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For those who like this sort of thing. Please note that this is the author's version of Hell and does not strictly follow any grimoire or demonology list. The power brokers of Hell are considered royalty—those who were angels long ago and served as Lucifer's commanders in his rebellion against Heaven. Scholars speculate that approximately a third of the original angels joined the rebellion, and if these scholars are to be believed, that's well over a million angels. Most of these fallen became lesser demons, though all of the fallen are considered of a higher order than those creatures spawned in Hell's pits. Angels are created rather than born, but the monarchs of Hell consider themselves siblings. This is most likely a form of validation of power rather than family feeling. A demon either belongs to the family or they don't. Monarchs do breed and occasionally will opt to claim and raise one of their spawn, according to temperament of parent and heritage of said spawn. Acknowledged spawn are recognized as royalty. Those who are not, fend for themselves. This is how Shax and Verin, despite having similar ancestry, end up with such different social standings. The following family tree is a sampling of those demons Shax refers to as "Aunt" and "Uncle." 
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Location: A city park in New Bangkok, Barbary
Time: A year-ish before Hell for the Company The city domes of Barbary, even though they tended to be ruled by crime lords, had the good sense to include parks in their city designs. Trees and shrubs were better oxygen producers and air scrubbers than any mechanical system. New Bangkok had small parks at the center of every grid division, xeriscaped to conserve water. Coffee perched on his knee, Shax occupied one of the benches in one of these parks, taking a few moments to absorb the scenery and not think for a bit. Madame Phoenix had let him visit with the Gem Bugs for a few moments this time. Emerald had zipped right to him and attached to his jacket, with the rest of her siblings following. They had progeny now, and had built elaborate crystal castles to house the potato eggs. Good to see them thriving, but he missed them some days. Yes, there had been an incident when his original brood tried to sneak out with him. No, it had not been his fault. Mostly not. Madame Phoenix hadn't quite kicked him out of the city, and he was most certainly not depressed. Just contemplative. Yes. "Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup!" The tiny voices interrupted his not thinking. Puzzled, Shax leaned over to find a collection of small beings helping each other up onto the bench in the best acrobatic style. Thin or rotund, with fingers or claws, some with beaks, some with snouts, some with featureless faces, some in long coats, some in kilts, some in the very minimum city codes would allow, blue, purple, red and yellow—the only thing the creatures had in common was their size. Pit minions. He blinked at them in surprise as they crested the bench seat. He'd seen pit minions before, but seeing them here was rather unexpected. "Hello there, little ones," Shax asked when the last one clawed its way up. "What can I do for you?" The possible leader, a scarlet, rail thin crow-beaked nightmare in a hooded coat, spread his arms and squeaked, "Hail, great prince of Hell! We beseech you for patience and come to beg a boon!" Shax raised a hand. "Cutting you off right there. First, I'm not a prince out here. I'm a ship's captain. Note the jacket, please. And second, no one talks like that outside the seventh level." Crow minion snapped his beak shut, his expression somehow conveying sulky. "They said we had to." "Who did?" "The demon brigands we were traveling with." "They lied. Or at least they're most likely morons." Shax sipped his coffee and regarded the delegation with a frown. "Pull up some bench, my dears. Tell Captain Shax all about it." With some high-pitched grumbling and muttering, the pack of minions settled. "So, like, we were snatched from our pit, right? And working on this brigand ship." "Mercenaries, dude. They were so mercenaries," a yellow one with branched horns corrected. "What-ever." With a good approximation of an eye roll, Crow continued, "But those demons were only, like, fifth degree or some junk and they were so lame. Expecting us to clean up after them." "Gross." A boar snouted one with scales wrinkled its yellow nose. "Totally," a fuzzy pancake-shaped minion verified. "I see." Shax found it both gratifying and disturbing to be the center of such rapt attention from so many little eyes. "So you struck out on your own?" "We so skipped off that ship, Captain, but now we're stuck in this dump where the badges just want to hassle us." "So