Overworked/“I Quit” - Part 2-
The kitchen settled into something almost… calm.
Niffty sat cheerfully on the counter, kicking her feet before snatching her plated portion from the Radio Demon’s claws and rushing toward the table.
“This is AMAZING!” she chirped. “Did you poison it?!”
“Not today, my dear,” Alastor replied pleasantly, setting a steaming bowl down both for himself and for Husk.
From the doorway, Husk analyzed the tension in Alastor’s frame. It seems that having a few minutes to cool off put Alastor in a better mood. Or maybe it was just having Niffty around. She was always his favorite.
Still, the Radio Demon was definitely stiff as he pulled out Niffty’s chair, his focus completely on her as she complained about the meal and its tragic lack of toxins.
“Awwww, not even a little arsenic?”
Husk didn’t sit right away—his attention had turned to his master’s errant shadow. The wicked thing was often easier to read than its master. The problem was, focusing on the specter too much was an easy way to lose track of the real predator in the room. A lapse in judgment Husk would surely pay for.
“Alastor! Kitty needs you to help him with his chair too!”
Case in point. Niffty. Predator.
Husk immediately recoiled. “No, Niff! Why?!”
He was answered by her high-pitched demented giggles
It was too late—the trap was set—the prize? His dignity. Alastor smelled blood in the water, and the man was never one to let shit go if it meant pissing off the grumpy old cat.
Setting the finished pan of cornbread on the table the Overlord quickly zeroed-in on his reluctant thrall.
“But of course! Here, Husker. Sit. Eat.”
It took every ounce of self-control Husk had to NOT grouse as Alastor mockingly treated him like a delicate debutant, going as far as to kiss the back of Husk’s hand before roughly spinning him into his seat.
Niffty cooed and applauded.
Hat removed and a napkin gentility placed in lap.
Husk’s pride would be wounded if it hadn’t already died years ago.
Avoiding the temptation to grumble—Husk instead focused on the bowl in front of him, shoving a spoonful into his mouth in-favor of ignoring Mr.Fuck-Ass-Bob.
A reaction—that was what Alastor was after.
He must have successfully succeeded in being boring—judging by the offended little huff Alastor gave him before retreating to his own seat.
Another spoonful- and holy shit.
Husk’s nose crinkled irritably. His eyes felt teary, and he felt an uncomfortable lump swelling in his throat. Had he really been homesick for—
It had to be poison like Niffty suggested… or the food was just spicy. Husk was not about to get emotional over a goddamned bowl of beans.
A shadow swirled near his hand, conjuring a cold bottle of beer.
Not even pausing to thank the one who had magicked it up for him, Husk immediately cracked it open and took a swig.
He was not going to start purring either.
A chuckle, Husk glanced up to find Alastor watching. Vermilion eyes watching him closely through thick doe lashes. It was a scam—a scam that Husk once fell for hook, line, and sinker. Alastor was not an innocent fawn. He was not a kid that ‘just got lucky’. He was—
“Are you a happy kitty, Husker?”
An asshole. The human embodiment of an inflamed hemorrhoid. One that Husk, unfortunately, could never be rid of.
“That’s not my name—now hurry up and pass the bread.”
Husk continued to eat in silence, ignoring how Alastor’s smirk grew as the old gambler helped himself to a large slice of cornbread.
Smug bastard- he knew the food was good. But if he wanted praise? Tough luck.
Thankfully Alastor’s attentions turned to Niffty. Who was much more enthusiastic with her compliments.
Husk took the opportunity to savor the moment. Allowing himself to be warmed by the rustic meal and idle chatter of the souls who knew him best.
“Is Gregory still giving you trouble, my dear?”
Alastor glanced up from his meal, ears flicking back as he addressed the maid. “Don’t call me that. You know my name. Please use it.”
Husk tried to shoot a look Alastor’s way, as if to say, “See? I told you so.”
“What can you expect, Boss? They’ve been treating her like the help.”
A static-charged sigh. “Then I have been negligent.”
Focus shifted away from Husk- “Niffy darling, please, continue.”
“Greg is fine. He’s not happy about the new carpet shampoo, though.”
“Oh? And what is his complaint?”
“He says he is allergic— it’s making him all splotchy.”
“Hmmm—well, I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I can find the manufacturer for the product we used before?”
“No! He doesn’t deserve the extra effort. Besides, I have him under control. Brittney is the bad one.”
“Ah—” Alastor took a dainty bite of his meal before continuing. “To be honest, I am not surprised. I have never met a Brittney who wasn’t—as they say—a ‘total bitch.’ She’s on the twelfth floor yes?”
