Angel Dust meant to turn in early for the night, but he followed the sound of jukeboxed Xavier Cugat through the lobby and found the staff playing poker. Charlie and Vags, Alastor, smoking a cigarette - bastard - and Husk in a shirt and necktie. When the latter caught Angel's eye, his hand brushed over his left whiskers, almost a grooming gesture.

"Ya don't gotta preen for me, sweetums," Angel said brashly, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder. There was a certain refuge to be had in audacity - just the opposite of Al and Leslie's furtive looks that spoke volumes. On some level, Husk understood this, but he didn't like the risk.

"Get off, you tarted-up hooker," he growled.

Vaggie rolled her eyes; she was wedged, as usual, between Charlie and Alastor, and wearing a wool sweater. "Wanna join? We're starting a new hand."

Angel's eyes swept over the table, seeing a mix of cards, face-up and -down. "Sure, what is it, seven-card stud?" He took the seat to Husk's right and accepted some worthless pirate coins from Charlie. Gaming was fine under her watch, gambling no. The buccaneer skulls on his stack grinned at him semi-toothlessly.

Alastor tapped his cig against an empty shot glass. He hadn't said anything yet, so Angel pressed him: "Where's Niff?"

"Oh, she backed out a while ago!" he buzzed. "Nothing reminds her of all the things she has to do quite like a losing streak."

"Uh-huh."

"Ante's two coins, bring-in is three," Husk said, effortlessly using his claw to deal. As Angel had the lowest upcard, he brought in and opened the bet with another five.

"Ooh, five," Charlie cooed. "How daring."

"They're plastic."

They carried on. Alastor often folded, which was typical for him, but so did Charlie - and she was usually such a loose player. Tonight she seemed content to watch the seasoned players hash it out in relative silence. Vaggie held her hand under the table.

"Wazzamatta, princess?" Husk said, right as Alastor squashed the end of his cigarette in the glass.

"Husker…" Al said, "who taught you empathy?"

"Oh, you know," Charlie admitted, "thinking about the Extermination. It's, er… not good for morale."

"Know what I think?" Vaggie said. "You should arrange some kind of get-together. Take the guests' minds off it."

"Sure," said Angel. "Lotta folks gettin' "illegally" plastered anyways. Might as well keep 'em in the buildin'."

"'Hell loves a party', remember, hun?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, they do."

Then Alastor leaned over, aiming an affectionate punch at the royal chin, and told her to cheer up: someone like her should never look so sad! For once, Angel felt as viscerally protective as Vaggie always did. Their eyes met glaring at Alastor.

All the same, Charlie did brighten up. "What sort of get-together? Like a disco?"

Thankfully, Husk tapped the table before they could get too deep into it, and the game continued. Now and then Husk would excuse himself to 'take a leak' and come back with whiskey-breath, but nobody called him on it. Angel was only sorry for his absences, because it made Alastor a more unavoidable presence. It would be so easy to wipe that contemptible grin off his face and tell the group everything. It was just a question of a) how quickly Angel would be killed, and b) what would happen to Leslie before her safety could be assured.

"So, that explosion the other day!" Alastor declared. "That was an entertaining spectacle!"

"Easy for you ta say," Angel replied, "ya didn't have work friends inside."

"Who do you think that was?" Vaggie wondered.

"Ehh, hard ta say. Val's gotta lotta enemies."

"My money's on Vox orchestrating the whole thing!" Al opined. "Insidious thing he is… and probably tired of the abuse."

"Ya heard about that?" Angel said.

He shrugged. "Worst-kept secret in Hell!"

Angel thought it was an odd thing to say. He himself didn't know Vox well, nor his true opinion of Val, nor his preferred method of revenge… but Angel let it go. Whatever. Let the arrogant fuckfaces fight among themselves.

Angel folded another few times, and was actually onto a good hand when Charlie announced she was turning in, and took Vaggie with her.

Alastor waggled his eyebrows. "Now the girls are gone," he said, "why don't we make this interesting? Ohhh, I forgot... Angel's suffering from a sudden lack of income."

"What, ya think I plan on losin'?" Angel scoffed, taking out his wallet. "Husky baby, how much did I throw in?"

"Fuck should I know? Not my job to keep track. This ain't Omaha."

"Next hand, then," Alastor said.

