[ third person POV ]
[ few minutes later ]
The first thing Tiffany and Chucky noticed was the tall, white-haired man standing in their trailer kitchen. He wasn't exactly subtle—two holstered pistols on his hips, a massive sword strapped to his back, and an attitude that suggested he didn't care who saw them.
For now, they stayed quiet, sizing him up. Tiffany, still holding Chucky, moved to the small table she'd set for them earlier. She gently set him down on a chair, never taking her eyes off the stranger. Chucky didn't blink either—his plastic features fixed in that perpetual smirk, but his eyes tracking the man's every move.
The white-haired stranger had his back to them, stirring something in a large red pot on the stove. Whatever it was, it smelled rich—seafood, herbs, something foreign. Tiffany didn't recognize it, but he was working with the precision of a chef, filleting fish cleanly and slipping out the bones with surgical care. He tossed in white rice, clams, and his own blend of seasonings.
Bouillabaisse, he'd call it—but they didn't know that yet.
Finally, Tiffany broke the silence. Her voice was cautious, but she laced it with her signature flirty charm.
"So… who are you, handsome? And what the hell are you doing here? Better yet—what do you want?"
She was genuinely curious—and more than a little unsettled. She hadn't heard the door open, hadn't seen him come in, and had no idea how he'd managed to bring his gear inside without her noticing.
The man chuckled softly without turning around, his tone light, almost playful.
"Well, for starters—name's Dante Solomon," he said, giving the stew another stir. "As for what I'm doing here? I just wanted a front-row seat to witness the great Chucky's resurrection."
He finally glanced over his shoulder, his lips curving into a faint smirk.
"And what I want…" His eyes locked on Tiffany. "Is chucky and to be specific I'm not here to kill him…. yet, but I need him for something.
Then Chucky spoke, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.
"And what the fuck do you want from me, huh?"
He wasn't stupid, he knew damn well that if anyone got the chance, they'd try to kill him. But in his mind, nobody could. Not while he was in the doll. As far as he was concerned, he was untouchable. What he didn't know, though, was that if he ever lost Damballa's favor, he'd be fucked. No more second chances, He just grow old and die, he'll just go straight to Hell. And that was the only place waiting for him, thanks to the trail of bodies he'd left behind.
Before Dante could answer Chucky's question, he suddenly broke into a cheerful grin.
"Ah—food's ready! Oh right… you two have plates."
With a casual snap of his fingers, their plates shimmered and transformed into gleaming golden bowls. Tiffany's eyes went wide, her mouth parting slightly in disbelief, while Chucky's expression froze somewhere between shock and suspicion.
They both realized in that moment—this guy, this stranger who just waltzed into Tiffany's trailer and started cooking for them, wasn't someone they could afford to take lightly.
Dante placed the big pot in the center of the table with surprising gentleness, not spilling a single drop. Clapping his hands together, he sat down with a cheerful tone.
"Now… who's first?" he asked, glancing between the two dolls.
Neither spoke. Both kept their eyes on him, cautious and silent. Dante rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh before speaking again in that infuriatingly cheerful yet condescending voice of his.
"Oh, come on. Why so tense? It's not like I'm gonna kill you or anything. If I was, trust me—it would've been quick. And honestly, Tiffany, you were never on my hit list. Chucky, though…" He smirked. "…let's just say you'd be my first choice. But hey, that's beside the point. You both should relax. Eat. You're gonna need it. This recipe? It's got a way of calming people down, even in stressful situations."
He leaned back and pointed at them lazily. "So… who's first?"
Tiffany hesitated, glancing at Chucky before raising her hand. "…I'll have some."
Dante nodded, scooping a generous portion of soup into her golden bowl before turning his attention to Chucky.
"And you? You've gotta be starving, right?" he asked with a knowing grin.
Chucky glared at him, his voice sharp and irritated. "Just fuckin' do it, alright?"
Truth was, he was agitated. No knife's close to him and, no weapon's. even if there had been… well, considering this fuck just turned their plates into bowls that are made out of pure gold, Chucky wasn't exactly confident it would do a damn thing.
