Chatter

Angel Dust leaned on the fencing of the Hotel's roof, its bronze, baroque metal crowning the red-stone building like a cage. There were no bars above or around him, no cell to hold him in one place, but sometimes he felt the prisoner. Giving up his habits came with a heavy cost – it demanded discipline, patience, tenacity, qualities he entirely lacked, unless it was in regards to something kinky. Didn't help the view was so mocking – the endless stretch of Pentagram City splayed like a field of bright, violent lights. It was his playground, and he used to call the shots. Angel Dust – criminal aficionado and gangbangin' mastermind – a reputation he clung to but, deep down, knew was on its way out.

He nursed a cig and a bottle of Whisker Six, a couple of temptations he managed to wrangle out of Husk. Sure as hell wasn't a snowy line of blow or an exotic Hibiki, but it helped. A little. Fighting the hunger was hard, and he was nowhere near the clean and straight path. But shit, he tried, he really did. The high he'd chase was so, so good, a hot black rush of endless excitement where everything was fucking amazing – quittin' it for self-help wasn't exactly a thrill. And he was in Hell, the repercussions didn't stick. You OD? See you tomorrow. Hit so much Krokodil you're a fresh audition for the Crypt Keeper? Shake it off toots, it grows back.

Nicotine and a 7%? Might as well be church wine and a piece of chalk. He puffed again, soured.

A cartoonish cigarette with eyes and a grin appeared over his head, coalescing in a vapor of clouds. "Hey! Come on Angel! Don't be mad! I've always been there for you, right buddy?"

Angel quirked a brow, staring. "Uhh. . ."

His bottle also formed a face, smiling. "Yeah! Can't go wrong with ol' reliable! We'd never hurt you!"

He gawked at them both. He held out the bottle, running his gaze up and down it. "How much have I been drinkin'. . ."

Brrrrr. He shook his head. He snubbed the cigarillo and carefully set the bottle down, like it might force itself to life again, the momentary hallucinations vanishing. He blew the last plume of minty smoke, reclining on the roof fencing, gaze affixed to the horizon of debauchery. How far did Pentagram City go, anyway? He never saw the city limits. Did it even exist? That'd be a problem – sometimes he thought about making like a leper and going all 'cast out', start up a syndicate somewhere fresh. Couldn't do that if Pentagram City went on forever.

Eh, nah. He wouldn't now, anyway. Too many knots tying him down. Charlie and Vaggie were always on his ass, but, they cared about him, even if they were like a pair of doting crones. Husk was a grumpy wino but heh, fun to tease. Alastor was. . . well, shit, whatever he was. Cherri? Total bestie – she'd run a bead of explosives through his ass if she found he was trying to split on his own. You can't just run from that.

Then there was this other mook. He called himself Anon.

He's a real skeeze, I tell ya'. A takin' taker. Thieves look at the world and say, 'hey, this is mine.' It's a respectable ambition, and I admire the moxy, but it's greedy. And his is the biggest greedy, getting himself all caught up in schemes, plans, shebangs. Whole nine-yards of stupid. But, sigh, it's the stupid I like.

Gah, I dunno. Guess I've got weak kness for schmucks like him. Shouldn't. He's bad for me, bad, bad, bad. But he sticks, and that's the worst (best) part. He won't quit me. He tries. He came back.

'Course he didn't waltz back like a swingin' dick with a few inches added. I was cocksure he was six-feet under, for good, suckin' on fire. The heist, I mean – his little birthday party he royally fucked up. Cherri n'me made an omelette of ah, I'unno, four dozen Eggies (those braindead shits on Pentious' payroll), and we caught the breakin' news during our little celebration bender. Guess what? Saw Anon's handiwork on the widescreen, ala the whole casino burning down.

I'm glad I was so smashed you could make a cocktail outta' my blood, cause' I woulda' lost my shit. Cried like a bitch, screamed like an asshole, probably blow up a few buildings just for existin', a whole Broadway production.

I told the dumb bitch to drop it, but not only does he not, he comes home like a Lamborghini from a chop-shop. He should be so damn lucky it was an arm he lost. Agh. Kinda' felt like it was my fault, like I did somethin' wrong. I thought for sure Cherri n'me would give him enough slack to make a slick getaway, but guess not.

Brr. I adjust myself, tuggin' my wearins on tighter. Kinda' weird, but it's cold out tonight, so I slapped on a snazzy jacket. Tryin' to get comfortable on these friggin' rails. . .

Oh, where was I. Yeah, Anon. He's an idiot. But shit, he's my idiot. He's bad for me. But he's good for me, really, really good.

Anon is. . . my best pal. I look at this two-bit offbrand Ringo and I can tell him anything. He ain't judging me. Ever. For anything. Charlie? Look she's a sweet little honeybun, big ol' heart, but she's starin' at me as a patient. She sees me as broke, and, it just ain't the same. Vaggie is too much ice queen, and her nice moments are too far off for me to have "girl talk" with her on the reg. Husk is whatever, a grumpy barhound – er, cat (and I just wanna suck his dick once so I can say I did). Alastor? Hahahahah.

