Another Shitty Day in Hell - Sir Pentious x Reader

Chapter 7.5

Pentious sometimes turned to you for advice on how to be hip. You, of course, couldn't offer any because you too were a shriveled old hag that didn't know what was popular. You could barely operate a phone!

During your time there, you got to learn more about the notorious Cherri Bomb. Pentious described her as a "miserable, indecent wench" who "is nothing but a thorn in my side." Overall, just an asshole dead set on wrecking Pentious's shit.

You couldn't wait to meet her.

All while you and Pentious were living it up, the date of the upcoming extermination inevitably crept near. You watched every day from your bedroom window as the clock struck 12, a painstaking reminder to the denizens of Hell that their time may come to an abrupt, violent end.

The angels supposedly claimed that the Princess of Hell and the Hellborn had a pardon from all the violence. Supposedly.

Unfortunately, angels don't necessarily play fair. Everyone in hell knew this, and you were a fool if you didn't. It was unfair, cruel, and scummy, but there was nothing anybody could do to stop it due to it being...well...Heaven.

You were currently helping him prepare for the event. However, it wasn't the typical "Doomsday planning" sham, as he already had that covered. No, he was preparing for genocidal turf wars. Pentious, being a self-proclaimed kingpin, wanted to be fully prepared for petty infighting by all means necessary.

Orders from the infamous (or rather, famous) Carmilla Carmine came in just about every day, and you were tasked with filing all the paperwork and delivering the parts to him in his study, where he would then do what he pleased with them. Pentious told you to stay away from where he tested his pyrotechnics, and you quickly agreed. You were in no hurry to wash gunpowder and ash off your face every day. You had no idea how he did it.

The eggs that were once abundant across the manor had slowly started to dwindle in numbers, as Pentious had been using them to test his weapons. Occasionally, you would hear an explosion from outside, followed by an all too familiar splat. You were just grateful it wasn't you getting splattered across the wall.

To make up for the absence of them, you took it upon yourself to do the household chores. You couldn't fathom why you did it if you were being honest. Being a lazy freeloader was kind of your thing. But something, just something deep down, compelled you to do so. Your mother would be proud of you.

- - - -

The particles of dust that sat on the counter flew into the air, the feather duster throwing their delicate forms around. They danced about for a moment, looking weightless as they floated down the counter once again.

Chores. Blegh. Just the word made you feel sick. By golly, did you hate working. You beloathed it. You despised chores and working like cats hated water. Just absolutely loathed, abhorred, detested, and HATED it.

That being said, you grunted in frustration as yet again, the dust hadn't moved, Just floated up into the air and then fell down again. You let out a frustrated huff of air, glaring at the non-sentient not-worth-your-time specks of dust.

You eventually gave up on doing it the right way and swiped all the dust off yourself using your sleeve, as you stopped caring about the cleanliness of your uniform long ago.

Wiping the beads of sweat from your brow, you checked off another chore on the mental list that resided in your head. You went over the list a couple more times then concluded that you had, in fact, completed everything on it.

It was an odd feeling, to say the least. To have everything done. Actually having free time to yourself for the first time in a while. You stood there and contemplated what to do with your newfound spare time.