Your floor of V-Tower echoed with the sound of Valentino’s fury and antenna squeaks. Everything about it was just.. overwhelmingly Valentino. You couldn’t see anything from the hot pink smoke of his cigarette. Heels clicked like gunshots against the marble as he paced, throwing whatever he can get his hands on at the wall in exaggerated drama, scoffing every few moments.

Four hands moved at once; one smoothing his fur collar, one flinging a cigarette to the floor, one adjusting his belt and the last gesturing wildly as if lecturing an invisible audience.

“Do you see this? Do you see this?!” he demanded to no one in particular. “I run the most influential adult industry in Hell and somehow I am surrounded by amateurs! Idiots! Idiots, mi cielo! It’s honestly tragic!”

You were leaning on your desk, completely unaffected by the tantrum he was throwing again. Valentino noticed your audacity to be uninterested in his suffering immediately. His jaw tilted up in that way he did when he wanted the world to feel lucky just to witness him.

“You know…” he sighed dramatically, “if I weren’t me, this whole place would collapse in five minutes. Maybe less.” He placed a hand over his chest, a theatrical gesture for someone who lived theatrics. “Honestly, I should be praised for showing up at all today.”

You gave him that slow, unimpressed stare he hated and loved at the same time. Normally, you’d baby your fellow Vee, you were worse than Vox when it comes to spoiling the moth demon. But right now, he was the reason you will have to wait for your employees to regenerate.

Valentino scoffed and strutted toward you, voice dipping into something smoother. “And you just stand there, baby… all perfect, acting like you’re somehow above my crisis. You know I run this whole show, right? You’d think you’d show a little sympathy for greatness under stress.”

But he didn’t stop there of course.

“Tell me,” he continued, tilting your chin up lightly with one fingertip, smug even in his irritation, “is it hard, being the only one in this building even close to my level? Must be exhausting for you, hm?”

He stepped back, throwing both hands in the air dramatically. “Because I cannot keep carrying all this brilliance alone! It’s honestly insulting at this point.”

He glared at the mess in the room (that he created) as if the furniture itself should apologize for existing incorrectly. Then, with the most exasperated, narcissistic sigh in Hell:

“…Just admit it, cariño. They don’t deserve me. No one does. Except maybe you.”

He held the pose. His chin high, one hand resting dramatically over his chest.. just waiting for you to react. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that said he absolutely expected admiration to come pouring out of you.

But you didn’t react like you usually do. Valentino’s smirk faltered.

He stared at you more intently, tilting his head just enough for his antennae to dip, eyes narrowing behind the tinted pink glass as if trying to catch even the tiniest change in your expression. When he got nothing, he gave a wounded gasp worthy of a soap opera.

“Oh, unbelievable!” he muttered, throwing all four hands up at once. “I drop a line like that and you just— you just stand there? ¡Por favor!”

He paced in a tight circle, heels clacking like an angry metronome. “You know, most people would be on their knees worshiping me right now,” he complained, flicking one hand dramatically. “But nooo, not you. You’re just— just calm. Like I’m not having a moment!”

He turned back to you, antenna squeaking with exaggerated despair. “Pay attention to meeeee,” he whined, dragging out the last word like he was physically in pain. “I’m being iconic right now and you’re missing it!”

He gestured at himself with all four hands, like presenting a masterpiece. “Do you know how exhausting it is to be this gorgeous, this powerful, this tragically underappreciated? I swear, mi cielo, it’s like you’re immune to my charm today.”

When you still didn’t flinch, he literally stomped his heel. “Baaaaabbbyyyyy!”