bogus." That they sounded like late-twentieth century teenagers gave Shax pause. He didn't recall pit minions ever sounding that way. But then again, the pits were a much more formal working environment. Took a lot of discipline to keep all the human souls damned for greed cycling through. He'd never had any idea what pit minions sounded like in their off hours. Shax leaned away to see the tribe better, one arm propped on the back of the bench. "Are you asking for passage?" "We want off this rock. Yeah." Crow nodded. "Blow this pop stand!" "Totally!" "Hmm. Have you given thought to how you would pay for passage?" Shax should have said no right away. He knew that but they were so damn cute. "My ship is not a charity shuttle, I'll have you know." "As if. Princes of hell don't do charity. We're not, like, complete noobs." "I see." More and more puzzling. "And you have funds, then?" "We do!" Crow jumped up and down enthusiastically. "Plenty of green!" "Cheddar, beans, bills!" Shax kept a broom-shaped purple one from falling off the bench in its leaping enthusiasm. "How are you acquiring said funds, then? I know your previous employers couldn't have been paying you." "Those doofuses? Nah." Crow put down his pack and pulled out a…something nearly as large as himself. "We sell these!" It was black and sparkly. Shaped like a…what? A mutant butterfly? A spider with an ankle swelling issue? Shax allowed Crow to drop it into his palm. It was springy and bendable, capable of assuming different shapes. "I'll admit it's quite pretty. But what is it?" "It's a whatsit!" Crow enthused. "It can be, like, almost anything! Brooch. Ear cuff. Bracelet. Cup. Doorstop. Comm cover. Plugs leaks. Works as a scrubby thing. Can even be, you know, a sex toy if you want." "Absolutely fascinating. What are whatsits made from?" "That's secret," Crow said, his beak somehow managing smug. "Secret sauce!" "Like, proprietary information!" "I see. Of course." Shax nodded as he handed the whatsit back. "I don't suppose it comes in other colors. Black is lovely sometimes, but a nice blue or gold, perhaps?" "Black is the new black!" a feathered pyramid called from the back. "Like so on trend!" "Colors are so last week!" Crow shot his cohorts a quelling glance. "We're working on it. How much to get us off this lame rock?" Negotiations resulted in a price that was most likely exorbitant since Shax was going back to Amnesia anyway, though he didn't tell the pit minions that, and they seemed pleased, so he wasn't going to feel bad about some minor gouging. Happy faces all around. Except Verin, of course. "You did what?" Verin didn't even bother to keep his voice down when Shax brought a pack or pit minions onto the Brimstone. They were hup-hup-hupping up the hold stairs while Verin yanked on Shax's arm to stop him following them. "Fucking little vermin pit minions? Did the rest of your pea-sized brain leak out your damn ears? I'm gonna fucking enjoy saying I told you so this time." Shax managed to extricate his arm before Verin dislocated it. "Don't blow a gasket, Ver. They're so little and cute. And it's only to Amnesia. How bad could it be?" By the time they reached Amnesia, the coffee maker was broken, Ivana was having fits about the stains in her kitchen, there was a strange and mysterious hole in the deck plates outside Verin's cabin, something noxious had gotten into the ventilation system that would require a full filter replacement, and the railing on the hold stairs had been bent into a new shape. Shax made certain he had payment before he marched the pack of little hooligans off his ship, counting them carefully to be certain. Crow didn't even have the decency to apologize, though he tried to offer whatsits at a discount. Shax refused. Firmly. When they were gone, off to terrorize the port city, Shax plunked down on the bottom step in the hold, both hands fisted in his hair. His head hurt. He hadn't had a decent sleep in days. With a huff of steam, Verin sat beside him. "Well?" Shax snarled. "Aren't you going to say it?" Verin actually patted his knee. "You look like shit, Shaxy. I'll save it for when it doesn't feel like I'm kicking a sick puppy. Their fare gonna at least cover repairs?" "Yes." Shax heaved a long sigh. "I overcharged them for fuel costs. As long as there aren't too many more surprises, we'll still come out ahead." An ominous creak overhead was the only warning before one of the loading arms crashed to the floor of the hold. Shax whimpered and put his head on his knees. "Well, fuck. Ungrateful little troll fuckers," Verin muttered. "Not gonna say I told you so, Shaxy, but this shit? This is why we can't have nice things." Location: Aboard the Brimstone, docked on Amnesia