The conversation dragged on for a few more minutes, and the old gambler only got more damn confused. Tending bar wasn’t just for show—Alastor had him there to spot trouble before it even thought about starting.
And somehow, he didn’t recognize a single one of these names.
Was he slipping that much? The hotel had been busy. That tracked. Real reassuring.
Maybe it was the exhaustion—it took him longer than he’d ever admit for it to finally click. They weren’t talking about people.
They were gossiping about the stains.
Husk scrubbed a hand down his face, already feeling the headache settling in. Because naturally that’s what this was. And fuck if Niffty didn’t have a name for every last one—listing them off like it was a damn roll call.
Like Alastor wouldn’t already know.
Like he didn’t know “-everything that goes on in his hotel.”
Sure. Great. Fantastic. Nothing weird about that at all.
It also took him far too long to notice Niffty’s hands—wrapped in neat, clean bandages. Delicate work on tiny fingers. Free from chemicals or stains.
When did they have time to do that? Surely not when she rushed to the kitchen ahead of him? Did the Radio Demon drop everything to play nurse and tend to her?
Alastor’s smile twitched under Husk’s scrutiny. Barely noticeable.
Husk let out a short, disbelieving snort. “You work fast.”
That earned a small, amused hum—but there was no malice behind it.
For a minute, the only sounds were Niffty’s delighted little eating noises and the soft clink of utensils. Cozy. Domestic. One could almost argue that they made a nice little family.
If that person was fucking insane.
Another swig of cold beer.
Definitely not a thought that he would ever entertain again.
Refocusing on their little group, omething itched at the back of Husk’s skull as he got up for a second serving. Something about this cozy little picture that wasn’t quite right. He glanced over—and there it was. Alastor’s bowl, barely touched. Of course. Because why would anything be simple when it could be… whatever the hell this was?
Great. Fantastic. Love that for them.
The warm, damn good meal sitting in Husk’s gut suddenly felt heavier. Not in a guilt way—he wasn’t that sentimental—but in a you’ve been played kind of way. Like the food knew something he didn’t, and was judging him for it.
Fucking brat. With his fucking martyr complex.
Make a whole spread, play the perfect host, and then just…Sit there grinning while everyone else dug in? Yeah, that tracked. Real on-brand.
Husk exhaled slow through his nose, once again dragging a hand down his face. Because of course this was a thing. Of course Alastor couldn’t just be fine—he had to perform fine.
Not to mention completely unnecessary. None of this was new. They weren’t the princess and her holier-than-thou girlfriend. Husk and Niffty had been around long enough to know exactly what kind of “cuisine” Alastor’s diet required.. And as long as Husk didn’t know the poor sap on the menu?
He couldn’t be bothered to care.
Sitting back in his seat Husk immediately took another bite. Chewing like the meal owed him money, and very pointedly didn’t look at the barely touched plate across from him.
Alastor was always fucking doing this. Ignoring his problems until it became their problems. But maybe- if Husk didn’t allow himself to THINK about it, he could get through tonight without opening his damn mouth.
“You’re running us into the ground,” Husk said flatly.
Well-So much for that idea.
Alastor didn’t. Instead he picked his spoon back up so he could play-act at eating. Giving a air of nonchalant energy that would piss of even the sweetest heavenly virtue
“I was under the impression we’d already addressed that.”
“We didn’t,” Husk shot back. “You deflected.”
“I’ve corrected the issue.”
“Band-Aids and bunny kisses don’t mean shit. You’re patching it, not fixing it.”
Slowly, he set his spoon down.
The air shifted—not hostile, not explosive—just… tighter. A cold draft that didn’t belong in the warm alcove of their kitchen.
“My dear Husker,” he said, voice smooth but quieter now, “if you have a more efficient method of managing a sudden influx of sinners, hostile inter-realm takeovers, and blasted celestial interference, I would be delighted to hear it. So far, I think I’ve done rather well with the cards I’ve been dealt.”
Husk leaned back in his chair, thoroughly unimpressed, the whole situation personally offended him. “Yeah, yeah—maybe you have,” he drawled, tipping his glass in a half-assed concession. “But I gotta ask… what the hell are we still doing here, boss?”
He rolled his wrist, sloshing his drink like he might find the answer at the bottom if he stared hard enough.
“After everything?” he went on, voice going rougher around the edges. “You’ve got us bustin’ our asses—hell, killing ourselves—for a kid that doesn’t give two shits about sinners like us—”
“Ah? And tell me what kind of sinner is that?”
“You know exactly ‘what kind’. Unrepentant losers like us that cling to our vices and fucking like it..”Husk gestured vaguely with his beer toward the trio, nearly spilling it in the process.
Gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Alastor’s smile held—but something behind it thinned.
“Now, Husker—you should know by now that my plans are none of your business. Besides, why are you upset? The princess likes you!”
“Bullshit. If she liked me- if she liked any of us-then we’d get a day off once in a while. Or I don’t know- a goddamn salary? We both know her daddy‘s got the dough.”
“She is absent minded- yes- but Charlotte is not intentionally harmful.”
“Alastor- she tied me to a set of train tracks.”
Niffty’s gaze darted between them, tension finally registering. “Are we fighting?” she whispered excitedly, pulling a knife from who-fucking-knows where.
They both said it at the same time. She beamed and went right back to it. Knife disappearing under her skirts.
Husk leaned forward, eyes locked on Alastor now. “Boss—you’re stacking damage and pretending it’s nothing.”
The radio static stopped.
This—this was the Radio Demon.
Not the softened, almost domestic thing that let Niffty crawl all over him like a cat tower. Not the grinning performer spinning the princess through some jaunty, flashy, show tune like it was all one big joke.
This was what Husk needed to remember.
Alastor wasn’t “charming”. He wasn’t quirky. He wasn’t safe.
Alastor was a psychopath.
Husk would be a damn idiot to ever start thinking he was anything close to a friend.
The temperature dipped, and the room took on a green hue. Alastor straightened slightly, something ancient and predatory slipping into his posture without a hint of strain.
“You would do well,” he said through a curled sneer, “-not to forget the nature of our arrangement.”
Husk hissed in response—goddamned feline instincts.
“Yeah, boss—don’t worry. I haven’t.”
And that was the problem. Because in spite of it all, the ownership, the yanking him aroubd by the chain, the fact that he took JOY in riling Husk up and pissing him off… Dammit-Husk still cared.
The old cat had been around long enough to spot a bad habit from a mile off. Consequences. Limits. The kind of lessons that get carved into you whether you like it or not. He knew how to read people.
And Alastor? Christ. The guy was all pep and swagger—like the universe had never once smacked him upside the head and said no. No sense of when to quit, no instinct for self-preservation. Just that same smug grin, like he was always five steps ahead of a game no one else was even playing. Red bastard had to’ve died young—only explanation.
And still—after a century in Hell—he strutted around like he was untouchable. Invincible.
Drove Husk up the damn wall.
Half the time, he wanted to grab him by that stupid coat, haul him over his knee, and wear his tail out. Might be the only way the idiot ever learned something
(And no- he refused to think about what Angel would say at the idea. Not EVERYTHING could be improved with sex)
Alastor, believing his threat had been effective, started to tuck back into his meal. Crumbling his cornbread into the mix like a goddamn heathen.
Husk watched for a moment- “I also haven’t forgotten that you owning my soul won’t matter if you get your ass killed.”
The spoon froze halfway to the Overlord’s mouth. Eyes going wide and ears twitching- making the prick look like a startled fawn.
It wasn’t long before Alastor rewarded him with a scoff. “ I am sure you’re looking forward to that day.”
Husk exhaled through his nose, frustration bleeding into something heavier. Okay—fine, so Al’s chose to keep his walls up. As a former Overlord, Husk could respect that. But-
“You got hit didn’t you?” He asked, “Back in that shitty ass fight with Heaven.”
“- And you’ve been running on fumes ever since.”
Alastor’s claws carved through the sturdy wood table like butter. Husk’s fur bristled at the SOUND the shadows made—whispers and screams woven with brass and death.
Even Niffty stopped chewing-glancing between her bad boys with a frown and furrowed brow.
Then, once again, the curtain dropped. And whatever abomination Alastor was—is—was stuffed back inside, leaving a simple sinner in a pinstripe suit.
When he spoke again, the static was a whisper.
“I am… aware of my condition,” he said.
Just… truth, edged carefully.
Husk studied him. “…That thing,” he said, quieter now. “It ain’t healing, is it?”
Simple. Flat. Honest. More honest than Alastor ever was.
And wasn’t that terrifying?
Niffty’s eye widened with a gasp, her large eye looking teary and wet as she focused on Alastor.
Fuck—she’d better not start crying.
Alastor’s smile returned—gentler this time, directed at her.
“But I am still quite capable,” he said lightly. “As you can see.”
A faint flick of his fingers. A flash of green.
The bandages unraveled—her hands fully healed, the extra surge of his power giving her overworked body the boost it needed to finish repairing itself.
She gasped, wiggling in her seat.“They’re perfect again!!”
“Yes, dear.” A pointed glance in Husk’s direction. “I always take care of what is mine.”
Alastor acted like that little show of magic cost him nothing. Like pushing his own power through her chain didn’t choke his already depleted reserves.
