Chapter 28

Understanding

Eliza could not have been happier to retreat back to her room to prepare for Matiu's appointment. Between talking about the day before with her bosses and Alucard's attack on Curio, she just desperately needed to focus on work. Even so, there was one final matter that she couldn't put off anymore; Alastor's letter.

It had been such a surprise to receive it, but she felt a little nervous opening it. He may have come to her aid, but if the pheromone was real, then surely he was upset about it. It may make it partially her fault, but would he try to blame her for the whole ordeal? She had never done anything to make him angry before, so she wasn't sure what to expect. If he turned out to be the blame-game type, then this was not going to be a pleasant letter to read.

Well, no point speculating when the answer was literally in her hand, so she sat down and tore the envelope open. Time to get this over with. With a final sigh of resignation, she unfolded the paper and struggled through his fancy scrawl once again.

Dear Eliza,

Greetings and salutations! Firstly, I would like to congratulate you on both a perceptive refusal of a tempting contract as well as a most stimulating performance. Most do not possess the nerve to refuse the whims of an overlord, but to look two of them in the eye and voice your disappointment in their power? Ha! I can not help but respect such bold and cultured arrogance. Secondly, allow me to offer my sincere gratitude on behalf of the hotel for your continued efforts in dealing with the hopeless and deplorable guests the hotel has and, hopefully, will continue to receive!

With that out of the way, I suppose it would not do to ignore the recent unpleasantness. I truly hope you do not take offense at the fact that I'm offering my apologies and defense in a written format rather than in person, which is my preferred approach to dealing with such problematic occurrences. However, current events dictate that this remains our primary method of correspondence for the time being.

You see, when I approached you about your relations with that detestable grifter of a media rival, I was caught off guard by a powerful pheromone. It shames me to admit that I gave in to instinct so easily, and I wish to offer my sincerest apologies for such openly distasteful behavior. Despite my tendencies towards violence and cannibalistic tastes, I have always abided by a strict set of rules. To have been so strongly tempted to violate most of those rules in a single moment of weakness disgusts me, and makes it terribly clear just how dangerous this power of yours is. As such, should you decide to move on from this and give our friendship renewed effort, I would recommend attempting exposure again in a more controlled setting. I would desire complete immunity to this aroma, but even strengthening my mental fortitude is progress in the right direction. I do not wish to repeat this mistake in the future, and request your assistance in this endeavor.

I eagerly await your response, and hope that in the near future we can put my lapse in judgement behind us.

Sincerely,
Alastor.

P.S. However, do not think for a moment that this relieves you of your writing exercises, my dear. I may not be able to time you, but this only means that I expect full essays in the future! And your first is as follows: What did you hear when tuning in to my song on Saturday night? I would prefer to discuss it in person, but since I do not know when you shall be comfortable in my presence again, I simply can not wait. I look forward to your essay; I know you will not disappoint me!

Eliza couldn't help but stare. At first she just sat there, reading the letter a second time for good measure. Then she put the letter down as she struggled to process what she just read. Is… Is he serious right now? In a single letter he congratulates her, thanks her, apologizes to her, offers a way to move forward… And then gives her a fucking writing assignment?!

She was speechless, and so she just gave an indignant huff, followed by a disbelieving chuckle that turned into a full-blown rukus. Too much had happened all at once; a friend attacked her, another tried to trick her, a man threatened to rape her, and she had been given no time to process it all. Instead, it all poured out of her in the form of loud and downright hysterical, shrieking laughter. She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, but what she did know was that by the time she was done she was lying on the floor, struggling to breathe with tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to move as all the stress from the chaos left her weak and shaking.

What a wonderful reminder that she's in Hell.

Angel dreaded returning to work more than usual that night. Despite there being no scheduled porn shoot for him, he still had to report back to Valentino to give him his money from selling himself. It was usually a simple thing; Angel would fork over the dough, and Valentino might demand some head if the amount wasn't satisfactory, but otherwise the boss didn't get particularly controlling or violent during this transaction. As long as Angel went where he was told and gave the boss his cash, he was set.

But this was the night following a deal that went south. Most of the people in the studio didn't know about it, so Valentino's violent outbursts came as a surprise to the rest.

