Archive of Our Own ^beta

The jealous wails of VEROSIKAAAAAAA follow the pair from their car all the way into the hotel lobby; all the way to the check-in desk; all the way up the stairs because the lift was taking too long to arrive; all the way to their room.

They slam the door and slump against it.

“I… say…” Wally wheezes.

“Never had a real Envy welcome, have you?” Verosika pants, wiping sweat off her brow.

Port Lotan is one of Envy’s top getaways, and it lives up to its ring’s reputation. Carnation skies frame lavender shores; the coiling river and bay glisten like amethyst in the light as yachts and cruise liners bob with the tide. The palm trees grow with crystalline fronds of quartz.

The beauty of this city is renowned, and even Leviathan von Eldrich steers his temperamental tempests elsewhere for the sake of the tourist trade.

But a blessing is always a curse in disguise, especially in Hell. And the presence of the rich and infamous in such large numbers attracts amateur photographers like flies to honey.

“Miss Mayday? Miss Mayday?”

“Over here! This way!”

“Miss Mayday!”

Bloody paparazzi. She’s on vacation for a reason, and she and Wally can’t get a moment of peace just to go to the café and get some coffee.

Verosika can’t really make an escape until her coffee is served (at least she had the presence of mind to order it to go); all she can do is stand and scowl and wait.

Beside her, Wally looks a little overwhelmed at the attention, so she pulls him a little closer. Her tail curls around his waist.

The cameras click and flash faster and faster, and she starts to growl.

When their coffee finally arrives, she doesn’t bother leaving a tip; just hightails it out of there, pushing through the line of paparazzi and dragging Wally all the way back to their parked car.

“Oh Baal, it’s Verosika Mayday!”

Verosika jerks up from her poolside lounge chair, where she and Wally were just starting to feel relaxed enough to get a bit touchy-feely with one another. She spots the gaggle of teenage fans charging out the hotel doors, and grimaces.

“Wally, get ready to run.” She unfurls her wings to cover his escape.

Of course, Wally, a little affection-drunk from their barely-begun petting session, staggers out of their embrace in the wrong direction and falls into the pool. Fortunately, this seems to be enough to keep the rabid attention of her incoming devotees off of him.

As they make their final, squealing approach she stands, ties her beach robe with a flourish, and coolly brushes past the fans – which seems to be enough to sate them. One faints; two others start fighting covetously over who got closer to their idol.

With a blub, Wally emerges from the opposite end of pool and spits out a fountain of water. “Drat, I say,” he coughs.

Verosika nods in vague, cross agreement. She sharpens her claws and stalks off to find the manager who had personally assured her the pool area would be private and off-limits to other guests.

“Miss Mayday, a few questions if you don’t mind?”

“Yes, I do mind, actually,” Verosika snaps, still clasping hands with Wally across the restaurant table.

The reporter leers, contorting his body across the divide between booths to invade their personal space. “Your latest fling has lasted over a year, do you have anything to say about that?”

Verosika tersely sips a spoonful of soup. It’s good soup, she’s determined to at least have a nice restaurant dinner, plus it means she’s keeping this dickhead waiting for an answer. “No comment.” She watches Wally’s reaction; he’s avoiding any eye contact with this tabloid rat by keeping all his attention on his steak and chips. He glances up at her and his mouth twitches a reassuring smile before he takes another bite.

“Is it true that you’re taking a break from music?”

She doesn’t dignify that with any response. She is and she isn’t; but the tabloids will twist any answer she gives.

“An injury, perhaps? Or maybe…”

Oh, no, he’s not going to go there, is he?

“…a delicate condition?”

He is. Shitting hell.

Verosika’s fist clenches around her spoon so tight she can feel the silver bending. Wally has stopped eating, too.

“Some in my field have noted you’ve put on a bit of weight recently; taken to wearing more flowing outfits. And, of course, there’s much speculation about your boytoy there’s, well, prowess –

Verosika whirls and socks the bastard right in his snout. She rears up over him, up into her full demon form, an inky shadow of righteous fury robed in pink smoke.

“Leave my beau out of it.”

The tabloid rat nods meekly, and under the influence of an angry succubi he flees. Verosika subsides, takes her seat once more, and the restaurant goes back to normal.

“I’m your beau, I say?” Wally grins slowly, giving her the big ol’ puppy eyes.

“Of course.” Verosika tussles the fringe between his horns, and Wally purrs.

They get to the beach early; so early there’s still a few stars twinkling away in the sky.

Verosika and Wally lay out their beach towels on the farthest end of the beach. They consider going for a quick dip, but the water is cold and the surf looks a little rough, so they lay side by side, tenderly caressing each other.

She falls asleep in the growing warmth of the day as Wally massages suntan lotion into her back.

…

She awakens to voices, the tremor of many footsteps, and the sight of a gathering crowd.

Verosika groans, mentally steels herself for a day of being watched.

But then Wally steps in front of her, absolutely fuming, and – where did he get that freaking blunderbuss?

“AWLRIGHT, NOW CLEAR THE HELL OFF I SAY. MY LADY AN’ I CAME HERE FOR SOME DAMNED PEACE AND QUIET, AN’ IF WE DON’T GET IT – I WILL USE THIS.”

The beach empties. Wally stowers the blunderbuss away in hammerspace.

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Verosika says, feeling relieved, and no small amount flustered too.

“Well, I say, I used to be a street vendor,” Wally smirks, suddenly turning on the charm. “An’ I know how to get attention…”

He’s certainly got hers, alright. She lets him straddle her waist, willingly melts into his touch, presses her lips to his…

There’s a polite cough.

Verosika and Wally both turn to glower at the new voice – a familiar face. It’s her head of security, Vortex, with his girlfriend Bianca – a pear-shaped short-stack of a hellhound with outrageously elaborate sunglasses and a cocktail in their paw.

“Verosika? Hey. Heard you were on vacay too."

“Vortex.” Verosika sighs. He isn’t a bad guy at all – a friend, even – but she and Wally had so many interruptions today she can’t help but let frustration leak into her tone. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

Vortex shuffles awkwardly from paw to paw. “Thought I’d, uh, give you a heads up. There’s this hidden cove about a mile that way,” he points, “through the hills. Real secluded. Not many folks know about it, so if you need some privacy, that’d be the place to go,”

“Oh.” That sounds superb. “Thanks, Vortex, really,”

“Hey, anytime, girl. You two have a good vacay,” the tall dark hellhound smiles, and strolls off, tail wagging. Bianca stays a moment longer, whispering a bubbly “Love your music!” to Verosika before jogging to catch up with their boyfriend.

They pack as much as they can carry and vanish.

The cove is so worth the sore feet from the hike and getting lost in more than one cave. It’s heart-shaped, enclosed symmetrically by striking lavender hills and cliffs on all sides. The Envy Ring outside has practically ceased to exist.

It’s just them. Just the way it should be.

Verosika and Wally go for many swims. She forgoes her bikini, and he forgoes his trunks, because who else is there to lay eyes on their bodies?

They light a campfire and roast sausages for dinner; marshmallows for dessert; bacon and toast for breakfast the next day. Wally mixes rum and pineapple juice, and they drink DIY piña coladas.

They sleep in the cool summer air. They make love, or just cuddle together and savour being in love.

And for these last few days of their vacation, Verosika and Wally escape.