Another quiet beat passed. Then Husk picked up his spoon again.
“…You’re gonna pace it,” he said. “We’re all gonna pace ourselves. And you are gonna talk to the princess about hiring staff. Real staff.”
Alastor arched a brow. “Oh? Am I?”
“Yeah,” Husk said. “You are.”
“Hmmm, it is a security risk. We certainly don’t need another spy—but… I will consider it.”
A faint grin. “Then you’ll simply have to keep nagging me.”
Husk snorted. “Don’t tempt me. Or I’ll troll Lucifer where you’re hiding the good coffee beans.”
“Ah— blackmail? Compromise it is, then.”
Niffty clapped her hands. “Yay! We’re a team!”
Husk rolled his eyes—of course she would take their conversation as positive… but he didn’t argue.
After that- the conversation dwindled down to comfortable silence. Midnight had long-since come and gone. Leaving the trio, sleepy, warm, and full.
Husk had finished three servings on his own, while Niffty had mostly snacked on cornbread.
Alastor had kept pace at first; savoring the meal for its flavor, not for its ability to provide him with sustenance.
But it wasn’t long before he slowed again
Of course he fucking did. Now that his brain had decided that he had someone to worry about. (Don’t get it wrong—just got plenty of worries. But unlike certain porn stars—Alastor was here. And that made the worry just a little more real.)
So he watched the way the spoon lingered too long between movements. The slight dip of the Radio Demon’s head. The pauses that stretched just a second too far—
—and finally, with drooping ears, the man slumped—and didn’t quite come back up.
A head of red hair tilted slightly forward. A dancer’s posture slackening by degrees. Long lashes curled against high cheekbones. The ever-present smile softened—not gone, but no longer sharp enough to cut.
And the quiet. No static, no sound effects—but not silence either. Just the whispered breathing of a sleeping man.
Husk’s grip tightened slightly around his spoon. For all of Alastor’s showmanship and bullshit, Husk didn’t know why he expected something more dramatic.
Then leaned sideways, peering up at Alastor’s face.
She tilted her head further. Then blinked, mind sharpening as she remembered his correction from before.
Husk exhaled through his nose, slow.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “He’s out.”
“Ooooh,” she whispered, like she’d just discovered something fascinating. “So he can do that!”
She leaned in closer—then paused before pulling out a completely different knife than before.
“Maybe gently? Gentle poking? He won’t bleed much.”
He raised an eyebrow, and that seemed to do the trick.
Husk was in no mood to regenerate this week.
She slid off the chair instead, already reaching for empty bowls and a rag.
The quiet came back, settling over the kitchen in a way that felt… different now.
Certainly less tense with the overpowered brat now asleep.
Across the room, Niffty rushed to pack away the leftovers and scrub the pots and pans. Every so often, her gaze flicked back toward Alastor.
Like she was checking. Like she was afraid he would disappear on her—again.
Husk stayed where he was.
Didn’t really think about it.
His eyes drifted back to the overlord slumped in the chair.
After all the posturing. The deflecting. The arrogant prick pretending like he was still in control.
Husk leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight, tail giving a small, restless twitch.
The spell that kept his bottle of beer cold and full broke the minute the deer’s lights went out.
Husk gained nothing by staying here.
Let Alastor deal with whatever came crawling out of the woodwork when word got around that an Overlord was zonked out in the kitchen.
Husk’s gaze dropped—briefly—to the table.
To the faint grooves carved into the wood.
To the bowl that had barely been touched.
To the way one arm stayed just a little too close to his side, even now.
He huffed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Niffty moved in quick, efficient bursts—scrubbing, straightening, reorganizing things that didn’t need it. When she finally paused, she didn’t seem at all surprised to see Husk still sitting at the table.
Husk shifted in his seat.
She perked immediately. “Yes?!”
He jerked his chin toward the stove.
She zipped over instantly, attention snapping to the oven like it had personally offended her.
Husk watched her for a second.
Then leaned back again, settling in.
The kitchen stayed quiet.
Husk’s eyes flicked once more to the slumped figure at the table.
“…Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “A real ‘picture of restraint.’”
No response. No smug quip. No smarmy-ass grin.
Behind him, Niffty made a small, distressed noise.
The second pan of cornbread…
Oh—Alastor was going to be LIVID when he woke up.
I’m sorry for inflicting this on yall. This second half was never meant to see the light of day. But I had free will and no internet service today so I decided to be cringe.
💬 1 🔁 16 ❤️ 82 · Radiotrio Week · Overworked / “I Quit” (Part 1)
———
The place was a buzz. And any bartender worth his salt could tell y