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terajkTitle: Etna for a Day
Rating: Not safe for work
Fandom: Disgaea
Characters/Ships: Etna/Flonne, Etna/Prinnies, Flonne/Prinnies
Word count: ~1200 words
Summary: "Can angels be cruel?" A postage stamp for ![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kink_bingo (watersports, roleplay, wildcard [masters, doms, slaves and subs], mirrors and doubles)
Content notes: Non-con (The Prinnies don't really like serving Etna; a reference to a character being drugged against his will)
Flonne stops sweeping--a clean Overlord's Castle is a happy Overlord's Castle--and says, "Oh, no. An angel would never do anything hurtful."
"Of course not. They just try to assassinate demon overlords." Etna's lying on a short chaise, speaking around a mouthful of red bean cake, which a Prinny is feeding her by...hand? Flipper? Flonne should really remember to ask the Prinnies what they want their body parts called. "Not that I'm complaining. I could've almost been...proud. It's very demonic of you."
"It's not! I would've given him a painless death!" After she says it, Flonne knows how stupid it sounds. She also knows that Etna only talks like this when Laharl isn't here, and she also knows that one of the reasons for it is cowardice. But there's another reason, one even Etna may not be aware of. Flonne is sure of it.
"Geez. You're not even a very good Love Freak, are you?" Etna sips soup from the bowl a Prinny offers. (The poor thing can barely hold it straight.) "Don't you want to test your damn hypothesis? If demons can love, surely angels can be cruel, right?"
"But that's not--" Flonne realizes suddenly that it is. As everyone has good in them, so must they all be capable of evil. It's only fair. "I mean, I'm sorry. I guess that makes sense."
"So prove it."
"Huh?"
Etna turns to face her, raises herself up on her elbow. "Do something cruel, Flonne. Unleash your inner demon."
"But I don't have an inner demon."
Etna smiles then. "Sure, you do! And since demons are so magnanimous--you know, according to your hypothesis and all--I'll let you have the Prinnies for the day."
"Yay! So, long, dood!" says the waiter-Prinny.
Etna conks it with her spear. "Get back here! The only reason I won't run you through is because I want more cake, jackass!"
"But aren't I...lower than the Prinnies?" Flonne doesn't have the heart to whack someone over the head with a spear, even if that someone is dead.
"Yes," says Etna, "but Laharl doesn't have to know. Didn't you see how much wine he drank last night? Plus, I may have slipped a little something extra in his bottle."
"I really don't know about this," Flonne says. " Are you sure?"
"Yes, dood!"
"Shut up, you!" Then Etna says, "Of course I am. I'm not totally helpless without slaves, you know. Abuse the hell out of 'em for me."
Flonne will do her best.
***
She stares at the rows of Prinnies that Etna's handed over ("All right, you jerks. You're working for Flonne today! And if I hear of any goofing off, I'm roasting all of you on a spit, you hear me?"), and has no idea what to do with them. All the training in Celestia didn't prepare her for commanding hordes of wayward souls. What would Etna do? To help her think, she pulls one of her arrows out of its quiver and points it at them in a way she hopes is threatening. "Help me clean the castle, you....penguins!" she says in her most commanding voice.
"Well, that went about as well as I expected." Etna leaves the room.
When the castle is swept from top to bottom, and the dishes are done, and Laharl's underwear is freshly pressed, one of the Prinnies asks, "Should we dress you, dood? I mean, Miss Flonne, dood?"
"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary," she says. "But thank you."
"But...what if Laharl suddenly orders a fancy party? You can't go to the overlord's fancy party dressed like that, dood."
Flonne considers this. "Does Laharl really do things like that? He doesn't seem like the type."
"For his birthday he does. And we never remember when it is. It could be his birthday today, dood."
"But I don't think--"
"You really don't want to piss off the overlord on his birthday, dood."
She supposes she doesn't. Besides, she has a half-a-day left with the Prinnies. "Do you dress Etna?" she asks.
"Oh, yes. We have lots of practice dressing Etna, dood."
"But she doesn't wear a lot of clothes," Flonne says.
"She's also really lazy, dood. But don't tell her I said that."
Flonne thinks. "Can you...dress me like Etna, then?" She can feel herself blushing.
***
Flonne is sitting in front a very large mirror, surrounded by Prinnies. There's a gentle pressure in her bladder, but she can hold it. This won't take long. "Can we have your feet, Flonne, ma'am...dood?" one of them asks.
"Of course. Thank you."
"Etna never thanks us, dood."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
The Prinnies at her feet slide her legs into thigh-high boots, while the ones at her arms put on the gloves (which must be really hard to do without fingers, Flonne thinks); the one behind her fastens a leather bra. Without realizing it, she crosses her legs at the knees.
"Now it's time for the skirt, dood."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to put that on before the boots?" Flonne asks.
"Oh, dood! We forgot! We're so sorry! Don't tell Etna, please, dood!"
"It's no trouble," Flonne says quickly. "I can just step in. Don't worry."
As a Prinny fastens the skirt's belt (pressing against her lower tummy, but she tries not to think about that), Flonne examines herself in the mirror. Dressed in black, with her skull earrings and her collar, she thinks that maybe acting like a demon isn't such a scary idea, after all. It's just a game, right? She tucks her chin down, tries to smile in a way she thinks of as "sinister." Then she straightens up, puts her hands on her hips. What would Etna do right now? She'd make sure these Prinnies knew who was boss, that's what. She'd tell them to fetch the newspaper. She'd tell them to make her a sandwich. She'd tell them--
"I have to pee."
***
As the Prinnies follow her to the toilets, Flonne is horrified that Etna might make them come with her to...do her demonic business. Then, as she struggles with her belt, she's glad they're here to help, and she's even more horrified. "You guys sure tied this nice and tight," she says. The pressure in her bladder is all the way up to her chest now--she's going to wet herself if she doesn't get this belt undone soon. She's sucking her stomach in tighter, feels her legs go weak. It's almost like a...no. No, it isn't. Angels don't have those.
And now they're just staring at her. Don't they know she needs their help, those stupid--?
Oh. Oh, dear.
"Um, could one of you help me with this belt?"
"Sure thing, dood." But as the Prinny works, it jabs against her stomach in thrusts (Thrusts? Oh, heavens), and she wants it to stop, stop, because she won't be able to--
"Woah," says one of the Prinnies as warm wetness explodes between her legs. "Not even King Krichevskoy did anything that nasty. You're a demon among demons, dood."
And although she's cold and flushing with raw shame, Flonne smiles in spite of herself.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 01:04 am (UTC)