Time: Some weeks after Shax's War Verin scowled at his boards. It wasn't that he needed the readings on them. The Brimstone was in fucking dock. He just had to scowl at something while he smacked his brain around for ideas. After an hour, the damn thing still wasn't coming up with anything. This had never happened to him before. Sure, he'd had repeat lovers, ones he hooked up with when he was around, but Corny was his first…what? Live-in? Exclusive? His first love? Fucking hairy troll balls, he was turning into a sap. But he did love his cowboy. He couldn't help that. This new thing, this stupid urge to buy presents? Verin shuddered. What the hell was gonna happen next? Some stupid need to break into song? Shaxy bought Ness presents all the time. Sure, he usually had a reason for buying them. Sucking up. Apologizing. Begging for kink. But sometimes the little fucker got presents for his angel twink just because. One of those had set Verin's not-equipped-for-this-shit brain buzzing. His highness had bought Ness a pair of bad-ass new boots, knee-high with silver studs up the sides. They looked good on him, of course, and Ness'd been so fucking pleased… Yeah. That'd done it. The way Ness looked at Shax. But Verin couldn't buy Corny clothes or jewelry or shit like that. It was…different between them. Still the stupid itch stayed in his head, distracting him. Love or possible insanity. Probably not much difference. Cowboy…what could he get a cowboy? Then the answer came to him and it was so fucking obvious, he wanted to bang a hole in the wall with his head. He powered down his boards and told Ivana he was going out planetside. When he got back, carrying the box in both sweaty palms, the damn AI nearly pounced on him. "Your cowboy's in the galley. What did you get him, oh big-horned one?" "None of your fucking business," Verin growled out of habit. He let out some steam to calm himself. "Seriously, Ivana, it's between him and me, all right?" "All right, Mr. Pilot Demon. My lips are sealed." She snickered. "I'll just ask Corny later." Verin stomped up the hold stairs and into the corridors grumbling about smart-ass bit of wiring and transistors, but he managed to calm the smoke down to wisps by the time he reached the galley. Corny lounged on the one bench with his friction-sock covered feet up on the other, cup of coffee by his elbow and a frown on his handsome face as he read something on the table's holo screen. "Hey, cowboy." "Hey yourself." Corny looked up to give him that slow sexy smile that made Verin's knees wobble. He nodded to the box that Verin clutched. "That something for the kitchen?" "Uh. No." Verin caught himself actually scuffing a foot on the deck plates. "It's…I got…it's a fucking present. For you." Corny's eyebrows looked like they were trying to fly off his forehead. "Yeah?" "Yeah." "Well, give it here, big guy. Don't stand there like you've gone weak North of your ears." "It's not a…not because…" "Ver. C'mere. Set a bit with me." The deep velvet of Corny's voice drew him, even though he was as uncomfortable as he'd ever been. He sat on the opposite bench and put the box on the table between them. Instead of reaching for the package, Corny took his hands. "Thank you. Whatever it is, I 'preciate it. You ain't gotta explain it away or give a reason, you got me?" "Yeah." Verin stared at their joined hands, swallowing a lump in his throat. "You gonna open the fucking box or not?" Corny's smile returned. "That's better. Heck, yeah, I'm gonna. Too damn curious not to." Corny opened the plastic box, then took out the sturdier composite box from inside. He lifted the lid and blew a soft, appreciative whistle. Reverently, he turned one of the weapons in his hands, the Barbary-shell handles gleaming iridescent in the light. "That's some fancy pistols there. Maybe you better at least explain what I'm lookin' at, so I don't go shoot some poor soul by mistake." "They're, ah…" Verin had to stop and clear his throat. "It's a matched set of plasma pistols. They'll do thirty rounds apiece before you gotta charge again." "Got much of a kick?" Verin shook his head. "Not like your Colt. Though you should have something, 'cause those antique bullets of yours, they're, you know, antique and you don't have many. Something modern of your own. I'll…we'll schedule range time while we're planetside, yeah? I'll show you." "Sounds like a fine idea." Corny replaced the pistol in its lined box and shut the lid. He half-stood so he could take Verin's face between his hands and plant a hard kiss on his lips. "Thank you, Ver. Couldn't have thought of a better present." Sure, Verin's cock practically sat up and begged at the promise of that kiss, but there was a weird feeling, warm and kinda glowy, that started in the pit of his stomach and climbed his chest. Probably came from the way Corny was looking at him. "You're welcome?" "C'mon. We're going to our room so I can thank you proper like." "We are?" "Yep. Get your ass up and moving, Hammer. Ain't waiting all day." Verin moved. Sure, he hadn't gotten the pistols for any specific reason, but he'd sure as shit not turn down thank you sex. That would be insane. Location: New Bangkok, planet Barbary
