Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Welcome to Agrabah

Welcome to the fabled city of flying carpets, soaring heroes, and more glitz and glamor than you could ever dream of.  But, of course, you know that Agrabah is the city of magic, and you know of its charm.  Even the poor people have a minor in dance here, a little spell here and there to enhance their Lucifer-given gifts or skills.  They didn’t call this the Pride Ring for nothing.

It’s the place where a nobody can become a somebody.   Which is why Blitzø moved to the Pride Ring.  In the city’s markets, he only stole what he couldn’t afford… which was everything.  But he had not only his belly to fill, but that of the little Hellhound street urchin, Loona, he’d taken in.  She was reason alone to keep going. To fulfill the slogan plastered on the billboards.

“Riff raff.  Street rat.”  That’s what they called him when he arrived.  But he could be so much more than a common thief. He had to be.  He had to prove that he was more than Cash’s tiny little circus in Greed. That he would run away after all he’d been through.

After all that he’d done.

Agrabah was a place where he could start over.  And in the two years he’d been there,  Blitzø had already begun to reinvent himself.  He’d dropped the O from his name, and started his own little gang of thieves.  Moxxie was the first to join him; another imp eager to prove himself in a new city out of the vengeful eye of his father.  Soon, Millie, Wrath-born but strong as all Hell, would join them.  And finally, his precious little Loonie.  Loona.  Looney-Tuney.  He found her in an alley, shivering despite the sun, covered in fleas.  She couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time, a mere baby to his now-eighteen.  

But they’d managed to survive, and cobble together something of a life.  In the shabby part of town, in the Imps’ Quarter, they’d set up a tent for a business.  It wasn’t much, but it was his business. They’d taken odd jobs, first as couriers, then as hired muscle, but Blitzø found that his talents lay with taking things that didn’t necessarily belong to him. Turned out, he was pretty good at getting things back for careless sinners.  They were often so upset they died and went to Hell that they didn’t pay attention they should.

But today, for once, they had a Hellborn client.

This strange bird was far too well-dressed to belong to this quarter of the city.  His sweeping robe was the finest velvet.  His feathers were a pale blue that looked out of place among the red hues of Pride.  And despite the beating rays of the Pentagram, the air around him seemed quite cool, if not downright  chilly.  

This demon was clearly a Goetia.  And Goetia meant magic.  Goetia meant nobility.

“You are the one they call Blitzø, with no O, am I correct?”  His voice positively dripped with sarcasm.  “I seem to have finally tracked down your … building.” The spines on the base of Blitzø’s neck flared.

“Hey, Loonie, why don’t you guys go get some lunch?  I’ll catch up with y’all in just a few.  After I’m done speaking with this client”  The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees in the tent as the Blitzø gestured to Moxxie, who pulled a bored-looking Loona out.

“Yeah, well, that’s me.” Blitzø stepped forward.  “Whaddaya want? Need something lifted from a fellow noble, Your Icyness?”

“Hells, no, not from a fellow noble.  I”ll have you know that I come from a  highly  respected family.  We would never have the need to quibble amongst the other Goetia.”

Blitzø narrowed his eyes.  There was clearly more to the story.  “Go on.”

“There is an artifact that I need someone dispos–ahem, daring, to retrieve for me from the desert.  A family heirloom, if you will, lost in a sandstorm decades ago.  Should you retrieve it, I will pay you handsomely.  Enough to get you four real walls and a roof.”

“A family heirloom?  What kind of heirloom are we talkin’ about here?”  He was, after all, still a thief, and if the item was valuable…

“Oh, it’s positively worthless,  you cretin.  Worthless to anyone without magic, anyhow.”  Everyone knew that Imps didn’t possess magic of their own, but there was no need for the frozen motherfucker to rub it in his face.  “It’s a lamp.  The item looks like an oil lamp, but by now, I’m sure it’s empty.  But you will need this to find it.”  The pale Goetia handed Blitzø a ring.  It was old, dented, and didn’t appear to be of any value.  The band was made of brass, rather than gold.  Surely, the center stone was glass and not a real garnet, but it sparkled prettily nonetheless.  Upon further inspection, there was a strange, looping seal etched on the inside of the stone.

“A ring to find something magical that I can’t use?  And you’re just giving it to me?”

“Don’t be silly.  I’m lending it to you.  It’s the key to the caravan my ancestor would’ve driven when he was lost in the sandstorm.  You will bring back the ring, and the oil lamp you’ve retrieved, to my estate in three days' time.  And when you do, I will pay you handsomely.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, that would be because the desert has taken you for its own.”

—--

On the other side of town, far away from the faded tents of the Imps’ Quarter, was the Palace.  Sultan Paimon ruled the city-state of Agrabah with an iron fist, lording over this domain in the name of Emperor Lucifer.  The white marble of the Palace shone in a manner befitting the Pride Ring.  Hell-peacocks adorned the grounds, ornamenting the landscape just as much as the carnivorous plants, both of the Hellborn and Earth varieties.

Sitting out on the fifth-floor balcony of the Palace was Sultan Paimon’s only son, Prince Stolas.  The tall owl prince sat on a cushioned divan, hunched over a book.  At eighteen, he was mostly done growing, and stood well over eight feet tall. But he curled around his novel like a much smaller child.  His dark feathers, normally slicked back and effortlessly coiffed, seemed to droop in disappointment.

“Pringles,” He sighed, “Why can’t I go outside?” This was a common argument between the Prince and his personal butler.

“Your Highness,” Pringles tried to keep his voice neutral, “We’ve discussed this before.  His Majesty, your father, feels it unwise to go past the garden walls.  It’s simply not safe for a Prince such as yourself.”

“Yet you bring me these stories.  They enchant me as to what life could be.” The Prince countered, flinging a hand across his brow.  Perhaps his antics would garner some sympathy?