But Angel knew. He was painfully aware that Big V was licking his wounds after Alastor caught him trying to play the shrink for a chump and busted up one of his clip joints, and it was very likely that Val would be sore about this for a long time. There was no way around it; working for the man was passable on a good day, but misery would follow him until he moved past this. And that's not even mentioning Vox, who had to order a new screen and rest for a while after letting loose in the fight. He seemed particularly upset about Eliza's refusal, while Valentino was generally pissed about losing out. All in all, working for the two would be insufferable for a while.

He walked into a shoot, where Valentino sat in his usual chair watching the action, lit cigarette in hand. He turned to face the spider, and his grin spread from ear to ear, but his eyes remained narrowed. Not good. "Well hello there, Angel Cakes. Here to pay up?"

"Yup, that's right," Angel grinned. "Got yer cash right here, Daddy." He held out a large wad, and Valentino took it.

"That's a good boy," he purred. Then, when Angel was ready to leave him to his work, his heart froze when the moth patted his lap. "Sit with me, baby. Watch the fun!"

To the uninitiated, it might seem like a simple invitation. Angel, however, was painfully aware of his boss' manipulative calm. It may seem like he could decline to an observer, and anyone who watched him crawl into the overlord's lap might think he was happy to be there. After all, he could always walk away, right?

Only if he wanted to be whipped on live television.

Turning down Valentino was to make love to pain. And so he sat, draping his long, pink legs over his boss' lap and facing the actors; an avian girl getting pegged by a shady looking bastard with dark-grey skin and a nasty grin. Angel was so grateful that the guy was straight; he was one of those actors that he never wanted to deal with, and he always felt bad for the girls he fucked on camera. He would always bother them afterwards, and he wasn't known for caring about consent. As long as he didn't hurt the girls in ways that took too long to heal, Valentino couldn't care less about keeping him contained.

Angel gulped. If Valentino was forcing him to watch this guy, then that didn't bode well.

"Lovely, ain't it?" Valentino whispered. He wrapped one of his four arms around the spider's waist and pulled him back, putting him flush against his robe. Angel gasped as another hand travelled up his right quad, stopping just short of the groin. "There's just somethin' about that forceful show that speaks to me… You know what I'm talkin' 'bout, dontcha baby?"

Angel knew exactly what he was talking about, and it made his blood crystallize in his veins. When he hesitated to answer, Valentino wrapped his long, black-gloved fingers around his upper-arms, squeezing painfully. "I know ya love takin' top," he simpered, leaning back into his captor.

"It ain't just about takin' top, baby," he crooned into his ear, loosening his grip to travel down to his forearms. "It's about power; control." Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he breathed out a cloud of pink smoke into the spider's face, watching closely.

Angel wanted desperately to hold his breath, but he was in the man's grasp and needed to keep him pacified. So far, this conversation was getting dangerously close to something he wanted to avoid, and so he took a deep breath in. His head started to spin as euphoria tried to take hold of him, forcing him to loosen up despite his daunting predicament. Moments later he felt the moth's hands roaming his body, heard his disgusting chuckle in his ear, and he felt a thrill of panic take hold.

Oh Satan, he didn't want this, but fear and smoke kept him in place, letting his boss touch him freely for fear of what he'd do if the spider offered resistance.

"But it's always so much betta when a whore knows their place." Grabbing at the soft fluff of Angel's chest, his smile widened when his favorite star squirmed uncomfortably. "Betta when they do as they're told, dontcha think?"

"Y-yea," Angel moaned, desperately maintaining an act of pleasure. If Valentino got what he wanted, he prayed he'd tell him to get out so that he could get back to work.

Then the moth's grip on his chest tightened considerably, and he wrapped two arms tightly around the spider's waist. "Then why are you still at that fuckin' hotel?"

Oh, fuck.

Letting go of his chest, Valentino's hand moved up to the spider's neck, pulling his chin up and wrapping his fingers around dangerously. "D-daddy, please, I told ya it's so I don't have ta use yer money ta pay rent! I always wanna make sure ya get yer due, I swear-"

The grip tightened, and Angel's words were cut off with his air-ways. "Yea, I know whatcha tell me, baby. But you're lyin' to me!"

"No," Angel choked out, squirming in the overlord's grasp. "I ain't lyin', Daddy, I'd neva-"

"Shut it!"