I look out where the Sugary Chigur' used to be. You can still see the fire, cause this is hell, ain't nobody putting out an inferno. Brrr. Thank fuck. Thank fuck he got out of that.

He listens to me. I mean he listens. I speak, I have his attention. He wants me around. I want him around. And, ya know, for all the shit I give him for his dumb plans, as I rightfully should, he's thinkin' ahead. Like okay, his ideas are pretty bupkis, but I figure, ya' know, maybe he can solve it for all of us? Solve what? I'unno. Something we ain't considering.

Haha, wow, I don't typically put so much thought into a fella.

I hear a creak. The door leading to the Hotel roof whines open, and out steps the devil himself. Naw, I should be so lucky.

"So you were hiding up here."

Oh, shit, shitty shit. Play it cool. I glance his way.

"Eyyy, there he is," I say, gesturing wide. "Hidin'? Me? No. Just had to get some of this fine quality air before I lose my collective shit."

It's uh, been rough. Cooped up in the Hotel for a day really gets to ya', especially when by about three PM you're snortin' lines off a demon dick or four.

"You're not trying to smoke signal for a plug, are you?"

Mystery man walks up. Haw, kiddin'. It's Anon, all dressed up! He's looking. . . together. A bit slower on the draw, his stride is stiff, and the arm bugs him. I can tell, I see it on his face.

"Why? You want dibs?" I say as he joins me at the fencing. My heart kinda goes thum-thump. It's hard fightin' back a grin when he gets close.

"No sir," he says, adopting a formal tone, "Only making sure you're following your regiment, Mr. Dust."

I clasp my hands together, donnin' a face oh-so innocent. "Oh I'mma good widdle boy, pwomise!"

He flinches and I cackle. "Please don't do that again," he says, chuckling.

"I told ya', some guys are into it."

"Not this one."

I turn, pressin' my back on the bars. "Well, ya' checked. How do I look?"

He gazes at me, and I like it when he stares. Can feel those eyes takin' a stroll over me. Sure, got a long coat on, but I think it's a snug fit, shows off my figure well enough.

"I like the jacket," he says. Yeah I bet ya' do. He points to the bottle sittin on the roof, and I half expect it to start gabbin' again. "Any good?"

He doesn't say it in a judge-y way, just a curious way. I know he's looking out for me (or I hope he is) but, he ain't gonna ride my ass if I have a little drinky. Not unless we're in the bed.

I shrug. "It's an improvement, I'll put it like that." I snag the bottle, wiggling it at him.

He nods, thanks, and takes a draft. Then he gets close, like, shoulder-to-shoulder close. Ahh. Fuck. Forget the drugs, this is my kinda' high. What's that fancy ass word? Pro. . . prox. . . (snaps) Proximity! Yeah. I like the prox-im-ity.

I side glance, watchin' him knock one more back. I can't help but pick up he ain't using the fancy arm. In fact, it's just kinda there, like he forgot about it.

"Not bad. Goes down easy."

"Psh, I didn't pick. Got Husky boy to throw it at me."

He rests one arm on the fencing, laughing. "Oh, Angel, what did you do to the poor man?"

I press my hands into my tits, offended I tell you! "Wha! Me? Anon, I just wanted to gargle his cock, that's all! I kept offerin'!" Boy that really revs up the ol' barfly. Pretty sure the only thing he'd fuck is an empty whiskey shiner.

"Didn't take too kind to your generosity, huh?"

"I'll get him one day!" I say, raising my fist to the sky and turning, looking out to the city again.

More laughs. He sets the Whisker down. Then, sonofabitch sneaks his arm around my waist, getting all comfy-like. Shiiit. Oh babe, that's the good stuff. I feel. . . warm. Fuck, it's the way he does it too, so casual and certain. Like this is natural. It is natural! I kiss him, square off a little peck on his cheek, like it's our real greetin. Hi there, says the kiss, welcome back. I don't get it. What is this? What's this little back and forth we have right now, all snug, watching the heartbeat of the Big P? Like I've had some moments with Cherri. We've hung off eachother, gottin scuzzed off a tab or two, drank til we threw up (then drank some more), but like. . . I didn't get this feeling.

"Saw you on the news, by the way," he says.

"Oh yeah?"

He points to the burning casino pillar. "And I thought I was blowin' stuff up. You and Cherri. . . what, you took out a handful of city blocks?"

I smirk, rubbin fingers on my coat. He's referring to the pair off I did with Cherri, where she called in a favor. Meanin' we took it to the big tubesock like a bat to the head. Went all Old Country on his ass.

