Warning: brief gore description. Nothing worse that what we see in the show, though.
Chapter 5: Threading Your Needle
Charlie bugged him for details nearly the whole ride back, but considering it only took about five minutes, Angel didn't get too annoyed. That didn't mean he spilled, though. Not only did the idea of letting her think her redemption shit was actually working make him physically sick, but Alastor would literally kill him, hotel or no. He might have gotten away with arguing him in public, but letting anyone know he was going to wear a dress? No way. He had a reputation to keep, and something told Angel that crossdressing wouldn't jive with it.
Speaking of Alastor, he should probably let the deer demon know he was back. Their sip and stitch shouldn't be postponed. But his favorite bartender looked oh so lonely, sitting there with his face leaning on his paw, and a little pregaming never hurt anyone.
"Oh Husky," Angel flirted, draping himself over the bar.
"Fuck off."
"Oh, don't be like that, kitty," he said with a pout, playing with Husk's whiskers. "Is that any way to treat a paying customer?"
Husk swiped at his hand. Angel pulled away just in time to miss the sharp claws. "I ain't gettin' paid jack shit!"
"Eh, technicalities." He took the opportunity, Husk still batting away one set of hands, to boop his cute little nose using one of the extras. "A blowjob, if you please."
"Better mean the goddamn cocktail."
"Hey, I ain't picky!"
Grumbling, Husk slapped a shot glass on the bar and reached for the Bailey's and Kahlua. Cocktail it was, then. "Your fucking blowjob," he said, squirting in the whipped cream with an expression of disgust.
Angel raised the shot in a half-cheer before downing it, making sure to get plenty of whipped cream on his lips to lick off obnoxiously.
Husk's scowl deepened. He snatched his own never-ending bottle of booze—the lucky bastard—and took a drink. "'Fore I forget," he said, pointing with the bottle, "Alastor went out earlier. Said he'll be back 'round lunch, maybe a little after."
"It's already almost noon," Charlie interjected, putting her hands on the bar and leaning about three inches from Angel's face, making him jump.
"Why does everybody keep doin' that!"
"He should be back soon then, right?" she continued without acknowledging Angel.
"Do I look like his keeper to you? I don't know anything but what he told me."
"We'll wait for him down here then," she said, "and Angel can tell me more about the gift he's making for him!"
"I never should've fuckin' said that!"
Husk actually laughed, or at least snorted a bit. Either way it was the most joy Angel had seen him express since he started working at the hotel. "I guarantee you that Al ain't gonna be interested in any gift you're plannin' on givin' him."
"Hey!" Angel said. "I'll have you know Al is very interested in this gift! We spent like an hour yesterday plannin' it out!"
"So he knows what he's getting," Charlie said. She turned to Husk. "Could you get me a Shirley Temple, please? We might be waiting a little while. So Angel, what's the plan?"
Angel groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "There's no fuckin' plan, shut up!"
The front door chose that moment to swing open, saving his ass. Alastor stepped into the lobby. He wore his signature smile, face splattered slightly with blood. His clothes were as immaculate as always.
"Hey Al," Charlie said waveringly, "what, uh. Whatcha got there?"
"Sewing supplies!" He held the bag up cheerfully, rolls of fabric bonking together. In his other hand, a nearly unrecognizable demon's head lolled. Blood leaked from a hole in its head that could have once been a mouth, nose, ear, or eye, or maybe the hole hadn't originally existed at all. There were definitely more holes than the average sinner tended to have in the face area.
Charlie stared. "I, uh, actually meant the other…where have you been?"
"Official business. Nothing you should concern yourself with." Alastor's shoes clipped across the floor, the corpse dragging along behind him. His eyes met Angel's and his grin widened. "I see you've returned from the Emporium unscathed," he said. "Very good. Why don't you run along and have lunch? I have a bit more…business…to handle."
"Howzabout you join us?" Angel countered on impulse.
He called the elevator. "No thank you, Angel, my dear. I've already eaten."
"Wait!" Charlie called. "Al—!" But the cage closed behind him and sent him to an upper floor. "…well shit," she said weakly after a moment. Husk, completely nonchalant about the situation, placed her Shirley Temple in front of her. She took a sip.
"Guess it wasn't the Hotel then," Angel mused aloud.
"What was that, Angel?
"Nothin', toots," he said. "Hey, 's it alright if I skip out on lunch? Wanna get started on, uh, Al's gift."
"Well," she said, "hmm." She bit her lip, eyes never leaving the trail of blood. "I guess so. But be sure to make it to dinner! Communal meals are very important for building relationships."
"I'm Italian, Charlie, I think I know that." He stood from the bar and grabbed his bag. "See you at dinner."
