“And you think, him being under the same roof with Alastor is any better?” the cat-sinner shook his head, “Look at him! He even sized like a walking meat snack! Alastor probably had already sniffed him out by now!”
Charlie paled. “He — he can do that…?”
“Okaay. Not another word about meat snacks or Alastor sniffing people, please. I don't need any reminders of that one accident. I still have nightmares about that, thank you very much.” Vaggi said flatly, before turning to Charlie, “But he’s right, babe. As much as I hate to admit it, we will have to tell Alastor about this and your dad too. It doesn’t seem right to hide it from them.”
Charlie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. She looked lost for a moment. “I don’t know, Vaggi. I just want to do things right. And besides, what can —”
A loud sound of a slap made her and everyone else pause.
“The fuck?” Husk mumbled, as he watched Vincent slap his own cheek for a second time.
“Uhh, Vincent?” Charlie’s expression shifted from confused to alarmed, when instead of answering her, Whittman tugged at the flesh of his own face with growing persistence as if he had actually wanted it to hurt. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to wake up, of course.”
Hurk rolled his eyes. “He’s still on that dream bullshit?”
“Fascinating. He must be in shock, and because of that he picks on such coping tactics.” Baxter muttered as he scribbled it down in a notebook. “I must examine this phenomenon further to gain even more data on adaptive functions of the human brain, when it’s exposed to Hell’s natural surroundings.”
“He is hitting himself!” Niffty giggled, “Can I join? I can hit myself too!”
She didn’t wait for any approval whatsoever, before starting copying him, but with more eagerness. To the point where Vaggi had to step in and attempt to calm the cyclopys down, before she could truly harm herself.
But Vincent didn’t pay attention to that. He was too astounded by the lack of any progress, despite how he, like many other people, grew to believe that slapping or pinching one’s cheek should result in, well, something at least.
“Why doesn’t it work?”
He tried to pinch the thin skin of his wrist next, but still nothing. The sting was there, oddly real, but nothing else went through. It was like something was preventing him from waking up.
“Vincent, please, stop doing that.” Charlie came into his line of vision, making him flinch away from her, “It’s not going to work, because you are in Hell. You are literally here right now. With us. In this very room.”
Despite everything, he smiled broadly at her, shaking his head in stubborn disbelief, “Ha, no. I’m not here.”
“Vincent —”
“No.” he continued, digging his nails into his own skin, hoping against hope that it might actually work this time, if it hurt just the right amount, “You are saying this, but it’s not real. None of that is real. You are not real.”
Yet, despite the bravado, he couldn’t deny that his left cheek burnt. Or that he could feel the temperature here; the sweat that pooled at the back of his high collar. And it was strange to be able to sweat inside a dream.
“Yeah, we thought the same thing when we first got here. That there is no way that this is real.” Husk said with grim conviction. “You’d get used to it.”
“Or maybe, it will drive you insane.” Baxter butt in, nonchalantly pushing the glasses up his face with one finger, “I had seen cases like that too. Some people just aren’t cut out for this.”
“I mean, I used to live in Heaven and sure, this place kind of sucks sometimes, but as Charlie said, it’s not all that bad.” Vaggi countered back, “So you should be fine. It’s not like you will have to do it alone.”
“Yes, we’ll make sure to help you adapt!” Charlie said, sparks back into her red eyes, “That’s be — well, it might not be what you used to, but we can make it work together! This is what this Hotel is for! To give people hope for a better future!”
“And it’s also rent free, so you’re in luck.” Husk took a swing from his bottle, “Satan only knows how many poor fuckers come here because of this alone.”
“And if you have roaches in your room, I’ll stab them for you!” Niffty proclaimed proudly, pulling out a large kitchen knife, which was almost the size of her as she made a threatening, fast motion in the air, “Stab, stab, stab!”
In any different situation, this speech might have been uplifting or reassuring, moving even, but Vincent felt strangely numb to the whole sentiment. < All bad people go to Hell, don’t they? > He…was…
He was pretty sure that his face was doing something absolutely undignified right now. “That’s not happening to me.”
“Still in denial.” Baxter nodded to himself, before writing it down, “Curious.”
Husk shrugged one shoulder. “Give him some time, it will wear off.”
“I remember how I felt, when I realized that I was stuck here for good.” Vaggi hugged herself, glancing away, “It sucked. A lot.”
“Oh, Vaggi.” Charlie cooed, leaning toward her.