Dante snickered under his breath, ladling some soup into Chucky's golden bowl. Almost instantly, a set of spoons and forks materialized beside them, no flash, no sound, just there. Tiffany and Chucky exchanged a quick glance. They're not surprised at this point. They were already starting to get used to this guy's little… magic tricks.
Then, without warning, a chair simply appeared behind Dante. as if it had always been part of the place. He sat down casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and served himself a generous portion of some soup.
Leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, Dante fixed them both with that infuriatingly smug, mischievous smile of his.
"About that question you asked…" His tone was light, almost playful. "…it's not about what you can do for me, it's about what I can do for you."
He leaned forward now, resting his forearms on the table, hands clasped together like he was about to let them in on a delicious secret.
"For example, I can give you a new body.
To Dante, it didn't matter whether Chucky had a human body or not. The killer doll wasn't a threat—not even close. Chucky was simply a means to an end. Dante needed him, or more specifically, needed something important from him. He could've handled the job himself, sure, but there was another reason he'd come to Chucky in particular.
Tiffany.
Not in a romantic sense—Dante wasn't some lovesick fool—but because he saw potential in her. She could be useful. She had drive, determination, and just enough moral flexibility to be dangerous in the right hands. He had no interest in manipulating her like some cheap con artist; persuasion would do just fine. And maybe, when the time was right, he'd tell her the truth—about Chucky, about how he never truly loved her, about the ring, about everything. If he could drive a wedge between them, she'd almost certainly side with him.
As for Chucky… well, he wanted his human body back. Dante could give it to him. And once the deal was done? Chucky would be permanently removed from the equation. Unless, of course, something came up in the future where having him around might be… useful.
Chucky's expression was hard to read—anger, suspicion, maybe even surprise. But there was no mistaking the calculation behind those beady plastic eyes. He wasn't stupid. He knew everything had a price, and for this guy to show up specifically at the moment of his resurrection? That meant he needed him for something.
For now, Chucky decided to play along.
His tone was sharp, a mix of excitement and wariness.
"And how exactly are you gonna do that, huh? And what exactly do you want? I know my situation—hell, I know a lotta people want me dead. So why not cut the shit and tell me?" He crossed his stubby arms, glaring at Dante with scrutiny.
Meanwhile, Tiffany looked almost thrilled. If this man could give Chucky his body back, then they could finally be together—forever.
Little did she know, things were going to turn out… very different for her.
"What I want is pretty simple, actually… two or three things," Dante said, standing up from his chair. He looked down at Chucky, holding up two fingers… then three.
"First thing—I want Tiffany. To be more specific, I need her. And don't get it twisted—this isn't about romance, and I'm not looking to get my cock sucked. I just want her to help me with a few jobs. Well… maybe more than a few. I need someone to back me up. Someone I can teach a few things—hell, maybe a lot of things."
He pointed directly at Tiffany, then shifted his gaze back to Chucky.
"That's my first price."
Both Chucky and Tiffany were caught off guard. Tiffany blinked, clearly unsure what to think, while Chucky's first reaction was anger—his plastic face twisting as he assumed this guy was trying to make a move on his girl. But then Dante's words sunk in, and confusion replaced the rage.
"The hell do you mean by that?" Chucky snapped, suspicion dripping from every word.
"Well… let's just say I like passing my knowledge on to people who actually have the potential for it," Dante said, his voice casual but deliberate. "My standards are pretty damn high—very high. I like women who are strong-minded, willing to get their hands dirty… and you, Tiffany, seem like the right option. Plus…" he smirked, "you're hot. Really sexy. And no—I don't teach guys. I prefer teaching women."
He turned to her fully, his eyes sharp.
"When you did that ritual, I saw something in you—a spark. You've got a lot of potential. I want to pass on what I know and see what you'd do with it. And maybe, if you're ready, you could do a few jobs for me. You see, I can't be in two places at once. I need people I trust—people I've vetted—to help me with my work. That means hunting down the kind of people who've done really messed up things—kidnappers, mass murderers, and… other things. The kind of stuff that's not normal. Supernatural stuff."
