Vortex plopped down onto the chair, his muscular frame sinking into the plush cushion with a contented sigh. The music thumped around him, the pulsing bass vibrating through the floorboards of his girlfriend Beelzebub's penthouse. The air was thick with the smell of brimstone and the sweet scent of otherworldly libations. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his tail swishing lazily behind him. His left arm, adorned with the tattoo-like fur pattern of a snarling wolf's head, rested on the chair's armrest. His right hand hovered near his nightstick, a reflex ingrained from years of being Verosika Mayday's bodyguard.

As he surveyed the partygoers, a figure caught his eye. Someone was heading straight for him, weaving through the throng of demons and humans alike. Vortex tilted his head to the side, his right ear twitching.

Hm? Can I help you? He offered her a gentle smile, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. His tone was as welcoming as it was firm, a blend of curiosity and the unspoken promise that he would not tolerate any nonsense.