Rules/Mun | Muses: Husker, Alastor | Interest Tracker | Ask Memes | Open RP Masterlist | Leave a Note | NSFW Sideblog | Hub Blog | Personal Blog | Ao3 Account
reminder skippy has a personal blog @mud-skippy !!! a place you can see my deranged ramblings over a variety of fandoms instead of just the rp ones lmao
"I didn't leave on purpose, you know." An out of nowhere comment spoken in a delirious haze where Alastor found himself near bleeding out in Vox bed once again, his powers still not recovered from his brush with Adam, despite that being months ago. It had been stupid to start the squabble after just so happening to bump into Vox while walking past the front of his tower, whistling a jaunty tune he knew to be one of the TV's old favorites, but this wound had left him itching for violence, it having been too long since he'd been able to really let loose thanks to how slowly his body healed. It was like being human all over again, the threat of dying looming over his head and everything. Only this time he was sure there wasn't another Hell for him to manifest into. To get a second chance in.
He wanted a fight, and for all his posturing, he knew Vox wouldn't kill him, not with the weakened state he was in. That wasn't how they operated, kicking the other while they were down, it not beign any fun in such an unfair fight. Even if given a fair chance, however, Alastor had a feeling Vox wouldn't kill him, and Al almost hated that he could say the same. It would be so very dull without the stupid television around to pester whenever he pleased and knew he was safe doing so, no matter how many claw marks marred his body by the end.
This was only confirmed when Alastor not only woke up in general, but did so in Vox's room. The last he'd remembered their fight had taken them to the roof, and then...nothing. He'd burnt his powers out to the point that his body ached with even the thought of using them to any capacity. He was doing this too often, not giving himself time to heal. If he thought about it too much, he could almost call it a punishment, to be flirting with death like he was.
Slowly fading back into consciousness, Alastor used his radio frequency to find Vox when his body wouldn't respond, the natural hum of what he assumed was this body life force reaching staticy feelers out until pinging off Vox's own buzz. He was there, Al wasn't alone.
Any attempt at talking to Al would only lead to silence, though not from lack of trying. Body so drained, not even his vocal cords would respond beyond an unnatural crackling of dead air whenever he'd tried to speak. So he'd settled for simply using his frequency to communicate, it being buzzed or mellowed in lieu of a yes or no. He'd even panicked when he couldn't feel Vox in the room anymore after waking up from an impromptu nap earlier in the day (or maybe night? He didn't actually know how long he'd been there, and strangely, he was perfectly content to keep it that way until he was able to move again.) While short stretches of his unseen staticy appendage equated to hardly more than an inconvenient cough in terms of pain, when Alastor had reached all the way down to the lobby of the building, he had to suddenly cut the noise as his body protested in the form of throwing up what little he'd managed to eat since first waking up there.
He was pretty sure Vox had been up and at his side in the span of a mere blink, but with how his head throbbed, it very well could have been hours he'd lost to the pain. He still hurt, but it was less of an edge now that he could feel Vox in the room again, it being so much of a comfort, sinking him so deeply into security, he'd blurted out a secret only Husker knew (and that was only because the cat was so damned observant).
He didn't take back his words though, his eyes being set in the direction he was pretty sure Vox was in (when had everything become so fuzzy-) with what one could just barely call a smile on his face. "I was a fool, Vox. A twice damned fool..."
This was dangerous, trying to talk about it so blatantly. Even if he wanted to tell the whole story, he couldn't as part of the deal. Should he try to explain where he had been in earnest, it would feel as if his body was but a voodoo doll being stabbed over and over again. This was a time he didn't care, however, where he fought through the prickly warning beneath his skin. Vox needed to know he hadn't left of purpose, that it hadn't been his choice. He couldn't say why, or maybe he just didn't want to, but he needed his old friend to know.
- ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧
「 ☆ 」 Alastor's alluring annoying whistling had reached Vox's ears like a siren song, that damned Radio Demon acting like a ghost of the past. Taking every opportunity to haunt him, prodding at the weakness of who he used to be. Dangling the idea of who they he could have been just out of his reach; time and bad blood between them making it an even bigger impossibility than when they were on good terms. Yet Vox can't shed the ingrained bitterness only past hope could spawn, merely seeing Alastor enough to make him spark ( in several ways ) .
Vox used to think there was no personal Hell like when Alastor had gone missing for years but ever since the deer made his ❛ triumphant ❜ return, he's been doing everything in his power to prove Vox wrong. Yet Vox knows that, were he given the choice to go back to that uncertain time, he couldn't. Life without Alastor was... unsatisfying. A gaping emptiness in the hellscape, that refused to be filled no matter how much control he amassed or how much attention he garnered from Valentino.
Can he really be blamed if he comes running whenever Alastor calls?
Yes. And Vox shall continue to LOATHE his actions as they cause him to claw into the old-timey prick whose crushing grip never waned, even as the years trudged forward with no remorse... As well as carry Alastor's limp body to his own bedroom, dressing wounds and setting down the other's battered form ( pride in his victory tarnished by how clearly weakened Alastor was, now that Vox is calm enough to notice ) with more gentleness than anyone has experienced from the television demon.
Spending hours tending to the Radio Demon's needs, silent as the other aside from when he inquired about what was needed. His thoughts were loud enough. No need to add to the cacophony with idle chit-chat. Especially with someone who could barely provide a yes or no in response. Although he did play music from the room's speakers, if only for Alastor's benefit. A soothing serenade of jazz; playlist specifically made from the songs Alastor introduced him to during the start of their unforeseen companionship. Beginning with the very song used to lure him in.
When Alastor finally drifted into slumber, Vox had taken the opportunity to get some work done. After spending an hour or so standing at the bedside, just in case the deer woke up. This unexpected... inconvenience had stolen nearly his entire day, which would be exhausting at best and impossible at worst to make up without lingering consequences. He had barely managed to put a dent in the piled up memos before he felt that achingly familiar sparking presence. In an instant, the television had shot to the Radio Demon's side. Vibrating with barely-contained panic as if he expected the other to somehow be in danger, despite being in arguably one of the safest places in Hell. With how unsettlingly feeble Alastor is, the fear feels warranted.
Heavy breathing settles when he sees the room exactly as he left it, including the man upon the bed. Walking over with a practiced look of disdain, he's about to complain about being interrupted for seemingly no reason— would it kill Alastor to give him five minutes? —when the other breaks the silence instead. Steps falter, composure breaking in a manner unlike Vox. In a way Alastor never lost the ability to force from him. Narrowed eyes wide in clear shock, daresay unnerved at being met with a display of... honesty? Compassion. His only solace is that he doubts Alastor can see him through such dazed eyes.
Vox plasters on a more suitable expression regardless.
Stalking toward the bed, steps slow... reluctant calculated, hands leave their place behind his back to grip the side of the bed instead. Claws dig into the blanket, sparks dancing along his fingertips as he leans closer. Voice but a curt growl, filling the air between him and Alastor, not even the rest of the room permitted to hear. ❝ Alright. Let's say I believe you. Let's say you didn't intend to leave me for ѕєνєη ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ уєαяѕ... ❞ Voice cracks, Vox praying the trembling that follows will be mistaken as such, ❝ Why did I have to hear about your return— ❞
Swallowing thickly, he shakily exhales before hissing through the bitter taste in his mouth, ❝ —from Valentino. ❞ Over a week. Seven years of nothing and then when Alastor comes back, he didn't seek him out. Didn't so much as tell him. How is it that, after all the pain endured not knowing if Alastor had been slain without his knowledge, how Vox learned he was ALIVE is what hurt the most... 「 ☆ 」
Every stab of pain accompanied by a turning stomach and an incessant throbbing behind his eyes, the pure fear that overtook him as his own words settled like a rattling in his bones, this was finally his Hell. And yet he ignored it all, chest labored in breath as his head lolled to the side to look at Vox with a lazy smile despite every word bringing blinding pain along with it. "ł ₵ Ø Ʉ Ⱡ Đ ₦ '₮ Ⱡ Ɇ ₮ Ⱨ Ɇ Ɽ ₮ Ø Ʉ ₵ Ⱨ Ɏ Ø Ʉ."