A digit comes to my chin, thoughful. "Four city blocks, one of Pinchy's tin cans, a few hundred Egg Bois, and some of them goons for good measure. Think we was hittin' one of their crack dens as collateral so they all came a buzzin'. Fun shit."

Did I impress ya'? Anon rubs his head, in disbelief. "Pinchy?"

"Pentious."

He nods. "Huh. How many bangers?"

I figure he means the Gaddys and the Splints. That was their name, right? I shrug.

"Pfffuck I dunno. Kinda' lose track when you're flatlining whole streets."

He looks impressed. Good. "I'm. . . kind of jealous I didn't go with you."

I glance at him. Is he bein' real? Naw. No way. Not my Anon. Not mister poker-face and I've got plans for this city.

I'm really careful about how I phrase this, cause' we had a little spat over it. Okay, more I like I screamed my head off at em', but I'm done bein' mad or feelin' mad. And, I don't want him to hurt no more either. That casino job was like. . . well. It was important to him. It didn't go how he wanted. It's buggin' him, a lot.

"Next time, hotshot. S'long as you wanna give Pentious the dirty-metaphorical-dick, she'll like ya. You did rob the fucker, after all." I say it this way 'cause I don't wanna' imply it was me who helped him.

He goes quiet for a sec, watching the horizon like it's a five-star show, and I'm the headliner. I think. . . he sees Cherri as a competitor. He wants all the elbow room and she's got one on the armrest. Don't know how he'd react if they were sharin' oxygen, and last thing I want is to see my two besties go at it. That'd fuckin' kill me. So, I'm axin this particular line of dialogue.

Silence. Uh oh, he's sinkin'! He ain't talkin! Sound the alarm, let's veer ship this somewhere else. I kiss em once more, get just a bit closer.

I ask him, with all sincerity. "How's the arm?"

Yeah, I know the subject sucks. But I really, really don't like the way it's there. It don't move, it don't flex, like he doesn't want it. I guess I get that, it's new. But he's gotta learn. This is the hand baby, you have to play it.

Now he sighs. "Can I be honest?"

Oh shit. I play it cool, givin him a playful smirk, but I don't like the way he says that. I put an arm around his shoulder, feeling the hard metal under his coat what used to be him.

"If you weren't, I'd toss ya' off this roof."

He wastes no time. "I fucking hate it."

He raises the limb, though it whines at his attempt. He holds out his brass hand and tries to clench it, but it's shivering, bad. It shudders with violent twitches, as if he's losin' control. I can see him grimace, struggle. Finally he eases off, dropping it. Did I poke too hard? Was that over the line?

"Fuck."

On the inside, I wince. C'mon Anon, come on. You gonna' let this beat you? Don't fucking mope! Fight through it!

I'll try a joke. "Shit, I hope that wasn't really your jackoff hand."

He pauses, tryin' to forget.

"No, but. I've been seeing Mary and her five sisters a lot, I tell you that."

Okay. Whew. Still has his humor. Also, huh? What's that supposed to mean? A dick's getting grabbed and I'm not around for it?

"What? Too good for me now?"

He looks at me, smiling. There he is! There's my smilin' two-bit thief. "I'm not gonna' bug you every time I need to grease the pipe."

I give him the ol' eye flutter, lean in real close, whisper in his ear. "Babe, you can bug me anytime."

And I mean that. I like seein' him happy. Also I like the fact I make him moan so hard he needs a new pair a pipes. Heh. Well, he's been rubbin' em out huh? I'm curious. Can I get him? Can I hook him right here?

"You want me to?" I say. "Mm? Give ya a quick polish?"

Sometimes, it's the immediate, uh, prox-im-ity of havin' someone spank your crank. Like, hey, you can have it, right now! In situations where ya' ain't supposed to do it, or where you don't expect it, I think it boils the blood a lot faster. Taboo. Er, I guess in hell that' don't mean much anymore, but ya' get the idea.

He laughs, but it's one of those in the middle laughs, as in trying to play it off but, probably wants it. Boiling.

"It's all right," he says. I ain't convinced. I slip a hand near his crotch and, ooooh! What's this! Someone's up!

"You sure? You suuure? I'll do it. Jack ya' off right here."

I'm right up in his ear. Nuzzling em', givin' him a squeeze. I've been wantin' to try this too, this whisper-y shit. On the badweb they got like, these channels where succubus whores make mouth-y noises, like they're suckin' your dick. Pretty clever.

He doesn't say anything, kinda groans. Mmm. He wants it. Thought so.

"Come onnn, you do. Tell me, Anon. Tell me what you want me to do to this daddy dick."

I kiss him, on the ear. And again. Mwah! Then I nibble nibble nibble. He grunts, like an animal waitin' for food.

He needs to say it, he needs the control. "Just. . ."

Wait for it.

"Just jack me off you fucking twink!"