When the moth picked him up and forced him to watch the shoot, hissing threats and touching him in ways he had wanted so badly to avoid, Angel could only regret coming to the studio sober. His only hope was that the smoke would be enough to get him through what would inevitably come. He felt the overlord scratch and squeeze in so many painfully sensitive places before taking hold of him and making him gasp, forcing pleasure where it wasn't consented. Angel began to sweat as his body reacted against his will, and he tried to let himself go, but sobriety kept him rooted in fear and disgust. Then…

Valentino dropped him. He fell to the ground hard, landing on his hands and knees and coughing up a storm. Fuzzy thoughts swirled around in his brain, and his third set of arms came out only to wrap around his body protectively. He could still feel the overlord's roaming hands, and it made him nauseous.

"As long as I get my money," the tall man growled, grabbing the whore's chin and jerking his head back, "I won't force ya to leave. But the moment the money stops flowin' my way, I'm gonna drag you away no matter what that damned air-headed twat and that sexually defunct relic guardin' the joint have to say about it!" He tossed Angel to the side, watching the spider's head smash into the ground. "Now, get outta my sight!"

Angel Dust couldn't stop himself from dropping by one of the many vending machines on his way back to the hotel. The smoke was wearing off, and he couldn't stand having sobriety keep him grounded any longer.

When the spider came into the hotel, Husk knew he was high long before the first slurred word left his lips. Dilated pupils, the smell of sweat, trembling arms...

"You better not be expectin' me to-" he began, unable to believe that the dumbass thought to get high before returning. Then he noticed something else; the beginnings of a bruise around the base of the chin, small cuts near sensitive places, and bruises along the upper arms.

"I ain't expectin' shit," Angel spat, rubbing his arms up and down as he refused to look up. He was desperately trying to ignore the voices around him. He heard what they were saying, what they were whispering with their backs turned.

'What a whore!' they said. 'Broke the rules again!' 'Dumbass got fucked up again.' 'What a waste of-'

"What the fuck happened?"

Slowly he looked up at the cat, who had walked out from behind the counter. "Nothin'!" Angel lied. "Keep outta my business!"

The cat growled at him. "Don't you give me that bullshit. You come to the hotel high with bruises and cuts and expect me to believe nothin' fuckin' happened?!"

"The fuck do you care?!" he shouted. "It ain't like ya want it, so what does it matta to ya? Lemme come in beaten and fucked up, ain't yer fuckin' problem!"

"Now you listen here, you doped-up, yappy little shit," Husk growled, grabbing the spider by the shoulders. "If you think I gotta fuck you to care about this shit, then you're dumber than I thought! Pull your head outta your ass and pay attention! I never like seein' you come in beat like this, but for you to get fucked up, then this was more than some sadistic freak payin' for pain. I'm not a dumbass, Angel. What. The. Fuck. Happened?"

Angel fought against the tears, but the drugs made it too much work for him to handle. "It doesn't matta," he muttered under his breath. "It ain't gonna change. Nothin's gonna fuckin' change! My life's a joke, redemption's a joke, I'm a joke-"

Smack!

Angel stood there, frozen in place as he reached a hand up to his cheek. The slap hadn't been that hard- hell, compared to what happened to him tonight, it barely stung- but it was enough to stop him from talking. He looked at Husk, whose eyes were downcast as he bared his teeth, golden irises turning a dangerous shade of orange. Grabbing the spider by collar, he pulled the taller man down to his level, glaring into watering, mis-matched pink eyes.

"Shut. Up." he ordered. "If you call yourself a joke one more fuckin' time, I'm gonna beat your ass into the dirt!" Angel wanted to retort, to laugh in his face, but he choked, giving the veteran time to continue. "Your life is shit and redemption might be bullshit, I'll grant you those, but you ain't a joke, you hear me? Nothin' about this shit is funny, and if you try to laugh this off tomorrow, I'll smack you again!"

"Go ahead!" Angel yelled, grabbing the cat's paws and trying weakly to pry them off. "I'm used to gettin' smacked around! If that's the worst you're offerin', then you- Urk!"