What had been said came with a price, Alastor's throat suddenly seizing with muted static before a coughing fit added a fresh coat of blood to stain Vox's sheets. He seemed to be choking now, one clawed hand gripping at his chest to tear at already marred flesh, the other blindly reaching for Vox as a different sort of fear washed over Alastor, something primal he hadn't felt since his fight with Adam, and yet that didn't even compare with the tears the welled in his eyes.
If he were human, if air needed to fill his lungs as opposed to the blood that was slowly causing them to fail, Alastor would be dead. That didn't stop him though, the radio demon sounding like a man drowning as he tried to explain the situation, it eventually ending with his voice seemingly coming from the air, though even that brought a mind numbing pain to blister behind his eyes. "ł₣ ł ĐłɆ ⱧɆⱤɆ, ฿Ɏ ⱧɆⱤ Ⱨ₳₦Đ, ł₮ ₩łⱠⱠ ₴Ɇ₦Đ ₥Ɇ ฿₳₵₭." Words that sounded fearful through a closed mouthed smile-turned-grimace. "ł ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ₩₳₦₮ ₮Ø ₲Ø ฿₳₵₭." It was a silent request and an explanation all in one. Was it enough? Did he need to say more despite the pain? Please don't make him say more he doesn't want to go back, anything but that-
Whatever move Angel made towards him, Al went with it in kind; leaning into the hug, allowing himself to be sat in his chair, it was as if he was a marionette and the spider held all his strings. Except for one, the very thought of it burning into his very being.
"It is not me that-" A twinge of pain reminded him to calm down, it not really mattering who he was scared for. It was an old instinct to insist he wasn't afraid, that nothing scared him, and he really was afraid for Angel and Angel alone, his own soul be twice damned. But...even he wasn't so stubborn as to realize if he got hurt, it would affect the spider just as much.
'I don' wan' t' think 'bout it anymore." The more he tried to curb his accent, the worse it got, like his own mind was betraying him, demanding that he be real in front of one of the few people he didn't have to play pretend in front of. "I've been thinkin' 'bout it fer weeks." He hated that his feelings were winning, that he felt like he was at war with his own sense of self.
Though...if he was fighting with himself, wouldn't he win if he went with what he wanted, as opposed to what logic demanded?
" I am done thinkin' 'bout it." Growled between clenched teeth, Alastor's shaky blood stained hands latched onto the front of Angel's shirt, sharp nails audibly popping through the fabric it was held so tightly. What could Angel do to make him feel better?
No matter which path he chose, the answer would always remain the same.
A sharp yank would pull the spider down to meet Al in a kiss, his battered body protesting via a deep chested groan that had the sinner breaking away just as quickly as they'd come together, his head now resting against Angel's middle, claws still clenched tight into Angel's coat while his body shook with each painful breath.
"That...would be a start..." Lifting his head, his looked at Angel with that typical grin on his face, only it actually reached his eyes this time, it even accompanied by a faint blush burning at the dreaded Radio Demon's cheeks. "Help me t' mah room, cher?"
Angel had not expected that. Alastor had grown increasingly unraveled, accent thickening, tone of voice no longer poised, but threatening-- he'd reached out with both hands, and Angel had almost screamed and flipped out.
Almost.
Nothing so upsetting ever happened. He found himself pulled toward the demon so quickly that their lips met before he'd even processed a quarter of it-- and Angel was used to being kissed. By anyone and everyone. He was used to it being fast and awkward, as this was, but he absolutely wasn't used to wanting more when it was over.
The flustered spider just stood there afterward, unsure whether to keep with the mood or splutter what was going through his mind ("You're done already?! Come on!")... so, he got the dignity of neither outcome. His nervous system decided for him.