“That’s okay, babe. I’m kind of over it.” Vaggi promised, giving Charlie’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “You made it easier on me.”
“Awww!”
“I don’t remember how I got here!” Nifty said, not looking distressed at all. “I just woke up like this!”
“Lucky you.” Husk shook the bottle to see how much alcohol was still left inside. “I wish, I could say the same. But those bastards had really made a number on me. Hurt like a bitch too.”
“I died by accident.” Baxter said with an annoyed expression, “It was a little embarrassing to be honest. Well, not as embarrassing as Pencious’s second death was, mind you. But still…”
Vincent stared at them. Just what was this? What was all of that? He didn’t understand. Why were they all so casual about this? So accepting of just…dying…of being here? Who would want that!?
And then, Charlie began to sing. And not just a few stung-up lines, no. It was a full-blown song number that nobody asked for. About how Hell can be a great place too. And how Hazbin could provide guarantees.
“So what if you’re dead, it’s not the end! It’s never the end!” Charlie sang and had nearly blinded him with a rainbow that she somehow conjured from the thin air, “It can always be a happy day in our amazing Happy Hotel!”
Vincent had considered slapping himself on the cheek again, but the nonsensical setup of the whole scene made him sit in his place, watching it from the beginning to the end. It was like witnessing a train going off the tracks, while you were still sitting inside. Strapped to your seat, with no means to run.
The sweat started to drip from his temple, as his hands fisted the fabric of his pristine blue trousers. But Charlie was — oh, she was just never going shut up, will she? Yapping and yapping about ‘life’ after death, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything.
“So show us a smile and turn the dial!” she drawled out, jumping onto the table as if it was some kind of scene, “Because today is your lucky day! It’s okay, because you are here to stay! In our Hazbin Hotel!”
The song had rolled to an end rather abruptly or so he imagined it, leaving Charlie breathless, but clearly pleased with her sudden number. Vaggi and Niffty gave her a few cheering claps, meanwhile Baxter and Husk just were kind of standing in the background, offering no feedback whatsoever. And Vincent —
His mouth briefly twisted into something ugly and borderline hysterical again, as blood pounded inside his aching skull, the black creeped in the corner of his eyes as his breath grew shorter, faster, more shallow —
Fuck. Ha-h. Fuck. Calm down, old boy. Calm down.
It took a lot out of him to draw in a deep breath, then another and another one. Attempting to focus on inhaling and exhaling with dedication, that he was surprised he still could muster. He had to do something. To get out of here, before all of this drove him insane. He couldn’t be stuck in this endless limbo of bizarre friendship promises and speeches and songs. He couldn’t let it get to him.
“I’m sorry, I just tend to express myself through songs!” Charlie told him, looking a bit embarrassed, and certainly unable to read his tense body language for shit, “I hope, it didn’t take you aback or anything!”
“She does this all the time.” Husk said with a grunt. “Gets fucking annoying something.”
“Hey!” Vaggi shot him a glare.
“What? I’m just saying what everyone is thinking!”
“She did it when I first arrived too.” Baxter added, the expression on his face hinted that he wasn’t particularly fond of that memory, “It was pretty weird, but no one ever sang to me before.”
“Ha-ha, sorry guys. I just —”
Vincent didn’t listen to a single word said after that.
His mismatching eyes snapped back onto the door. This could still work, he thought distantly while Charlie and her buddies chatted in the background, barely louder than a white noise. He could possibly walk out of here. Just get up and go, couldn’t he? The door was right there and it probably wasn’t locked. He could just make a leap for it.
He briefly mulled this over, before glancing at Charlie again. She and others were busy discussing something. Too distracted with one another to pay him any mind. This was his chance then, wasn’t it? They weren’t looking at him. Sneaking out should be fairly easy, if he was clever about it.
So carefully, very-very carefully, he got up from his place on the couch. Limbs awkward and tingly, like he was still in the middle of experiencing an intense full body shudder that never came. But he didn’t let it stall him. Nor did he let himself think too deeply about how ridiculous he must have looked, making his escape by pretty much walking along the wall on his tiptoes like some sort of cartoony bulgur.
But of course, it was all going a bit too smoothly for the universe's taste, so at the last second, once he had almost reached the door — the tips of his fingers were already ghosted over the doorhandle — he pressed his weight down a bit too hard and the floorboard creaked. Loudly.
He cringed, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, whole body tense as a wire.