Without warning, Husk put the spider into a head-lock and pinned him to the floor. "Fine then, how 'bout this?" he snarled, holding the spider down. "Alright, big-shot, allow me to make somethin' clear to you; I do give two shits about this, and I don't give a fuck about your mafia bullshit. I can sit here and hold you down all fuckin' night if I want, but if you force me to go fully goddamn sober waitin' for you to spill about what happened tonight, I'm not gonna be happy!"

However, the veteran forgot a very important detail; Angel is extraordinarily flexible. The spider pulled his legs around over his head and wrapped under Husk's chin, pulling hard until the older man's arms locked. The two stayed there for a few minutes, neither one willing to let go as they tried to out-muscle each other. Neither one had a major advantage at first, as Husk hadn't just survived a beating but the drugs made Angel almost numb.

In the end, Husk's emotional restraint is what won the stalemate. Angel couldn't stop the tears from falling, and he suddenly lost the will to resist. As soon as he released the choke-hold his legs had on the cat, the grip on his head loosened considerably, and he just willingly lay there for a moment. Neither the spider nor the cat was really sure when the head-lock became Husk holding Angel's head in his lap, but it happened so smoothly that neither one even thought to question it.

After a few more minutes of crying, Angel lifted his head. It was as though he lost his will when he looked Husk in the eyes and told him what Valentino did. The threats, the rapey touch, the forced drugs… Eventually it wasn't even just about that night anymore. Seventy years of torment came gushing out of him, and by the end of it he was sitting on Husk's lap as the veteran blushed and looked away.

He couldn't say no to him. Those mis-matched eyes made his chest hurt and his claws twitch. Husk couldn't understand it, sometimes, when people like Angel got so royally fucked over by simply existing. He understood what he did, though; a deal made out of desperation, a prayer that it would get him out of danger, a wish to be taken care of. That's how he met Alastor. He hadn't been here during the man's initial destruction, but he had helped him take down big-shots before.

"When I got here," he began, still having difficulty looking Angel in the eye, "I was scared shitless. I thought I'd seen everythin' in life. Born and raised in a seedy casino, got drafted into the military… Hell, even survived a loveless marriage and a messy divorce."

Angel listened quietly, but internally he flinched. Husk had been… married?

"But when I fell down here, it was… it was fucked all to Hell. I fell two days before a fuckin' purge, had nowhere to go… I thought war was the worst I'd ever see, but I faced one of those exterminators… Those masks get to me, man. Fuckin' hell! After that, I found a guy who offered safety during the purge."

"Who?" the spider asked, weakly.

"He was some old big-shot asshat named Fennu. Ain't around anymore, but he was some Chinese war-criminal back in his livin' days. Guy had a thing for collectin' the souls of soldiers, and he picked me out pretty quick after extermination day."

"Neva heard of 'im," Angel piped up. "What'd he do?"

"Guy was a right bastard," Husk spat. "Absolute obedience, keepin' order, total control freak. Kept a tight grip on his soldiers; punishin' them for every little fuck-up. Believed that soldiers needed to be pure or some shit."

"Wait," Angel mumbled, "I remember a guy like that a few decades ago. Wheneva one of Val's streetwalkers picked up one of 'is soldiers as a client, they got strung up as examples. At one point it got so bad that Val got pissed and called all of us in for a long time, and customers had to come in and pay direct for services. Anyone caught tryin' to take someone out got shot and thrown out the window on the top floor."

"...Yea, I remember that," Husk growled. "I didn't believe in payin' for sex, but I saw some of the others get grabbed. Wasn't just the hookers that got strung up."

Angel gasped. "Oh my god!" Almost afraid to ask, he whispered, "Did you break any rules?"

"Yea; I drank," he spat. "Guy hated alcohol, and I just kept drinkin'. There wasn't a day that went by that I wasn't gettin' beat for it."

"Didja eva try ta run?"

"Nope. Not once."

"What? Why?! Even I've tried a few times!"

Husk remained quiet for a long while, and Angel started to feel worried. Finally the veteran sighed. "I don't want to get into that, alright? Besides, guy ain't around anymore."

"Who popped him off?"

"Oh, no one important," Husk grumbled, "Just some tall, red, smarmy sonuvabitch with a sadistic-streak and a superiority complex."