A moment later, Husk scraped his winnings off the table, and that was the last of the pirate booty. Kind of amusing how seriously Husk treated it, plastic or no. "Lookit these," he crowed, pulling out the real chips and biting one. "Ceramic. Just the way it should fukken be."

Meanwhile, Alastor gestured to the jukebox, changing the tune and whistling laconically to it. What was this band called again? They were imps… some throwback swing group with a pretentious name.

"Same game, but we'll make it 20/40," said Husk.

Angel got his initial cards: a king, five and a nine, in that order. Pretty garbage so far. Al's door card was an ace, forcing Husk to start the bet. That ace didn't scare Angel. If there was any way to suck some money out of Alastor, he'd take it.

"I'll call!"

"Angel?"

"Yeah, me too."

The phone behind the bar began to ring. Instead of getting up, Alastor waved a hand, and from a cloud of smoke, Niffty fell two feet to the ground. "Niff," he said, "be a dear and-"

"Got it!" said Niffty, unfazed, and scuttled to the bar.

"Real nice, Deerface," Angel said, examining his next card. Another king.

"Phone call's for Alastor! It's from Turnip-" Niffty lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper, "-and she sounds fucking pissed!"

Husk rolled his eyes. "I think he's at the vet clinic," he hollered, and Niffty relayed that message to the caller. So this is how Al avoids people? Angel thought, squinting at him. What a fuckin' coward.

"Oh, he's at the vet's, is he?" Angel asked, checking. "Didn't know he kept animals to speak of."

Husk shrugged, looking at Al. "New pet, right?"

Niffty hung up.

"Y'know, I'm an animal-lover myself," Angel went on, faux-casual. "Ya don't strike me as the type, Ally-boy."

Alastor smiled, same as ever. "I'm full of surprises!" he said. Angel checked the guy's upcards: ace and a six. Maybe Al had a good pair, but it was early days. If Angel held out, he might get another king.

"How come we ain't seen your pet, then?"

"Little thing isn't ready for the world yet! We're still at a crucial point in training!"

That answer rubbed Angel the wrong way, knowing what he knew. "Huh. Not a gol'fish then. I bet it's somethin' small an' fluffy. Ya given your pet all its shots? Got a collar for it?"

Husk dealt again, giving Al another ace and Angel a ten. Husk's own cards were a mixed bunch, mostly spades, Angel noticed. Whatever, as long as one of us beats Fuckface over here.

"Of course it has a collar," Alastor said. "What do you take me for?"

Angel thought of his friend's velvet choker. "Can't be too careful," he said dangerously.

They shut up for the next few rounds, and all the time, Angel let that resentment bubble under the surface. This whole pet thing? Al had to be fucking with him. He must think Angel was some kind of clueless frigging idiot.

By Sixth Street, they were all still in the hand. Husk had just dealt himself another spade; either he had a flush or planned to. As for Al, all they could see was a pair of aces. Angel kept a stony face as he got his third king. Three of a kind. Maybe Al was working with three. If it was aces, Angel was shit out of luck, but anything else...

Alastor met his gaze with overwhelming smugness, and opened this round of betting. The other two stood their ground. It was, admittedly, getting interesting. Angel called.

"I'll raise," Husk said.

That dingy-yellow smile across the table really pissed Angel off. He was going to instigate. "Tell me something about your pet," he challenged, hooking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

"Like what?"

"Jus' any little thing. What kinda critter, somethin' cute she does… or he."

That smug bastard tilted his head to the side, really considering the question. "Something cute…" he murmured. "Hmm. I know! She begs, sometimes. She begs for her food. It's very…" he paused to laugh, "unladylike!"

Angel forcefully spat his cigarette toward Alastor's face. He deflected it, but point made, regardless. For a moment, Husk (and Niffty, who'd been standing by, aching to kibitz) glanced at them both, to and fro like it was a ping-pong match. Husk must've realized he was hearing something sensitive, and flipped the river cards across the table.

"I fold," he said gruffly. "Goin' to make screwdrivers… anyone? No? Alright, toodles."

As Husk and Niffty left, Alastor gave a withering expression as if to say, "See? They know to stay out of other people's business."

Angel ignored it, leaning forward. "A'right," he said, "let's cut the crap. Obviously, ya know I know."

"Know what?"