Anon, oh my! Heh. Got him. Didn't think he was gonna' get his prick pumped, huh? Well I'm oh so happy to oblige. I fiddle with his zipper, pullin' that fightin' cock out from its pants prison, and oooh he's solid like a rock. Bat me in the face with it, daddy. Got him in my hand, the other massagin' his nuts, like I'm given em a throne. Damn, I love havin' multiple limbs.

"Theeeere it is, that's it. Atta' boy." The grip on my side tightens, cause he's gotta hold on for this quick ride. That's right Anon, you keep me close, don't let go. I got ya.

He grunts again. He's frustrated. I guess the arm and the heist gone wrong really fucked him sideways, eh? I kinda' figured he was all better, specially since I played him a song and we got all smoochy smooch. But no. It's still hurtin. Well, allow me to apply my remedy. Friends help each other, eh?

He's not even talking, just breathing. I don't let him speak, then, I want him to lose himself in the moment. Just relax, Anon, just forget all of it.

"Angel. . ."

"Shhh, shhhh." I start strokin' with practiced movements, gliding on his inches, squeezing at the tip, rolling my digits around him. Glove I got on is like hot silk, real easy on the skin.

I wanna' turn this up a bit. The mind ain't so subtle when it's horny, and you can add to that with the right words. It's why all them porno shoots sound so weird when ya' ain't looking to wiggle the weasel. Like wow, people talk like this? It's different when you're tryin' to get it in.

"Ya' lovin' it, huh? You like when your faggy twink slut works on daddy's cock? Ya' thinkin' about him right now, choking on it? He's beggin, Anon, he's beggin', he can't stand it, he needs that dick."

Oh, I can hear him lose his shit now. Breathing's faster, cock twitchin in my hand, all wet with his presex.

"Mmm, make me gag anon, choke me on it!"

I figure he's dreamin' about it. Nice part is, though, this is like a blueprint to raunchy fucking. Anything I tell him now, I'll do. Kinda wish I knew how he pictured me in his head. Think I'm in handcuffs? Or chains? Maybe he's got me on a leash. Sigh. So many possibilities.

Little faster now, using my extra arm. So he's got two palms rollin' with the rooster, another still caressing his nuts. Carefully. More kisses, and I moan hot, girly little groans in his ear, give em' the whole ride. Gotta play the part of bitch boi just right. And. . .

Pop! Whoo! There he goes!

"Nnnaah!" He buckles, tensin' up, shooting himself in the air like a wild bull. Careful with that big iron, anon, ya' gonna put someone's eye out!

I stroke still, but slow down. He sucks air through his teeth, cause it kinda hurts. Ever nut really fuckin' hard and it's like, painful to keep movin? Yeah, I'm still workin' on him, but not too much. He opens his eyes, huffing, looking down at the mess we've made. I kiss a few more times. Nice and slow, gotta ease him back.

"Angel," he tries to say again.

"Shhhhhh." I shoosh him with a softer voice. "Shhh. Relax."

I don't want him riled up in the wrong way again. He gets talky and he likes to fight those problems. Not havin' it. We'll get to that part in a moment. Anyway, I slip out a hanky and clean him up, before returning his rooster to the coop. Zzzziiip.

He leans into me, feeding off the afterglow. This is the best part, cause right after ya' drain the lizard, the uh, um. Fuck, what is it? (snap) Subconscious! Yeah, it looks for a partner. It feeds off affection and shit. You want someone to hold you after ya' nut. I admit, even after a quckie I always hoped my clients would, I dunno, gimme a quick kiss, a hug, something. Hey thanks babe, that was nice. Anything. Spoilers, doesn't really happen.

"Can I talk?" He breaks my thinking.

"Ya' want a blowie now?"

He's starting to laugh. There we go. Yanked him right out of that hole. Problem with Anon is he fancies misery. It's like a fetish, but, for me, ain't a turn on. So I have to grab the wheel and pull him off the road, so to speak.

"You didn't have to do that."

Arm on his shoulder again. "I wanted to. You needed it."

I point below us. "I mean shit, you almost hit the sidewalk."

He keeps going. "Hah. Well, I mean, I don't want to use you, understand? I don't want this to be all we have."

Oh. O-okay. What? What does that mean? Thum thump.

"Not gonna' lie Angel, you're really hard to not think about. I just want more. But I also want you as my friend. A close friend. And. . ."

Hey, uh. Shit. Uhhh. Is it hot out here? Whoo. Hoo! Hey, why's my face getting so red? And? And what?

Tryajoketryajoketryajoke.

"I told ya' babe, I'm addictive." I try to chuckle. Oh I really try to chuckle. It does not come out smooth.

He takes in a long, long breath. "I came up here for another reason."

"You wanna' do a public fuck?"

I am trying so hard to stay calm. I don't know why. What's happening? What is going on? Why am I all shaky and shivery and excited?

"What do you think of us right now, Angel? I like what we have. I like it a lot. I can trust you with anything."