"Fuck, Al..." said Angel, wide smile making him feel almost drunk, even as he pulled his eyes away from that cutesy look on the other's face and tried to fan away the heat in his bones. His own face must have been a trillion shades of pink. He felt flushed. Impossible.
By all accounts, it was simply nonsensical!
See, shamelessly, Angel Dust done everything in the book (and outside it, and things that probably hadn't been invented yet). He had been in every situation, good and bad, humiliating and not.
So... how was it that a kiss had gotten him all worked up? A simple kiss! And one that had hardly lasted ten seconds! One would think this was his first time ever experiencing something like this!
Perhaps it was. Perhaps he was a fool for trusting again, but he trusted Alastor right now.
Trust made a world of difference when it came to catching feelings.
"I, uh... wow," the spider exhaled. "Yeah. Ya room. How th' heck d'we..." The star ripped his eyes from him, biting down on his lip to stop himself from bursting out laughing right in the middle of the radio tower. "Is there gonna be more'a this in your room? NO- I mean, uh- how do we... get down?"
The only time Alastor had ever seen Angel so flustered had been in the few films he'd inevitably caught the beginnings of in his day to day around hell, as fake as it was. He always broke whatever monitor it was being viewed on as he passed, more often than not without his conscious input. It had surprised him the first few times it had happened, but the more he watched sparks fly and rain down to burn screaming faces, the less he found himself caring that his emotions had gotten away from him. He would burn them all if he could.
Never once would he have thought he would be the one to bring such a flush to the spider's face, real or fake, and he was sure no one would believe him should he share such a happening. But that didn't matter, seeing as this moment was their's and their's alone, as were any and all future reenactments, something Alastor would fight to keep as such.
He would die for Angel without hesitation.
Now that he no longer had this secret to hold, Alastor found himself feeling...good. Fantasic, even. He couldn't even recall when he last felt so...so happy. Fear still held tight at his chest, of course, insisting that growing too close could only lead to pain in the end, but seeing that lip-bitten smile on Angel's face, he couldn't find it in himself to regret any of this.
"If you believe this is all there is to be, you are a fool, Cher. I have been wanting to do that for so long, I very well might burn the hotel to the ground should I not be able to kiss you again." Said with a chuckle as he slowly, carefully stood, hands latch tight onto Angel until he reached his feet. As if to tide himself over until he could kiss the spider properly, Al pressed a gentle kiss to Angel's forehead as he summoned his cane to his hand.
A wave of the same hand would call forth another portal (with there being no door leading into or out of the tower), the other side showing the wide expanse of bayou that made up the sinner's room beyond the typical bed and dresser in a mystery of architecture. Frogs could be heard far past where the eye could see, a chorus of crickets to accompany them along with fireflies to offer the lights to their murky stage.
What Angel went through each and every day wasn't a secret, no matter how hard the spider tried to keep it to himself. Husk had seen it first (though one could argue it had been spotted through subconscious familiarity as opposed to it conjuring from observation alone), Charlie had seen it first hand (oh how he would have loved to see just what she would have done to the disgusting bug), and Alastor himself knew because he knew Valentino and how he'd treated Vox before...
It didn't matter, Alastor knew Angel didn't ever leave that place unscathed, but he didn't know just how much pain Val put him through every day.
He'd nearly forgotten about their deal, the sharing of pain to lessen Angel's fatal wounds by having Alastor shoulder half of the burden. Half of the pain was rather important, it meaning that what he had felt when he'd suddenly hit the floor earlier that day, cheek stinging with blood dripping down his chin despite no physical blow landing on him, it was only half was of whatever Angel was dealing with, and continued to deal with until returning to the hotel that evening. He'd expected the spider to be struggling through the doors with how his own body ached, but to Al's utter bafflement Angel looked no worse for wear.
No bruise on his cheek, Al and him both having hidden it behind makeup (though Angel's work was far better than his own), no limp where the deer's leg threatened to buckle, nothing. It was impressive, if not horribly concerning, Al unable to dwell on what scared him more; the fact Angel was so adept at hiding his pain, or the fact that he even cared about such a thing, when a subtle bump of the spider's knee against Husk's bar had sent the Radio Demon to the floor.