"Shoulda guessed it'd be Al," Angel huffed. "Guy really did fuck shit up for a lotta people. But how did you end up workin' for him?"

"I helped him take Fennu down." When Angel pressed for details, Husk remained stubbornly tight-lipped about some things and claimed a fuzzy memory for others, but it was a lie. He remembered the entire exchange as though it was just yesterday.

Flashback

/Why do you continually disappoint me, Husk?/

Some of the sinners around Fennu shifted uncomfortably. Many of them couldn't speak Chinese, so whenever their boss switched to his native language they always worried about whatever he was saying.

/Just lucky, I guess./

Fortunately or otherwise, Husk spoke Mandarin Chinese. The dialect wasn't the same, but they could understand each other well enough. How fucking lucky he was. When the boss approached him, he had already been hanging from the wall after a thorough beating with metal rods and a fucking cat-of-nine-tails. It got worse every time he got caught drinking, which of course made him drink more to cope. Such a lovely, vicious cycle.

/A soldier must seek perfection of self,/ the man reprimanded, calmly. /Alcohol slows reaction-time, hampers decision-making, makes one careless. Soldiers must rid themselves of this. Why can you not understand this?/

/Because I like it,/ Husk hissed defiantly, fighting to hold his head up. After that, the war-criminal motioned to his men to continue the beating. He watched as the cat suffered, but not once did he scream or beg for it to stop. He growled, he grimaced, he coughed up blood… But otherwise suffered in frustrating silence.

/You'll be a fine soldier once I beat this addiction out of you,/ Fennu praised. /Hell is the perfect training-ground to overcome imperfections; temptation lies everywhere, and strong is the man who turns away./

/You're so full of shit./ With that, Fennu left him to his men, not returning even after his tormentors left.

Back then, no one really knew about the dangers of keeping a radio in the room, and his torturers loved to play tunes while they tried to make him scream. He had no idea that there was another set of ears listening to him suffer. When he saw a shadow emerge from the old device, he thought for sure he was hallucinating. Blood loss is such a bitch.

"Tell me, do you only speak Chinese?" The voice was strange and filtered, and he became downright certain he was hallucinating the figure now. He was hearing a voice over the radio, and his mind was giving it shape.

"Yup, I've lost it," he grunted, looking away from the shadowy figure right before it filled out into color.

"Hm… I suppose I simply can't debate that, now can I? Ha! Still, good to know you speak English. I know a bit of French, myself, but I'm afraid it's rather broken and also the only other language I speak. Glad to not suffer the frustrations of mistranslation!"

OK, now Husk questioned the idea that his mind was making this guy up. The stranger was too peppy to be part of his imagination, so he looked up again.

"My, my, don't you look dreadful!" the man exclaimed, twirling a strange looking staff and placing it under the cat's chin, lifting it up to take a better look. "Such terrible shape you're in, my good man! Why, I must say that I'm absolutely astonished!"

"Why? Never seen a man beaten before?"

"I've seen far worse mutilations," the demon replied nonchalantly. "But never before have I heard a man suffer so silently! Amazing that a man drawn to the bottle can exercise such restraint!"

"Fuck off," Husk grumbled. "Pain's nothin'. Who the fuck are you, anyways? You new?"

"To Hell? Hardly! Been here since the thirties, and might I say I still find many surprises. You, for one."

"Nothin' special 'bout me."

"False!" the man laughed, making Husk growl. "A soldier suffering for his vice in such stoic silence. Why, it's downright poetic! But tell me; why do you choose to suffer? Why remain here?"

"None of your goddamned business-"

The man flicked him in the mouth, and Husk hissed at him. "Now, now, that's enough of that repulsive attitude, sir!"

"Part of my charm." Husk was getting quickly fed up with this man's bullshit. That crescent grin made him want to punch him in his smug face.

"Ha! I suppose charm is a relative concept."

"You just here to fuckin' insult me?"

"I came to see the impressive, stoic soldier who suffers for his love of strong drink," he teased. "So far, I feel somewhat… disappointed."

"I ain't a fuckin' clown!" Husk snarled.

"Oh?" He removed his staff, which Husk could now see was actually a microphone, letting the veteran's chin drop down. "Are you sure? But it sounded like those men were having so much fun in here! I was hopeful to find someone with a bit of spirit, but it seems you're nothing but cheap entertainment after all. Ah, c'est la vie!"