The elevator couldn't take him to his room fast enough. He felt a little bad leaving Charlie to deal with the carnage all on her own, but Niffty would be by in a bit to clean the blood and Vaggie would help deal with the publicity and attempting to threaten and/or beg the Radio Demon not to do it again. Besides, Angel had more important things on his mind. Mainly Alastor himself.
Because what the fuck, right? What the fuck!
He wasn't surprised by the killing, he thought as he sat on the floor and leaned against his bed, Fat Nuggets snuggling up beside him. He hadn't dismissed all of Vaggie's warning, and he'd seen his ruthlessness firsthand when he fought that pretentious snake. No, Angel was surprised that Alastor brought the corpse back to the hotel. Because he didn't have to. He could have left it in the middle of the street, or bar, or wherever the Radio Demon did his "business", and come back to the hotel where Charlie would be none the wiser. Who cared about hiding the body when there's no police? But he brought the body back to the hotel. Where demons were meant to stop sinning. And while some things were more subjective, murder was definitely a sin, last Angel checked. What the hell happened to caring about the hotel's reputation?
The only explanation Angel could think of was that he never cared. That opened up a whole other can of worms, though, because then what was keeping Alastor from just offing him? Jack shit is what. Jack. Shit.
Great, all the worrying and was making him antsy. His legs felt tingly, wanting him to pace, but fuck that. Nuggets was curled up on his lap so, legally, he couldn't stand up. He stroked under the pig's chin and rubbed their belly, but even that didn't quell his nervous energy. His hands itched to move, to do. To make.
His eyes fell on his shopping bag and his hands twitched.
"Goddamn it," he said, grabbing the craft paper. He might as well try to figure out pattern making. Guess he wasn't lying to Charlie, after all.
An hour and a half was plenty of time to deal with a body, right? Angel thought so, at least, so that's how long he gave Alastor before heading down to his room. Or up to his room. Or down the hall to his room? It was embarrassing, really—he still couldn't seem to remember where Al's room was for the life of him. It was definitely on the fourth floor last time, wasn't it? At least the door was distinctive or he'd be searching the hotel for another hour and a half.
Once he found the door, he hesitated, listening to soft jazz playing on the other side. Maybe Al wasn't done. Maybe he'd knock and interrupt and he'd kill him, too. The hotel wasn't stopping him, after all.
Then he decided oh-fucking-well and knocked anyway.
"Ah, good, the towels!" Alastor said. "Do come in, darling."
"It still ain't Niffty."
"I see. Just a moment." There came a sound of something—furniture?—sliding across the floor, then cabinets closing. "Alright, do come in my arachnid associate! Forgive the mess, I was just finishing up."
His hand hovered over the doorknob for a bit longer than it strictly had to, but he opened the door and stepped in.
He half expected a bloodbath, entrails hanging from the ceiling fan and smeared across the walls. It was…not like that. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have guessed someone had a messy nosebleed, or if he were at the studio that somebody was running around with a red elephant. A smear of red lay on the floor where the couch and coffee table usually sat. A little drying and it could be easily covered with a nice rug, if Niffty weren't so anal about cleanliness.
"My apologies, Angel," Alastor said, wiping his hands on a bloody towel. An even bloodier apron had replaced his usual jacket. That fit Angel's expectation a little better. "I didn't expect you today, what with the surprise you're working on. I thought I wasn't meant to see it until the finished product?"
"And you're not gonna! I ain't workin' on the dress with you, but I wouldn't want to miss our sewing club, would I?" He winked and closed the door behind him, hoping his nerves weren't showing.
"Well, nonetheless, I'm afraid I have nowhere for you to sit," he said. He untied his apron and hung it on a peg near his wardrobe before stalking to the bed, tapping the mattress with his microphone. "Perhaps the bed will do? At least until the floor is cleaned."
The bed? He'd thought about joining the Radio Demon on his bed, but never imagined he actually would, not even as innocently as Alastor proposed. It felt nearly too intimate. Sure, it was just as easy to fuck on a couch, but a bed was personal. Angel swallowed. "You know I'd never say no to joining a handsome fella in bed," he flirted easily, covering his hesitation as he sauntered over.
"If you start that again, I rescind the offer."
He mimed zipping his lips as he sat, pulling his best innocent face. That was fun to try; it was probably the only look he didn't have perfected from filming. Sighing as if in defeat, Alastor sat beside him, close enough for Angel to notice one thing that didn't fit the murderous image: a ponytail. Alastor's hair was pulled low on the back of his neck in an honest-to-god ponytail.
"What project do you plan on working on, if not the dress, then?"
"Right," he said pulling his eyes away from the tiny tail, "uh, I figured I could use some practice before I jump in with the dress, y'know? So hopefully it'll be less a train wreck and more just a little fender bender. And you're the expert here, so…" He shrugged. "What do I need to know?"
Alastor's eyes lit up, smile growing wide. "Oh, I am so glad you asked."