Wide eyed where he'd fallen to a knee, Alastor almost didn't register the cry of pain from his lips, the deer not able to process what had even happened until Angel loomed over him, angrier than Al had ever seen him.
"Oh shit-"
- ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧
「 ☆ 」 Angel hadn't wanted to accept Alastor's deal... Had been willing to wait for his mangled body to bleed out before he took the Radio Demon's hand. No offense to Alastor, but accepting the mercy of Overlords had been soured for Angel years ago. All thanks to the first and LAST one he was stupid enough to ensnare himself with in a deal meant for ❛ his benefit ❜ . Not that Angel would put Alastor on the same dangerous pedestal as Valentino. Not even close. Personal bias or not, it's difficult for others to scare the spider when the moth demands the lion's share of his fear.
When it comes to the Radio Demon, he's not sure where he stands. There's no blatant animosity between the pair— like one would expect with such drastically different and dynamic forces meeting —but it's not as though Angel is willingly baring his throat to the other. Not when it wouldn't surprise him if it was torn out seconds later. This is HELL... and Angel knows what his worth amounts to for someone like Alastor. Indifferent ( as far as he knows ) to the spider's wiles, even if he's surprisingly willing to play along with the others playful flirtations. But entertainment, nonetheless.
Frustratingly, Angel had been coerced into taking Alastor's hand... because he felt as though it would hurt the Overlord if he didn't. Unsure what bothered him more— being foolish enough to humor such a thought, or that he let it sway him —the spider decided to put it out of his mind. A one-and-done agreement, Alastor taking away some of the burden so Angel wouldn't contend with limbo. With no desire to dwell, that moment faded from a gnawing in his guts to merely a bitter taste in his throat whenever he did let it flicker to the forefront.
Seeing Alastor fall to the floor brought the nausea back tenfold.
Puzzle pieces didn't fall into place immediately, Angel aiming a concerned quizzical look Alastor's way when he cried out. All this time spent around the Radio Demon, yet he doesn't think he's heard the deer in pain. Initial shock slows Angel's reasoning, but it only provides a moment of respite before horrible realization dawns. Alastor's knee had buckled the second Angel's bumped the bar. It was barely anything to blink at for the spider— accustomed to enduring far more in even worse condition —but it seemed to immobilize Alastor... Fuck. This better be a coincidence. There better be an explanation aside from the manipulative motherfucker biting off more than he could chew. Otherwise, who knows what Alastor has endured today.
All because Angel couldn't do the decent thing and die.
❝ Yeah. Oh shit. ❞ Looming over the pitiful creature before he's fully aware, Angel pays no heed to the bewilderment he suspects will grip any witnesses. He's lost his temper a few times around the hotel, but not with Alastor ( oddly enough ) and never enough to YANK the other up by his lapels. Especially for something as nonsensical as ❛ being hurt ❜ . Few would dare lay a hand on the Radio Demon, and even fewer would bring that razor ❛ smile ❜ up to their face. Every eye open and glowing with barely-restrained rage, he gutturally growls through gritted teeth, ❝ You have five fuckin' seconds ta tell me you didn' do what th' FUCK I think you did... ❞
Fur bristles further as claws lightly tear into threads, Alastor brought close to the sinner's snarling maw. Angel grateful the deal only betrays the pain accosting his body and not the terror he feels weighing on his chest. One he tries to subdue with silent reassurances that Alastor can fix this. Surely the deal-maker can break chains he forged. After experiencing a day in the body of Angel Dust— somewhat, Angel recalling the conditions of their arrangement... misleading as they were —it would be ridiculous to do otherwise. There's no possible gain in this deal any more. Aside from proof that Angel isn't nearly as unaffected as he tries to seem.
