Transcript

In a few minutes Veronica, putting Plan A into effect, stepped out into the open and struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other concealing the pickaxe behind her shoulders. Okay, Veronica, time to play to my strengths: gotta go full sassy lassie, she thought.

“Trenchcoat, I’ve gotta ask: why’s everyone always on my ass about my devil thing?” she asked sultrily. “Is it the leather pants? Because I swear it’s just a range-of-motion thing with them. Making my butt look real cute is just a side effect!”

“Ventus ictu!” the mage cried, and a gust of wind whooshed out at Veronica, who simply spread her wings and let it lift her into the air.

“Ooh, mama likes a blowie,” she cooed. “You know you’re not actually supposed to blow, it’s just called that, right?”

“Be quiet!” the mage shouted, frustrated. “Ardeat ignis!” A jolt of flame shot from his extended palms.

Veronica dodged it. “Woop! Hey, when you and the Patriarch—y’know—is it all oral or does he use that baby arm?” she teased.

She swung the pickaxe down over her head, but the mage blocked it with crossed arms and a flash of magical force. C’mon, just a couple more steps back, she thought.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” she continued lightly, “I’m of a certain persuasion myself! But I need to know for the slashfic I’m working on: which of you is the power bottom?”