“My apologies, Your Highness,” he conceded.  Pringles knew his liege had a point.  But bringing him fiction from the outside world was a way he could distract the boy–no, young man now, best to stop thinking of him that way–from the life prescribed for him.  The royal duties, prophesying the stars, reading the destiny of all Agrabah, had been Stolas’ purview for the past two years.  But the Impish butler could see the unfortunate ways they’d begun to mold his young lord.  How his shoulders slumped.  How getting up in the  morning became a little more difficult with each sunrise.  The pills the Sultan’s physician prescribed had done little to slow the way it seemed the Prince’s personality was shrinking.  But the promise of a new book, a new adventure for his mind, seemed to help, at least a little.

It was always  A Prince must say this.  A Prince must do that.  And, of course, a Prince was destined to marry a Princess.  Stolas could not look into his own future, but he’d heard enough of his father, of the servants, of the Goetic court, tell him what he should be to know that his life was written in stone.  Prince Stolas commanded twenty-six legions.  He could turn those who vexed him to stone with a mere glance.

But he felt powerless to alter his own destiny.

That is, until Pringles gave him today’s novel.  It was about a princess who traded places with her servant.  Could it be that the butler sympathized more than Stolas thought?

Pringles cleared his throat.  “Your Highness, by your leave, I’ll be retiring early today.  I fear that my head pains me.”  He held a hand to his small red forehead. “I shall see you in the morning, and shall be ‘round to wake you at about eight, my liege.”

“Oh!  Of course.”  Stolas reached over, ready to use his healing magic to help the servant who was probably the closest he would ever have to a friend.  But the Imp simply winked, bowed, and walked out.

This was his chance!

There was just so much to see in Agrabah!  Stolas couldn’t believe the diversity of Sultan Paimon’s… his… eventual subjects.  And they all seemed to be in such a hurry.  The crowds jostled the young Prince, who was dressed as inconspicuously as he could under a dusty brown cloak, not afraid to touch his royal personage.  Well, of course, foolish owl, he thought, They don’t know who you are.  

Which was a good thing, really.  Stolas used  his magic to discourage passerby from looking too closely at him, but should anyone stop and pay attention, they would notice his avian features, and realize a Goetia was in their midst.  He wandered into the bazaar.  So much to admire!  There were vendors selling fruit, meats roasting over open flames, trinkets, baubles, all sorts of wonders each way he looked.  Stolas felt as if his four eyes were about to fall out of his head.  Fortunately, he could turn his neck in almost a perfect circle.

One vendor in particular caught his eye.  Laid out along a tattered carpet were books!  Paperbacks, hardcovers, even a few permabound titles sprawled in front of the tired-looking vendor.  She was some sort of hybrid; Stolas couldn’t tell her parentage beyond the candle on top her head indicating some baphomet ancestry.  There was no rhyme or reason to their presentation, with fiction and nonfiction jumbled together.  In other words, it was simply perfect.  Stolas couldn’t help but stop to admire the selection.  

—--

“Relax, Moxxie, I’ve got a plan.  Daddy’s already got it figured out, so all you little baby dicks gotta do is keep a lookout while I go in the sandy cavern, no, carmine, no, carava–”

“His dick is certainly good enough for me–” Millie butted in, while Moxxie’s red skin rouged further.

“Anyhoo, Loona, I’m gonna need you to stay here, and keep an eye on the tent.  Last time we left it unattended, some shark fuckers tried to steal it and take it back to Greed.”

Loona rolled her eyes.  “Whatever, dude.”  She was too young to go on such a dangerous mission, but given half a chance, Loona would have joined in whatever mayhem she could possibly sink her teeth into.  At the moment, though, her teeth were embedded in a lovely chunk of roasted Hellboar on a stick.  Lunch in the bazaar was a treat when they could afford it.  Given their upcoming payday, the group decided to celebrate.

“Stop!  Thief!”  A raucous voice shouted.  Across the lane, a rather tall demon walked away from a stall, nose embedded deep in a paperback.

Blitzø looked up.  Ain’t nobody was gonna call him a thief today.  He’d paid for their lunch’n’shit, with non-counterfeit coins this time.

The tall demon kept walking, occasionally emitting a hooting chuckle as he turned the pages.  Behind him, a baphomet-hybrid waddled on stubby legs, shouting, “you need to pay for that!  Romances are my best sellers, and you can’t just walk away–”

As the would-be-book-thief walked past, something stirred in Blitzø.  Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to seeing avian demons–let alone two avians in one day.  Maybe it was because the bird smelled expensive.  Like sandalwood and lavender and roses and sage and… clean.  Nobody who wasn’t a noble smelled that recently washed.  Blitzø’s little lizard tongue scented the air.  He tasted surprise.

“Oh!  Erm… Pardon me.”  The posh accent was also a giveaway that this bird didn’t belong in the bazaar.  “Were you speaking to me?”  Four ruby eyes widened as all eight feet of the avian turned around to face the shrieking little baphomet.  Christ on a stick, those legs went on for days.

“You!  You need to pay for that.”   The vendor’s eyes narrowed. “ Tender Wings of Desire  is my most popular series. Can’t just walk off with it, ya big jerk.”

The Goetia looked surprised to be addressed in such a manner.  “O-of course.”  He dug in his pockets, looking for loose change. He chittered with nerves.  Blitzø rolled his eyes as an adorable blush spread across the owl’s white faceplate.  Though he was no damsel, he surely was in  distress.  Like the princess in the story he held.  Blitzø saw an opportunity, and licked his lips.

”Pardon me, ma’am,” Blitzø cut in smoothly between them, “But I think my, uhh, … little brother got a bit carried away.  Let me make it right.”