So either Al had some huge-ass internal database of potential projects to choose from plus a search feature that made use of the keywords "slutty spider", or he had been planning Angel's sewing lessons for a while now. At this point, Angel figured they were equally likely. Al was just that fucking weird.
"Small projects, of course," he said, pacing the floor, "nothing that will take more than a day, if the dress is still your priority. Things you'll use, but which build the skills you'll need." He pulled sheets of craft paper, sewing patterns, from a cabinet and dropped them on the bed. "A bowtie! A button-up shirt! A fitted skirt with a zipper! Pig booties!"
"Pig booties?" Angel stopped him, holding up the pattern. "Pig booties? You already have a pattern for pig booties?"
"Well, not for a pig specifically," Alastor conceded, "but like the bowtie, it will help you practice sewing around curves, and the boots will also help with working with panels. And you do dote on that animal."
"Smiles, I don't care what I have to do. I am making those pig booties right now."
He laughed, tinged with radio static. "We may have to alter the pattern a bit first. As I said, the pattern wasn't designed for a pig. We'll need the creature's shoe size, or perhaps you could bring…what was its name? Nuggets? You could bring Nuggets over for a fitting."
"Fuck yeah I will!" He jumped up and ran for the door just as it opened.
Niffty zoomed in, arms piled high with towels. "Sorry I took so long, Mister Alastor!" she chirped, dropping them off on the only clear spot of the bed. "Oh, hi, Angel. The storage closet was such a mess, I had to organize it first! And these towels were just filthy, so I did a load of laundry, and while I waited for the towels I—oh look!" She bounced in place. "That's the pattern for the slippers you made me! Are you making Angel some slippers too, Mister Alastor? I think Angel's feet are a little bigger than mine, though, you'll probably have to make a whole new pattern! Or you could use the printer downstairs to make a copy, but bigger! Miss Vaggie showed me how to use it when I wanted a pattern for making cookie cutters, it's not too hard to use, I could show you, Mister Alastor!"
"Not today, darling," he said, "but thank you! I do detest most modern inventions, but I can see how copying papers would be quite convenient."
"Of course, Mister Alastor!" She hopped over to the blood spatter. "Just this stain, right, sir? I know you don't like me going through your things, but I could—"
"Yes, just the blood there, dear. And there's also a bit in the sink and the towels in the hamper. Wash those, would you? And the apron."
"Right!"
Angel watched the interaction from the door, unsure what to make of it. It was nearly wholesome, the way he talked to her and actually listened, or it would be if they weren't cleaning up a homicide.
"Go on, then, my dear fellow," Alastor said, shooing him out from his seat the bed. "Don't you have something to do?"
"Pig booties?" was all he had to say in response.
"Go get your pig, Angel."
Just as he went for the door a second time, Niffty's voice rang out from the bathroom.
"Oh, man! Uh, Mister Alastor? Sir? Whose skirt is this?"
Angel froze. His skirt. He'd left for his shoot so fast he forgot to grab it after his little fashion show. His eyes locked onto Alastor's face, silently assessing his expression. Obviously he caught what that implied, what it could mean that Angel was half-naked in his room. Judging by her pink face, Niffty caught it, too. Angel remembered all too clearly that first meeting, that offer and immediate refusal. Would he be mortified by the very suggestion of something untoward? Would he get pissed? Would he blame Angel, take it out on him?
But his smile stayed perfectly in place, never faltering. "Oh dear, that would be Angel's!" He didn't bother to explain, to deny.
"Oh," Niffty said. "You can't go leaving your clothes around like that, Angel, people will start to think you're a hussy! And your boots and skirt like that already give that impression a little bit, no offense. The one you're wearing now is better than this one though!"
Ignoring her comment, he decided to push. "Hey, I left that in case you wanted to borrow it, Smiles. We got about the same waist size, don't we?"
She laughed, loud and bubbly. "Oh Angel, that's so silly! Us ladies might be wearing pants now, but a gentleman like Mister Alastor isn't going to wear a dress anytime soon!"
A sudden pop of static cut off the jazz and startled her, interrupting whatever tangent she'd go off on next. "Hah!" Alastor said. "Niffty darling, you've finished the bathroom already? Wonderful! Do be a dear and wash these towels then, and I do believe Charlie's been working to clear out a new wing, why don't you go help her with that? Thank you my dear!" He nudged her around Angel and out the door, closing it before she had time to protest.
"Touchy about that, huh?" Angel said, knowing he'd regret it.
A crackling hiss was all the answer he needed.
"Alright, I'll go grab Nuggets, give you a few—"
"Why don't we continue our sewing lessons tomorrow, Angel."
It wasn't a request.
"Oh," he said dumbly. "Yeah, sure." He opened the door, stepped out, and paused. "Same time, same place?"
Alastor closed the door without responding.
Thanks so much for reading! And especially thanks for all the great reviews! As always, all comments, critiques, and predictions appreciated.