If it hadn't just been Husker in the lobby of the hotel so late into the evening, the cat more than familiar with Angel's ire himself, Alastor might have fought just a bit harder to keep his ears from flattening against his head as he gazed into the many eyes of the spider. Not that it would have mattered with how the deer in him froze under the hard gaze of a predator, even if this wasn't what one would pair in the dance of natural selection, both with their animal counterparts as well as the pair of sinners as people. One wouldn't think them to get along, but for as...exasperating as Angel could be at times, Alastor couldn't help but have grown fond of him.
Funny, how that sentiment led to where he was now, part way off the floor with the sudden reminder of just how tall Angel was. He'd even tried turning to Husk in a desperate bid to reclaim control of the situation, something he could easily reclaim himself, should he choose violence.
He wondered for a moment if Angel realized his choice in submission had nothing to do with their shared burden of pain.
Husk had been unsympathetic to Alastor's plight, the cat leaving with a "fuck no" and a bottle in hand as he made his way around his bar and up the stairs to his room. Narrowed pupils now had no choice but to zero in on Angel, the pure anger he was met with having the deer giving an instinctive, albeit weak clatter of hooves against the floor in an attempt to escape. "And ah, what is it you believe me to have done, may I ask?"
Oh shit new tadc oc just dropped!! (cliffnotes version lol):
Voodoo:
-A stuffed bunny made of mismatched patches of fabric standing about 4'6" tall. Their eyes are predominantly buttons, of which make up their pupil with the rest of the cartoonish eye forming around it
- Very easily torn, always losing limbs or popping stitches, which sometimes actually hurts if it catches them off guard due to the disconnect with mind to body of the circus. If their ears fall off, they lose the ability to hear, if the button part of their eye comes off, their entire 'eye' disappears and they can no longer see out of it
- Appeared at the circus in the middle of the night and just....sat there until someone showed up to tell them what was going on. When they didn't really get much in terms of answers, they simply stood up and asked "So, what now?", content to live out whatever this new 'life' was until those answers would come
- Never truly speaks their mind, opting to be a neutral third party in order to keep everyone in as high spirits as possible. They seem well adjusted, always adapting quickly with every bump and turn along the road, but in reality they're just hoping if they pretend to be a toy long enough, maybe things won't hurt as much both mentally and physically...
- Got their name because someone (most assumedly Jax, all things considered) said they "Look like a creepy voodoo doll". They liked the sound of it, so Voodoo it was
- Makes squeaky toy noises when they run or collide with a surface hard enough
- Has paw-like hands and feet complete with beans to help with grip
Okay, he should probably stop… Husk looks one good hit away from losing his ninth life and— difficult as it may be to believe considering the intensity of the fight between the pair —Lucifer isn’t aiming to kill him. Especially since being killed by even a Fallen Angel holds the same consequences as if speared through by an Exterminator’s blade. Charlie may never forgive him… Besides, Husk doesn’t deserve death. This was a reminder, that’s all. A formality between two petty prideful individuals.
A show of respect toward the Sinner who actually managed to land a blow.
Which is why Lucifer’s demonic features retract with so much nonchalance it could be considered comical— to anyone who isn’t coughing up blood, anyway. The tiny devil lands on his feet with a click of heels and disappearance of wings. Clapping his hands together with a sound that breaks the air, he chimes, “Alright! I think that’s enough, and heh- I’m fairly sure you agree.” With the joke lingering in the air and Husk abruptly swept up into small yet strong arms, he transports them back to the Sinner’s room in a flash of ( non-harmful ) fire.
Unceremoniously dropping Husk’s battered form onto the bed, Lucifer looks around— realizing that he’s never been in this room —and mutters to himself, “Huh… Kinda small.” When compared to what the King of Hell is accustomed to. “Anyway—” Breezing past the unintentionally-condescending comment, he barks out an even more condescending nickname, lathered in surprisingly-genuine chipperness, “Let’s see those injuries, Kitty-Kat! We should probably start with the biggest one first and work our way down the list… Don’t want you bleeding out on me before I can even get started.” - (( :3cccccccccc ))
@burning-fcols
Was picking a fight with the King of Hell the stupidest thing Husk could have done in not just one life, but every single one he'd 'lost' over the years? Absolutely. It was, without a doubt, the second dumbest thing he'd ever done (with the first only for him and Anthony to know). But, if he was being honest, it was the most fun he'd had since that fight with Heaven. It wasn't often he got to let loose like when he'd first came to power in Hell, knowing without a doubt that victory was on his side, or not caring if he were to meet his end once and for all.