Dante then turned to Chucky, his tone as casual as if they were talking about the weather.
"And this part of the deal? It's not your decision, Chucky. I only need her consent. I'm not letting you order her around."
He looked back at Tiffany.
"So… want to join me? If you do, I can show you things you wouldn't even believe exist. And compared to Chucky over there…"—he pointed lazily at the doll—"…he's just a small-time act. You're about to see that for yourself if you say yes. And obviously, if you join me, I'll let you move into my place. Don't worry—it's not like I'm asking you to share a bedroom. I just want you close enough so I can teach you properly. Chucky can stay too if he wants. So… what do you say, Tiffany?"
He stood there, arms crossed, looking down at her with that infuriating smirk.
Tiffany was beyond shocked. She never expected anyone to want her—not as a lover, but as a student. A magic student, no less. As she listened, her mind raced. What the hell does he mean by something more? Her eyes darted to Chucky, then to the golden bowl in front of her, and finally back to Dante.
"Why me… specifically?" she asked, her voice low but curious.
Dante crossed him arms, and his smirk never left his face.
"Why? I already told you," he said casually, his tone as smooth as if he were discussing the weather. "But if you want it spelled out, you've got the mind for this job. The kind of job I do isn't for the faint of heart. The people I deal with—the monsters, the freaks, the human shit—they don't exactly get a pleasant ending with me." His grin widened. "And money? You'd never have to worry about it again."
He gestured lazily around the cramped trailer. "This… isn't where someone with your potential belongs. I mean, look at you. You're gorgeous, you've got that fire in you, and you've already proven you're willing to get your hands dirty. If you join me, your life will get a whole lot more exciting. No more rotting in this dump."
Tiffany sat quietly, his words echoing in her head. She thought about the peeling wallpaper, the stale air, the constant sense of being stuck. She thought about her life before this—boring, bitter, pathetic—and the years with Chucky when he was human. Those days were… well, they were filled with love in her mind, or at least that's what she told herself. But if she was being honest? It had always been a cage.
She glanced at Chucky, the same man—or doll—who could be sweet one moment and cruel the next. And here was this stranger, offering her something more. A way to be powerful. Independent. Special. Temptation clawed at her.
Her gaze drifted down to her left hand. The ring sparkled faintly in the dim light. Her mother once told her love would set her free, but since being with Chucky, it felt more like a shackle. She lifted her head, eyes narrowing with thought, then looked at him.
"Hey, Chucky," she said suddenly, catching him mid-bite of soup. "Remember that ring you gave me?"
He frowned, confused. "What ring?"
She lifted her left hand, wiggling the ring on her middle finger. "The one you left on the mantle the night you died. I've never taken it off."
Chucky stared for a second, then raised one of his eyebrows with mild recognition. "Ohhh, that ring. Yeah, I remember. Got it from Vivian Van Pelt."
Tiffany froze. "…Vivian Van who?"
Chucky shrugged, completely unfazed. "Vivian Van Pelt. Y'know—broad I killed and dumped in the river? That thing's worth five, six grand easy."
Her eyes went wide, her face falling. "So… you weren't gonna ask me to marry you?" she said slowly, her voice tight with hurt.
Chucky was silent then suddenly burst into laughter and then said, are you out of your mind Hahahahaha. he left loudly Sounding mocking.
The chair scraped loudly as Tiffany shot to her feet, glaring at him. Dante, still standing with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his joint, watched like he was front row at a play. He didn't even bother hiding his amusement.
Guess I don't have to tell her he doesn't love her, he thought lazily, smoke curling from his lips. He's doing a fine job of that himself.
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Sorry it took me a while to get this chapter out—I had to do a lot of research on Tiffany and Chucky's personalities, and I'll admit, I was a little lazy too. Anyway, thank you so much for reading this chapter! If you're enjoying the story, please consider throwing me some power stones and leaving a comment. Your feedback really helps me grow as a writer, and as always, you guys are awesome. Have a great day!