Truth be told, Angel wanted, yearned, to gloat that Bambi's non-disclosure measures weren't as fucking watertight as he thought… but he didn't. Wising Al up to contractual failings would just make things worse for Les, or the next one, whoever she was.

"I guessed, OK?" Angel said, and retrieved his cigarette. "Your little pet didn't betray ya. But it ain't cool. It's sordid as fuck, you sellin' yourself out, jus' so she'd go from hatin' ya to makin' herself your dinner. Actually makes me sick thinkin' about it."

Something about Al's posture changed. He mirrored Angel, leaning over the table, then smoothly turned out his wrist and conjured fire into that hand. "How interesting," he said.

Oh no ya don't. Angel got his lighter and lit his own damn cig.

"Don't bother, Al. I see past your little smoke-show exterior, OK? I ain't got it bad like she does."

"You flatter yourself," Alastor said, fanning out his upcards. Then he paused to look at the cards Husk abandoned. "Oh, shame! He might've won!"

"Hey!" Husk scolded from afar.

Al turned back to Angel. "By the way, you tampering little Truffula… had it crossed your mind that maybe my pet is happy where she is, and just too ashamed to tell you? That she might've found her forever home, so to speak?"

Now Angel felt the blood come into his eyes. He got real close, knocking over some chips in the process, and used the lit cig to punctuate what he said next.

"Listen up, Al. You'll almost certainly beat me in a fight, but you're also looking at maybe the toughest, masochistic sonuvabitch this side of Hell. I laugh in the face of paddles, blades, violet wands, hook suspension, and prob'ly anythin' else ya could dream up. As for bein' exterminated, you'd be doin' me a favor. In short, I ain't afraid ta take this up the chain, ta bigger demons who can kick your ass, or flirt ya ta death, or whateva it is you're afraid of. So, sometime pretty fuckin' soon, you'll be lettin' your pet off its leash, capiche?"

Alastor narrowed his eyes, 'til they were basically glowing threads. "So you both have self-destructive tendencies," he said. "Small wonder you're her friend… but you won't tell anyone, or you'd have done it already. Angel Dust is hardly unhurtable!"

"Did ya hear my fuckin' speech jus' now?"

"Naturally! But I'm curious why you didn't mention your one-eyed girl friend, your own pet… your room in this hotel!" Alastor said. He leaned back, slowly, creakingly, against his chair. "I could even take away your wings."

At first, Angel didn't get it. Then he saw Alastor's pupils slide in the direction of the bar, where Husk was mixing his screwdriver with a silver bar spoon. Just as quick as the blood rushed in, it flooded out again, leaving Angel cold.

"No," he said, dumbly. "No, ya wouldn't… You need him."

"Oh?" Alastor said, grinning. Angel had nothing to say. How had Alastor even known that he and Husk…? What could they have done to give it away? They were so fucking careful. "I'll bet," Alastor added, gesturing to his cards, "action's on you, my friend!"

Angel checked his own river card. Ten of spades. That gave him a full house, but did it beat what Alastor had? He seemed pretty sure of himself… unusually sure. All Angel could see was that pair of aces. If he had aces full, Angel would be beaten, and if that happened, Al's satisfaction would be un-fucking-bearable.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was bluffing. Either way, Angel was not going to fold now. Fuck that, fuck him, and fuck this stupid game. He called, arranged his cards, and discarded the five and nine.

"Get it over with, ya fuckin' whore."

Alastor shook his head in amusement, then revealed his best hand… two pairs, aces and fours. That was all. "There."

"You mediocre shit!" Angel said, getting up. He swept his winning hand right-side up, and Alastor tutted as if nothing in the world mattered less to him.

"Well, there we are!" Al said with magnanimity. "Well played, Angel! You know, I think it's good for me to lose every now and then."

Any tiny bit of triumph from beating him was whipped away like a magician's tablecloth, and Angel's face screwed up in disgust. "Oh, fuck you," he said. "Keep your money, if you're gonna be like that."

"Don't be ridicul-"

"Wazzat?" Husk called from behind them. "Is it over?"

Angel looked hard at his drunken, artless paramour, trying to catch his eye in some way. But he couldn't - as if Husk was avoiding it. He just stood behind the bar, head down, waiting for an answer.

"Oh yes," said Alastor. "We're done here."