Time: Approximately a year before Hell for the Company The bar was packed. Usually, this was good. Extra people meant extra noise to cover up certain activities and extra confusion through which a certain type of person could easily slip. This evening, all the extra bodies simply annoyed Julian. So did the assignment, which wasn't so much an assignment as a strong-arm, bullying order. A serious shame, wasting Julian's talents on this sort of thing. Oh, HQ had their reasons. Still annoyed him. He slid to one side so he didn't block the doorway and leaned against the wall to survey the crowd. Most of the tables were packed with extra hangers-on standing around them. The bar, likewise, though there was an odd space around two of the bar stools at the far end. Ah. The evening just got better. He knew that adorable little butt on the left-hand bar stool quite well. The larger, most muscular one on the stool beside it, not quite so well, but that ass was still identifiable by association. Julian's assignment hadn't arrived yet. He had time. Putting on his polite rogue face, the one that said I'm here to relax and would rather buy you a drink than punch you, thanks much, he sidled between patrons until he reached his goal at the gleaming chrome-and-glass bar. He leaned his elbow on the bar next to the owner of the adorable butt and murmured, "Well, hello gorgeous. Of all the nights in all the bars in all the galaxy, you had to walk into this one, didn't you?" The deliciously handsome demon on the bar stool didn't turn, but he hesitated before he took his next sip, so Julian knew he'd heard. "Do I know you tonight? And by what name?" Julian held out his hand. "Julian Parallax. How do you do, sir?" Instead of shaking hands, Shax leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Lovely to see you, my dear." His dark gaze traveled up and down while Julian tried not to snicker under the undisguised heat in those eyes. "And in my favorite outfit, too. Flyboy devil-may-care." Julian put an arm through Shax's and leaned over the bar to speak to his companion. "Hello, Hammer. How's everything?" "Not bad till you showed up," Verin snarled without glancing over. "If you're here to drag us into trouble, Parallax, you can fuck right off." "I'm hurt that you'd suggest it. Just a polite hello and maybe a proposition for sex later. For Shax, not you. Obviously." Verin snorted a cloud of steam. "Would rather break you in half than screw you any fucking day." "Ah, it's good to be back among friends." Shax laughed and hooked an arm around Julian's waist to pull him closer. "Later meaning you're on assignment?" "Briefly." Julian untangled himself and turned so his back leaned against the bar. "Ah. My target's arrived. Back in less than twenty minutes." "You're assuming I'll be waiting." "Won't you?" Shax gave a one-shouldered shrug, his eyes narrowed. "Most likely. But you didn't ask." "Ah. How rude of me." Julian kept one eye on the room while he picked up Shax's hand to kiss his fingers. "Your most irresistible highness, may I fuck you later this evening?" For a moment, Shax stared down his nose, undeniably haughty and regal until he cracked a grin. "Of course you may. Yummy flyboys are excused their rude assumptions." He made little shooing motions with his fingers. "Go, go. Get your work done. I'll wait." Julian started toward the cloud of pink glitter near the door. This. The reason why sending him on this assignment was such a waste. No one could've missed Jimmy's entrance. An entertainer, Jimmy had undergone body modding so that his skin sparkled permanently and a glittering pink and blue unicorn horn jutted from his forehead. Not exactly subtle, but that's what had made Jimmy a top-notch informant. He seemed so superficial that people became careless around him. Unreliable, the report had said. So they sent Julian, of all people, to handle it. Within seconds, Julian was beside him with an arm around Jimmy's waist, micro-pistol pressed up against glittering skin. Jimmy sucked in a breath, eyes wide. The couple he'd been speaking to looked at him oddly. "Smile, Jimmy darling," Julian purred in his ear. "We're all friends here. Make a plausible excuse. You and I are going outside for a chat." In the crowded room, only Julian heard his whimper, but Jimmy caught himself and smiled, telling the couple he'd be right back. Julian herded his prisoner outside and into the transport he had waiting. Once he closed the top and locked the doors, it was as good as a soundproof