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It’s not like Blitzø planned to do this, be this kind of person. It came out of necessity. His father has disowned him, his best friend won’t even look at him, let alone speak to him, and his sister… well, Blitzø thinks that’s the broken relationship that hurts the most.
At first, Blitzø tried to advertise himself and his talents. He’s an acrobat, a newly ex-circus clown, he could be birthday party entertainment, or something for companies to call “team bonding” with laughter. But that doesn’t work out, of course it doesn’t. He’s not good enough. He doesn’t have Fizzaroli’s easy talent for jokes and acrobatics, and he’s nothing in comparison to Barbie’s high wire and trapeze routines. He’s exactly what Cash’s last words were: a useless piece of shit.
Blitzø tried his best to use every talent he ever learned growing up, but he didn’t make nearly enough to keep him alive and surviving. Maybe enough for one meal a day if he budgeted correctly. But his Momma always did the money stuff. Even when Cash would take some of the earnings for his own stash of alcohol, Blitzø’s Momma always made sure there was enough that the children could live comfortably. Or as comfortably as they could at a circus with an abusive asshole as the ringleader. Still, she did so much for Blitzø and Barbie and Fizz, and yet… she never got the thank you she deserved. Because Blitzø ended her life far too early. But it had to have been for something; he has to still be alive for some reason. And that’s the only reason Blitzø kept pushing; it’s the only reason why he’s where he is now.
Which, he will be very clear to all the bigoted assholes who snear at him as they pass: this isn’t Blitzø’s first option for a job. It’s his only option.
So, he’s smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamp post, and posing seductively. His scars are ugly, splotched everywhere, but he learned that demons have very specific kinks. And fortunately for Blitzø, his burn scars help those demons get off.
Blitzø isn’t the first prostitute in Hell; he certainly won’t be the last, but his Momma would certainly be disappointed if she knew what he was doing. She had always believed in him, believed he could do better than Cash’s shitty circus, but he couldn’t leave her or Barbie or Fizz. It’s only fair, he supposes, that they left him. He only dragged them down, literally blew everything into flames. At least Cash lost all his money, considering he didn’t believe in banks. But that also means Blitzø couldn’t take any before he got kicked out. And that turned into Blitzø selling his red and white body on the streets. Because some fucked up people like the idea of another fucked up person helping them with their disgusting fantasies.
One day, Blitzø swears, he’ll do better than this. He’ll make money that will last longer than 12 hours and not resort to smoking half-used-up cigarettes he found on the street. He’ll open his own business and do something meaningful with his life, even as an imp. Especially as an imp.
But for now, a car is slowing to a stop, rolling down its window, and allowing a learning demon to lean out of it, beckoning Blitzø to join them. And he does. Because anything is better than letting his mind wander in the dingy alleyways of Hell.