Rats. There was no way that they didn’t fucking hear this. He could have shot a damn gun at this rate, it would have had the same effect, he was sure.
“Vincent, where are you going?”
“I’m getting out of here.” he stated plainly, deciding that if the cat was out of the bag, then he might as well tell her how it was. His eyes were fixated on the door the whole time. “This was drawing out for way too long. I have places to be.”
And speaking of cats, “Are you crazy? Do you even realize what might wait for you, once you leave this room? It’s not my business, but if I were you, I’d stay here until — ah, fuck he’s really going for it, huh?”
And he sure did. It was all about momentum, after all.
He yanked the door open, rushing out under the chorus of different voices, which chased after him with the readiness of hounds chasing after a fox. But they were out of luck, if they assumed he was about to make it easy for them to catch up with him. He might have not been as young as he once was, but he was a quick thinker and fairly agile to pull this off without a hitch.
So once he was out, he slammed the door shut after himself, gripping the door handle for dear life, trapping Charlie and others inside. Stalling them just long enough to look around and attempting to see if there was something that he could use to make sure that they stayed there and didn’t follow him.
“Vincent, please wait!” Charlie begged as the doorknob rattled under their opposite holds. And honestly, it was rather difficult to keep gripping it like this. He had to literally dig his heels in, clinging to the doorknob with white, stiff knuckles, while it turned more aggressively by second, since Charlie refused to give up. “I just want to talk!”
“But of course, you do, honey…” he hissed, cursing at the dull pain that began forming between his shoulder blades. She was a bit too damn strong for him. He couldn’t continue like this. Not for much longer, anyways.
His eyes began searching for anything of use again, but now with something shamefully close to panic, rather than a cold analytical mind. And wasn’t that just too bad?
Meanwhile, Charlie continued talking to him in a tone, that people use with stressed, scared little animals or confused children. “Vincent, please open the door! Husk is right, it’s too dangerous for you to walk out like this! We don’t know how other guests might react to you! Let’s talk about it some more! We’ll figure something out, I promise!”
He opened his mouth to snap at her, then closed it, noticing something that could have finally turned the tables around. A triumphant grin found its way onto his face.
“Sorry, Missy. But I’m done talking! This podcast ends now!” Vincent declared, getting a hold of what appeared to be a rake of some sort. Without hesitation he inserted it into holders on each side of the door, making make-shift lock.
Ph-hew….this was close!
He took a few steps back to admire his handy-work. Giddy from the sheer fact, that he managed to do this, after all. Wow. He kind of imagined, it would have been more tricky than this.
He was almost disappointed.
“Vincent!” Charlie whined, joined by her shorter female friend, who cussed (?) at him in some unknown island language. Vincent was half-sure that it was gibberish his own mind made up on the spot, since he didn’t know any other languages besides English. But the Princess clearly still didn’t get the memo. “Please open the door, it’s dangerous for you to be out there on your own!”
Vincent chuckled, shaking his head.
“Sorry, I can’t do that. It was an interesting experience, but I have to go! I have life to wake up to! But I’ll make sure to write it all down, don’t worry!” he said, adjusting his bow-tie with his usual showtime sort of smile, that no one could see, “Even if I have to say my goodbyes, you can trust me with your script!”
Amidst Husk’s grumbled “Did he just –” and Charlie’s tearful “Vincent, don’t —” and Niffty’s delighted “He’s going to die AGAIN!”, he made out Vaggi’s tightened tone the best, “Fuck, but if he will go down there, then he might run into Alastor!”
Again with that name. They all seemed to be hanging up on that person for some reason. But no matter! If that Alastor fella was someone from their band of merry folks, he probably was just another yapper, who would try to sell him on that whole ‘you are dead and that’s actually a good thing’ idea. He could handle that just fine.
“If I see him, I’d tell him you said hi!” he promised, before turning on his heels and booking it into the most promising direction, leaving Charlie and her friends behind.
If he were a lesser man, he’d almost feel bad about it. But he wasn’t. So he didn’t. Instead, he ventured further into the Hotel’s grounds, guided by a delirious notion, that once he’d reach some kind of ‘finishing line’, everything will be back to how it used to be. All the while the shadows around him watched on, thick and slithering across the hallway as if alive.
There was always something of an old cynical conviction, that men like Vincent were largely to blame for their own misfortunes. And that it was just a matter of time, before they stumble into someone with whom their luck would finally run out.
One could only hope, that this day wasn’t today.