chamber. Smart boy that he was, Jimmy waited until they were effectively alone before he broke down. "Whatever it was, Mr. Parallax, I didn't do it! Please don't shoot me! Please! I don't know why they sent you after me, but I haven't done anything!" If there hadn't been a weapon pressed into Jimmy's side, Julian had no doubt that he would've had a lapful of running mascara and unicorn horn. He was rather fond of horns on a male, but he preferred them small, red, and in a matched set of two. "Don't screech," Julian said with a wince. "You'll make me shoot you out of reflex." "Yes, sir. I'm so sorry." The whisper was almost worse. "I'll do anything you want. Nothing's too kinky. Whatever it takes." "Now it's bribes?" "Just please don't kill me." Jimmy dropped a shoulder to let his open-necked tunic fall off one shoulder, managing to look vulnerable, decadent and tempting all at once. Julian stifled a sigh. Both their skill sets were wasted on this interaction. "Jimmy, sweetie, if I had come to shoot you, do you really think you would even have caught sight of me? Don't you think you'd already be dead?" "You, ah, wanted to gloat? Deliver a message before you shot me?" "Do I look like the super villain type to you? And as for pre-death messages, could you think for one moment about how ridiculous that sounds?" Julian backed off so the micro-pistol wasn't invading Jimmy's space quite so personally. He wasn't stupid enough to put it away. Jimmy was an operative, not half as helpless as he wanted to appear, and probably better armed than most bodyguards. "So what then? If you needed a meeting, Julian, you could've just asked." The tears and the terrified expression had vanished abruptly, packed up for another time. "Don't get snippy with me. The home office has become less than certain about your continued usefulness." Julian pulled out his most dangerous smile. "Even if they're not openly questioning your loyalties, I'm still not going to be careless. Your information has proved unreliable. Three times now. Agents with bad information get hurt, Jimmy." Jimmy had the gall to look offended, his horn brushing the roof of the vehicle as he sat up straighter. "I'm just the conduit. What agents do with the information isn't my problem." "You've passed on time-sensitive intel so obviously planted a three-year-old would've seen through it." Not entirely true but Jimmy knew better. Either he had been lazy or mercenary enough to pass on bad intelligence for payment. Perhaps being paid twice. "The Great and Powerful Parallax has spoken. Now you, what? Beat me up? Break my arm?" "How crude. You know me better than that." Julian let his smile slide into feral. "You're relatively safe when you can see me. If I'm ordered to come back and take care of you, you'll be dead before you realize you're in danger. Just remember that the next time you want to hand over sloppy intel." Jimmy whimpered again, most likely a real one this time. With an exasperated sound, Julian opened the canopy and waved him out, horn, glitter and all. Instead of returning to the bar, Jimmy ran down the street and hailed a passing hover cab. Wise choice. Julian waited a good fifteen minutes before he stepped out. The whole thing had left a nasty taste in his mouth and if they sent him after Jimmy at some point in the future, he would refuse the assignment. He had that right at any time and when the assassin knew the subject, refusal was encouraged. He just hadn't exercised the option in years. An officially sanctioned assassin is what he was and would most likely remain until the day he misjudged and someone shot him down. Once in a great while, days popped up when he wished he wasn't quite so good at it, though he never told the department doctors that. Ever. Done. He set the incident aside and headed back into the bar. Sexual promises to a certain exiled prince to keep. He laughed softly as he made his way through the crowd a third time. Of all the beings in the universe. Who would've thought a demon thief, liar and troublemaker would settle his nerves more consistently than anything else. Location: Aboard the Brimstone, in dock