Us. Us? Us! Us. . . I'm sorry. Us? W-what does that mean? What are you talkin about!? Now I'm on the run, like he's got me in his hand.

I clear my throat. "Oh. Well. You're my best pal."

Saying it out loud is different. It's permanent. He's never heard me phrase it like that, and, though he probably figured we were close (I mean we fuck on the reg, that's pretty close), this is like, a confession. He opens his mouth to say something and stops, as if something was about to be said he'd regret. He pauses.

"You are not making this easy for me," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I say. "I'll make it harder. Ya' better tell me or I'll never touch your dick again!" I'm lying. I'm lying a lot. But I gotta' know what the deal is here.

"Haha. Well. I don't want to mess this one up. Did it a few times already, so, I think I've had my fill of fouls. But you want to, ah, well. Try dating?"

Never in all my unliving years have I heard someone put it like 'try dating.' Usually it's hey ya wanna get a zip of blow or some shit. But "try dating?" Real smooth, master thief. I'd laugh if I wasn't freaking the FUCK OUT.

I do my absolute best to keep it real, real cool. "Aaahhhmm. . ."

He interprets it all wrong. "I mean look forget I said it, it's fine. Just a weird thought. I'm happy with being friends with you. But things were going so well and I got to thinking but hahah last time I did that it didn't out so well right so yeahmaybeforg-"

Finger to his lip. "Shh."

We have an eternity, as far as I'm concerned. Look, I think Charlie's idea is pretty cute and will help out a few souls but, redemption? Gettin' into heaven? Yeah we're kinda fucked on it, sister. God's an angry, spiteful prick. So I've got all the time I need. What's the harm in trying something with someone you care about?

Care about. Fuuuuck me.

Breathe breathe breathe. He said it, not me. Shit, why am I getting all frilly like this? What the fuck!?

"You and me as an item, huh?"

I've been with chads with nuts as big as my head. Done all sorts of kinky shit. Had this one chap who wanted me to pretend he was pullin' off my arms. 'Nother fella' wanted me to taze his junk. Upside down blowjobs while I was restrained, four handjobs at once, so on and so on. Ya' think with all that under my belt, nothin' throws me off. Well I was wroooooong. It's like I'm a giddy little boy all over again.

"Where ya' gonna take me?" I say. He doesn't understand first, bless his heart. But the implication works him over, and then he gets it.

He doesn't say anything. Hugs me (with one arm). I give it back. Then the hand comes to my cheek and our lips are pressed together and. . .

Nn, hang on. Little lost right now. Come back in a sec. I'm floatin'. I think I'm kissing him. Oh yeah, I am. Dizzy. . .

Blink. Uh, where am I? Oh, yeah. Rooftop. It's pretty quiet, save for all the noise of the city. Were we kissing? I kinda faded out. It was all roses and walks on the bloody pier and shootin' cars off an overpass. Oh. Yeah we were. I blink a few times, I see his face. I look him over, notin' all them nasty scars on his left side. Damn.

I have a hundred different things goin' through my head. My heart is. . . my body is. . . I wanna' feel everything.

"It's getting cold," he says. He's right. He's right? Huh, weird, don't remember the last time I was chilly out here.

"Yeah. My room?"

I get another smile. A different one. A smile that looks like a whole different thief. "Sure."

He starts to move but I stop him. I grip his shoulder, and then tap his not-shoulder. "Hey. Look. But first. Show me this. Show me what happened. Kay?"

Before me and Scarface get real cozy like, acquainted partners of the heart as it were (what a fuckin' concept), I need to know him again. We gotta' be one hundred percent, right? Yeah, I knock dicks for money, I ride cocks for cash, but I'm up front with it. Ain't nothing I hide from him, not anymore. So, he's gotta' give it back.

He kinda' flinches, and he nods. "All right."

Atta boy.

Back inside my pink island of drugs and pig. Room is feelin' extra nice tonight, and Fat Nuggets is on a fuckin' tear. Little oink is happy to see Anon again, who obliges him with pets and scritches. I've got some low-volume shit on the telly – not the news – a bit of homey ambiance, gonna' find a nice channel. Stashed the jacket, slapped on a long t-shirt that's, wait for it, pink. Sometimes casuals and panties are better than lace.

"Didn't take you for the foreign arts," says Anon, givin' piggy a little belly rub.

I open one of my closets, snaggin' some extra pillows. "Wah?"

"Back of your shirt."

Oh. Right. On the back is uh, whatcha callit. Kimmy? Kenbi? Kanji! Yeah. Had a quickie with an oni, cute little fuck, wanted me to do the "v" pose. Gave me a shirt to show his appreciation, ain't that nice? Only reason I keep is because it was five hundred smackers (and apparently says "Big Dick Energy"). I explain it to Anon.

"Five hundred? Just steal it."

I sit on the bed, snatchin' the remote and flipping through channels. "Ya' can't just take everything in hell, pockets."

"I beg to differ."