"You sonuva-"

"I suppose I should simply take my leave then," he sighed, facing away from the hanging sinner. "I'm afraid I don't trouble myself with others' scraps."

Husk's body began to shift as he snarled. "You don't know me."

"Oh, don't I?" the red bastard taunted, taking a step away. "A man so lost in self-loathing and pity that he's willing to be treated like garbage for some silly sense of security and belonging? Hardly an untold story down here, my good man!"

"And who the fuck are you?!" Husk roared, causing the stranger to pause. "Comin' in here, judgin' me, mockin' me…" He pulled against his chains; oh, he wanted just one shot at this man. "If I'm just cheap entertainment, then you're just a pompous, snot-nosed brat!"

"Am I, now?" His voice was low and threatening, but Husk remained unfazed. "I'm a man who refuses to be another's toy. And what are you? A patsy! A neutered, brow-beaten little kitty-cat. Such a shame; most cats have a feral side, but you're nothing more than a house-pet!"

The sound of metal snapping was the man's only warning, and he whirled around to see a beast where the cat had been. Large paws that could take a man's head clean off, each with four long, razor-sharp claws. The cat went from slender to a hulking figure of fur and muscle, and both his wings and tail were ragged and torn. The man in red dodged an assault of terrible slashes, dancing circles around the bruised, bleeding sinner with an excited grin on his face.

After a few more swipes, Husk found himself being held in place by large, shadowy black tendrils coming out of Satan-knows-where and wrapping around his limbs.

"Well, now," the intruder purred, clapping his hands together in a slow, almost condescending rhythm. "That's more like it, my friend! There is the spirit I was looking for; how ferocious the little cat turns out to be!" Husk snapped his jaws at the man, causing him to laugh. "Oh, that is so much better! Yes, exactly what I was hoping to see."

"Why?" Husk asked, glaring a hole into the man's head hatefully. "What the fuck do you want from me?!"

"Why, I'd like your help, good sir!"

Husk blinked at the man. "What?"

The tall red demon's ever-present smile widened into a malicious grin that threatened to break his face in half as he reached out his right hand, which released a green light and overbearing energy. "I want to take down your master. I simply can not abide his presence any longer, but I need a man inside to assist me. I came looking for an unbroken spirit, and I found just the ticket! Work with me, serve me for eternity, and I will see your tormentors perish!"

Husk laughed at the man, who seemed to return his mirth despite the mockery. "Trade one bastard for another? Are you fuckin' insane?!"

"I have never been foolish enough to claim sanity," he agreed, gleefully. "But I can claim to be a much kinder master than most. I will call on you to assist me in the future, but when I don't need you, you're free to do as you wish. Any vice you desire is yours to freely pursue, so long as you are at my beck and call when I require your assistance. So, my fluffy friend… Do we have a deal?"

Present Day

Alastor stood in the shadows, watching as his little war-cat held a crying Angel Dust. He hadn't meant to walk in on this strange moment, but when he saw it he simply couldn't help but stare. It seemed so strange to him, seeing them be so… intimate.

There were many times where Alastor would catch himself wondering what exactly made people crave something like this. It's not just a moment of weakness, but one that you willingly show to another person. Why? What comfort could such a display bring? Appearing weak is not a pleasurable experience, so little moments like this were beyond his comprehension.

At the same time, however, he couldn't help but wonder how it felt. While never one to seek power or prestige, he couldn't imagine willingly letting someone see him vulnerable. Was it frightening? Exciting? It certainly couldn't be comfortable. To him, it looked downright exhausting. Why waste energy on this? What does one gain by allowing moments like this? Surely it would just lead to grief down the line. One should never show weakness, lest their partner decide to strike out against them. Attempts to make sense of such actions with logic only brought greater confusion.

After a few more minutes, he teleported up to his office. People were so strange, sometimes, but that's what made them entertaining. Such foolishness always led to terrible consequences, yet people fell into these traps so readily. Such a silly, stupid thing. He pitied them, most of the time.

But sometimes, like tonight, when he saw that small, contented smile on their face, or watched as their grip on the other tightened just that little bit more… he envied them a little.