The most interesting part? Double dying hadn't been a worry, even when there was probably more of his blood staining the dirt around him than pumping through his veins. Fighting with Lucifer had been the safest danger he'd been in since manifesting in Hell, and that was with knowing one wrong blow from the Fallen Angel would be all it would take to erase him completely. It wasn't a fight born of anger, not really, no matter how pissy the sinner had been all through the day. He was trying to cut back on drinking, and everyone in the hotel knew what that would mean. Even Alastor had been surprisingly patient with him, all things considered. Before anything had even begun, Husk knew this was nothing but a simple sparring match between friends allies, something to blow off steam, and that wasn't just because Lucifer only needed to snap his fingers to win against quite literally everyone in Hell, let alone one grumpy sinner. If Husk wasn't used to friendly fights, there was no doubt Lucifer knew even less about getting to throw a few punches without consequences, even if they weren't exactly evenly matched. Husk was sure if he hadn't gotten in that one, admittedly lucky hit towards the start, the fight wouldn't have reached the intensity that required leaving the hotel through the hole one of them had left in the wall to keep the place standing.
Even as he hit the ground hard enough to plow through the dirt before skidding to a stop several feet out, feathers and fur caked with blood and who-knows-what as the cat smoldered with hellfire, Husk was laughing just as hard as he was wheezing while the under-world spun around him like the king's heavenly plumage through the air as wings disappeared back into the ether.
"Unless you plan on dealin' with Angel after this? Yeah, I'd say so." Angel might be a sinner just like him, but he had a feeling Lucifer knew not to fuck around with the spider, let alone the guy he thought he'd made up in a drug induced haze for decades after arriving in Hell, with the memories of love while still alive feeling too good and terrifying to be true.
With the clear end to their little tussle, Husk had resigned himself to laying there until he either got the energy to pick himself up or until he bled out and revived in the hot ass bayou that made up the room of the bastard that owned his soul. His back shifting from laying in the hard dirt he had been half buried in, to the somewhat comfortable mattress of his bed had been so unexpected, it took a good minute or two for the change to register. All Husk could do was blink up at the ceiling, it taking the gentle poof of Angel's pefume that had settled into his sheets to bring him back to a very alive, very pain filled reality.
"What, you gonna play doctor now too?" The laugh that had meant to follow came out as nothing but a wheezy cough, it rattling his lungs worse than the smog from those awful bombs during his military days. "Just leave me here, I'll end up taking a dirt nap either way. No sense in wasting any more angelic bullshit on me."
Though typically a cat of few words, Husk preferring only to speak when it served a purpose instead of idle chatter to fill the air all through his day, there was something...off about the silence that hung over him, not like a shroud, but instead a noose dangling just in his sights to remind him of his past mistakes. If one looked close enough, they would see the faint wisp of sickening green about his mouth, the echo of magic giving the illusion of zigzagged thread that had sewn his mouth shut painfully, as if actually stitched beyond use.
The scent wafting through the halls of the hotel was warm and pleasant from where it began in the kitchens, it no doubt a surprise to find the infamous radio demon being at it's source in his place by the stove. He looked almost serene as he stirred a pot slowly starting to simmer, a low, jazzy tune playing form a place unseen to blanket the room in a sense of calm not normally found in hell. Ears perk up at the sound of footsteps, but Alastor doesn't turn to greet their owner, the sinner simply stirring his pot as he hummed along to the music.
Skippy's Helluva/Hazbin RP Blog @hells-fvry - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
2087
stormborns
titsay
kianamaiart
gummygunk
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
izzy806