Sassy boy. "As do guns on security mooks." I turn to him, gesturing. This is all filler talk, don't think I didn't notice. I pat the bed, gently inviting him over.

"Come on. Let's have a look." I don't say it demandin' like. Concerned. And I swear, I think I see him tremble, but maybe it's me.

He sets Fat Nuggets down, who gives a sad squeak, then joins me at bedside. His back is to me and I help him out of his coat. One of my free hands settles on a channel in the meantime, and I hope it can put him at ease. He's buggin' out over this.

Well, the coat comes off and all's okay. The shiny limb sinks into shoulder without a fuss. I mean, it's not bad lookin, it ain't cheap. It's real seamless. Nothin' horrible, right?

"Hmm." I glance and see his other hand is makin' a fist. Tense. "Let's get the rest off."

He holds his breath. I get him out of the vest and button shirt, aaaand. Back exposed, he's bare to me. Anon's not lookin' toward the arm at all. Like he's got his eyes averted in the farthest possible direction – any further he'd be an owl. His hand is clenched so fuckin' hard you can see the knuckle whites and I swear he'll make himself bleed. Jaw clenched.

Shit, babe, shit, take it easy!

Well, maybe he can't. I look where the arm fits into his body and it's. . .

Bad.

The skin is raw, red, irritated. Swollen and inflamed in some spots. Where the shoulder and metal meet are these scars and black veins. They're kinda' greenish too, like diseased worms. Fucking fuck me, wow. I press a hand on his back and he flinches.

"Easy," I say. "S'okay. Just me."

Huh. I'm no expert on manners o' dead, exactly. I kill plenty and I know how to carve ya up, so I can't be sure here. I know what a gunshot looks like, a broken skull, that sort of thing. But this looks like poison, the way it hit, the color of the vein. And, it also looks like his skin needs cleanin. I heard Alastor did the patch job and of course that fuckin' hack lopped off the arm, didn't even try to save it. Pyscho prick. 'Cause of that, Anon hasn't even gotten to heal.

"Anon, I need to get it off."

The way I'm sayin' it, he knows it's serious.

"Why?" His tone is nervous. Frightened. Tense.

"Need to check ya'. Can't just slap shit together and call it a night. I gotta' look ya over."

His breathing his pickin' up again. "I. . . no. I'd rather not."

"Anon."

Pleadin' now. "I don't want you to see it."

I squint at him. "Babe, I've seen way, way worse than this, all right?"

He forces a chuckle. "I don't. I don't want you to see me like this. I don't."

Sigh. I ignore it. A hand comes to the shoulder fixing and there's uh, what looks like these three nubs lockin' in place. I twist them, and the limb starts to loosen.

"Angel!"

"Shhhhhhh."

Again, he holds his breath. While he's havin' an episode, I start to pull the arm free. It hisses, but finally comes off. Aaaaaand, drumroll please!

Well. It's not pretty.

The arm is gone, eighty-sixed. What remains is a timid stump, like, there's maybe an inch of bicep left. And it's in bad shape. The flesh is raw, and those black veins I saw are thick lines emerging from the wound point. Where Ally hacked him is a rushed stitched job, and it aint' doin' so good. Just cause you're in hell don't mean you can neglect an injury, or you'll get infections n'shit.

Fucking Alastor.

We ain't through the hard part yet. I rub his back, cool em' down. Grab your cahones, hombre.

"Anon."

He hisses. "Is it bad?"

I won't play games with em'. "Ain't what I'd call a good look, but, you'll be alright."

He's closed his eyes.

"Anon?"

Here we go, big guy. "I need ya' to look."

He don't know what I mean at first. I tap the left shoulder. Realization.

"No."

When shit happens like this, acceptin' is hard. Like hey, how'd ya think I felt when I saw I was a spider? Or when I got a broken bottle of cheap chardonnay jammed in my eye? It's fucking scary. Of course it is. But, damn, ya' have to accept it, and learn from it. It's you. You can't go back and change the hand. We'd all love a two pair while schmucky schmo over yonder has jack high, but tough luck toots. You're in Hell.

I get it. If he looks, he accepts it. He gets to see his failure. For real. The arm's been hiding it. And, ya' know, a chunk of him is just fuckin gone. But he needs to see it. He won't do it alone though.

I repeat myself. Softly. "Look with me. Look. Be brave for me, ya' shithead."

He struggles. He tries moving his head and he can't. So I just wrap myself around him. I tell him what he's got to hear.

"Come on. Take it easy. I'm right here."

I swear to all-fuck his jaw is clenched so hard I hear a tooth crack.

"Shhhh. Come on. Come on."

He forces his head to see. Second his eyes are on it, he panics. Part a piece of him not bein' there, part the stub not lookin' so great. I know, I know, a doctor would probably scream at me – exposing a 'patient' to their predicament. But fuck you, doc, I'm here for him, you ain't.