Time: 2 months after Beside a Black Tarn "Ms. Ivana, please could I have lights full in here?" Heckle stood in the larger of the Brimstone's storerooms, which housed the food stores and miscellaneous household items since the more cavernous hold was for cargo, when they had it, and Rosa's stall. "Of course, cutie. Are you trying out your new tool?" Heckle snickered since Ms. Ivana made it sound dirty. "I thought I'd try it. Captain said it should make inventory faster. Once I, you know, kinda learn the thing." "I'm right here if you need me, you sexy little beast." That was the point, of course. Ms. Ivana always helped him enter inventory and order requisitions since he'd never learned to read. This new thing would let him do it independently, Captain Shax said. But then, the captain had also hoped that certain educational programs would teach Heckle how to read. Those had been so fucking frustrating and Heckle was still ashamed that Mac had found him in tears over the first lesson. "Gryphon, on," Heckle spoke to his handheld. He flicked his tail in pleased excitement at the little ping. The thing had responded to him, to his voice. "Open inventory file." So far, so good. The list with all the boxes popped onto the screen. He didn't have to read to recognize the shape and patterns of his inventory and ordering list. He didn't need to read the inventory, either. That was all in his head, though for some reason being down here with the stores piled all around helped him keep the numbers in order. "Gryphon, order and requisitions sheet," Heckle went on, standing straight so his voice would be clearer. "First entry, wheat flour, twelve cartons. Second entry, egg cases, seven. Third entry, coffee, ten cases. Gryphon, read back." His wings rustling and a little glow of pride settled in his chest, he wanted to whoop in triumph as the computer voice, not nearly as interesting as Ms. Ivana's, read the entries back. That little moment of celebration deflated to confusion at what the program said. "Wheat flourish, twelvefold. Eggplant cases, several. Jarred, tin cases." "What? No! I didn't say those things! Jarred? Really?" Heckle grumbled and cleared his throat to try again. He must have been mumbling. "Gryphon, erase all. First entry, wheat flour, twelve cartons. Gryphon, read back." "What floor, twelve cartoons." "The hell you say. Stop that." "Hell to pay. Stop gap." "Gaaaaaarrrgh!" "George." Heckle banged his head against the nearest wall panel. "Gryphon, stop text! Erase all!" "Is that nasty uppity program being mean to my favorite imp?" Ms. Ivana asked softly. "It's just stupid!" Heckle wailed. "How can coffee sound like Jarred?" "I know, sweetie. These programs have about all the sense of a pony in kitten heels. Why don't you plug your cute little tablet into my docking station, and I'll take a look? Seriously, it'll be the most action I've had in years." Heckle managed a snicker and placed the tablet gently in the docking slot, though he really wanted to throw it across the room. "Hmmm. Did someone go through the settings with you, sexy?" "Um…no?" Settings? What are those? Heckle kept his attention on the display where Ms. Ivana flipped from one screen to another, far too quickly for him to understand any of what she did. "Well, the language is set to 'human' for one thing." "But…" Heckle squinted at the screen, as if it would help. "I speak their language. It's not like I'm a rock troll." "Hardly, cutie. You're so much handsomer. But your voiceprint isn't human. Not something a biological person would pick up, but us AI's do. Even stupid ones like this awful bitchy thing. Let's change it to demon, since that's closest. Doesn't even have an imp setting." Ms. Ivana tsked, sounding affronted on Heckle's behalf. "There you go. Try it now. The more you use it, the more it'll start to get you. And don't let it bully you." Heckle picked the tablet back up and cleared his throat, just in case. "Gryphon, order and requisitions sheet. First entry, wheat flour, twelve cartons. Repeat back." The bland AI voice said, "Wet flour, twelve cartons." "That was, um, better, I guess?" Heckle glanced up at the nearest speaker, habit when he talked to Ms. Ivana. "Almost there, sweetie. Talk a little louder. A little slower. It'll get there." "Thanks, Ms. Ivana. I wish I could hug you." The AI almost sounded regretful as she said. "I'll take the wish as the hug." Half an hour later, Heckle thought he was getting it. Or the program was getting it. It still screwed things up, but he was figuring out how to correct it without making himself want to scream in frustration. He must've lost track of time since Mac finally poked his head in. "Hey, little bit. You taking a break for dinner?" "Oh. Yes. Can I meet you up there? I'm almost done." Mac leaned against the door seal, hair still gleaming wet from a real water shower. Yes, Heckle wanted to stop and wrap himself around all that glorious muscle, but he was almost…almost…there. "What've you been up to down here?" Heckle let out a near-hysterical giggle. "Ordering tins of Jarreds, of course. And wheat flourishes." Mac raised a bushy eyebrow. "That better come with an explanation later, or I'm telling Cap that you need a vacation. Yesterday." |
About The Brimstone Journals
Extra treats for our Brimstone readers, Brimstone Journals will post every Tuesday. Short scenes from characters' lives before, after or during the stories. About the Author
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