He screams through his teeth and I try to get him through it. Fat Nugget squeaks, hides. I can only hold him.

It takes a hot minute or ten before he can collect himself. But by collect, I mean he's frozen in disbelief. Might be shock too. It's okay. He needs to process. And I gotta' work, too, but I think it's a little beyond me. I got some shit to cleanse the injury and I pick out some rotten skin, but, ain't an expert. The stitching is just garbage too, that don't help at all.

Fat Nuggets tries to do something, coming back, nosin' at Anon's sides, but our thief o' thieves is havin an existential crisis. Hmm.

"Ah shit," I say, pullin' out what I think is a bit of shrapnel with tweezers, settin it in a bowl of peroxide. "I need help."

I pat Anon on the cheek. "Stay here, big boy."

He looks at me, lost. "What now?"

"Room service."

I like my guests how I like my clients: with dicks.

Welp, we're breakin' all the rules tonight. Vaggie gives me that look as we march up to my room door. She's got a bag in hand with a big eye on it. Medical junk. I didn't want to ask her. Literally the last thing, but, here we fuckin' are. Sigh.

Don't worry Anon, I brought the bitchy cavalry.

When we're at the door, Vaggie grumbles. "Angel, if he's OD'd because you two swiped a stash of drugs or something, I swear."

I really don't have the energy. "Just help him. Please."

That catches her way, way off guard. I don't ever say please (to her). She still looks about as pleasant as a bootleg Mona Lisa, but she softens up. We go in. It's the first time she's been in my room (greeeaaat) and it all hits her at once, cause' you know, I know fashion.

"Uh. . ."

She doesn't have much time for sightseein' though. When her gaze hits Anon, she freaks, hand to mouth.

"Wha! Oh my god!"

Anon blinks, startled. He looks to her then me as Vag rushes to him.

I shrug, apologetic. "M'sorry toots. All I could find."

Vag gets all quick like on the fixin', setting her bag down. She eyes the injury, can't hide her concern. "It's. . . gah. How long? How long has it been like this?" she says, glancing from Anon to her tools as she sets em' out.

"I. . ." Anon ain't much for words right now. At least, maybe not with her. I close the door, while Fat Nuggets sniffs at the intruder, makin' fussy oinks.

"Just tell her," I say.

He breathes. "Don't know. Since I've had it."

She rubs her chin, features grim. She don't like what she sees, either.

"Anon," she starts, ruffling with her parcel and pullin' out what likes like a piece of wood. Oh, fuck. I know it. That ain't for show, that's so ya don't swallow your tongue.

"I need you to bite down on this."

I'm kinda annoyed. Hey! I didn't invite her to hurt him!

"What the hell!" I say, crossing arms. "Ain't ya got something in that fancy purse of yours for it?"

I don't wanna' say 'pain,' but that's what I mean. Pain. A lot of it. Anon doesn't care, grabs the wood and shoves it in his mouth.

"I don't have anything to put him under with," Vaggie says, serious. "Or dull it. I didn't expect to fix a. . . botched surgery."

What! So what!?

"Well, fuck, whatever! Then go get it! Or I'll get it!"

"I need to get the stitching out now."

She says this, starts taking out knives, tweezers, cutters, all that shit you don't wanna' see. Know that really gut-squeezing feelin' when you like, are about to go under? Or when you see a dentist get their drills n' shit? Like that. I hate it.

She looks at me. "Do you want to help or just stare?"

I grumble, defeated. Fine. I mean, maybe I can do something. So I waltz over, like I'm some kinda nurse, and Vag preps. Anon? He don't seem to care.

"I'll be as careful as I can, okay?" she says to him. But, in a way, I feel like she's sayin' it to me.

She straps on some gloves, puts her hand where the fleshy stump is, takin' a scalpel and. . .

Well. Ya' get it. Pullin' wires out from sensitive muscle is uh, exactly what it sounds like. The stitches weren't tied together well. I get fuckin' angry, won't lie, because it's like Alastor botched this shit on purpose. Anon buries his screams in his throat, but you can tell it hurts. Can't imagine the feeling. I think he's biting so hard he splinters the wood.

Vaggie does what she does, stoic. When a stich comes out, she hands it to me and I set it in more peroxide. She cleans the wound, rubs off dyin' skin, and gets her own stitches. Anon just takes it, no matter what, but I'm not keen on hearing him in pain.

I'll give it to her, she works fast. She's tryin' to make this as painless as possible, even though it isn't. I. . . guess I'm grateful. I give this grey bitch a lot of shit and she returns it in kind, but, fuck, I'm glad she's around right now.

The stitches are finished, and she sighs. Her fingers trace over the skin now, and that kinda bugs me? Like hey! Stop touchin' him! He's mine! But she's checkin' out the veins., nothing else.

"Well, the stitches should hold now. Hoping the infection dies off, need some antibacterial for it. But this. . ."

She looks at Anon. "You say this happened because of a lost bet? This is like poison. How'd this happen?"

I blink. Yeah, how did this happen? I realize he hasn't told me the deets. I know something went down at the casino, but what specifically, he hasn't said. Then again, ol' Vag doesn't really know how the arm went splitsville.

Anon spits out the wood (heh), looking at Vaggie. Then to me. I boggle. He's. . . he's gonna' tell her. I give him a look. Are you sure? Well. Whatever. If he tells her, fine. I'm right behind him.

"Poison. Acid. I don't know," he says.

Vaggie shakes her head, slowly. "Were these gang bosses, or something? I've been around, this injury is. . . this is combined with holy water. Anon, you don't just have that lying around."

Her eye widens. "Oh. Oh fuck. Was it the gangs? The ones you robbed?"

"No."

Eye narrows. "You have to tell me."

"Worse."

He starts to spill the beans. All of it. The casino heist, the vault and then this. . . thing. I don't know what it is. Says the room was filled with some kinda' vapor, and the second this demon skank touches him his arm starts – for lack of better word – melting. Poison gets into his face, in his lungs, his arm, all that shit. Says he stabbed her straight in the head (FUCK yeah!) and got away, or, ol' doggy got him out. As he explains, it's like he asked Vaggie to hold his luggage and they're bags full o' rocks.

Her face disappears in her palm. She swears some pretty nasty shit in her language.

A huff. "I've already chewed you out. I won't again. I should. I should. But at least you're safe."

In time like these, a little sauce never hurt. I still got a stash – that Hibiki is soundin' real good about now – and I pour a glass. Then another. One more. I push em' to my number one, and Vag.

"Here."

Vag stares at it, looks like she's about ready to tear me a new one, then sighs. She takes it, knocking it back, though coughs n' sputters like it's her first time with a dick. I hit mine too, gasping.

"Eyyy, not bad, patches!" I say, givin' her a little applause. "Look at dat, bet ya' can fuckin' party!"

Anon's quiet, but he takes his. Hopefully it gets him on the up-and-up. Hopefully. It's kinda my fault, I made him take it off, confront it. But shit, babe, it's never easy. If I didn't do anything he'd have rotted out, tryin' to be a tough guy. Idiot.

"You're not supposed to drink as a recovering alcoholic," Vaggie says matter of factly. She looks at me, n'smiles. Woooooow. I think that's the first one I've ever seen.

I start laughing. I pour another. "Hey! To sobriety." I wiggle the whiskey at her, and look at that! She takes one more. Not bad, Vags, not bad.

Anon lies back in the meantime, resting on the extra pillows I got him. There's a sheet so he don't bleed on my pink blanket, but I wouldn't care. Eyes close, and I touch him.

"Is. . . he okay?" I say, alarmed. Vaggie nods.

"Exhausted. He was fighting rot. And pain is tiring."

Oohf, thank fuck. That's enough excitement for an hour, eh? I kiss him on his forehead, but I think he's drifted already. Vaggie watches, surprised.

"Wow."

I look at her. "What?"

"I didn't know you two were an. . . item."

I flush. Oh fuck that's right she didn't know! Dammit!

"Wha! I, well. Naw! Look we haven't' even been on a date yet, ain't like we tied at the hand or anything!"

Her body rumbles with laughter, stroking her white hair. "Hahah, Angel! Wow. Look at you. The big bad crime lord and premiere porn star. Sweet on a thief."

I open my mouth but, you know what? Fuck it. She can think it if she wants. He's mine. He's my two-bit thief.

"Yeah, well fuck you." I say, snickering.

She raises a hand. "Hey, no judgment. It's cute."

I smirk at her. "Is it? Ya' wanna' do double date? I will. But only if ya tell me if the carpet matches the drapes with blondie."

Vag's features go bright scarlet. "Hn! Hey!"

I raise my hands. "No judgment. It's cute."

She flips me off. "Asshole."

I blow a kiss at her. "Mwah! Love ya' too, darlin."

It's quiet after, and we fall into some musins. I guess there's a lot to think about. After a while, she stands, getting the medical bag together.

"He'll be okay. Needs a lot of rest. Keep him in bed."

I wink. "No fuckin' problem."

After she gets everything together, she goes for the door, but does the ol' dramatic pause before you leave thing.

"Angel, I'll keep what I learned between us, but at some point, I have to tell her. And, I need a small favor."

I nod, but I'm lookin' at my empty whiskey glass. "Name it."

"When you can. . . ask him if he saw something. In the vault."

She leaves. I hold out my hands. Uh, okay! What the fuck's that supposed to mean? All this cryptic bullshit, I tell ya'.

Whatever. I settle into my sheets. I snug close to Anon, makin' sure his left side is covered all proper like. I whistle the song I used to sing. The prox-im-ity of him. . . nah. Of us is, well. Ain't nothin' better.

This is supposed to be Hell?