The thing about Husk was that he liked putting things on the back burner. If something didn't need attention right away, then what was the use in addressing it? Maybe the problem would go away. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would rear its ugly head in the shape of a monstrous, eldritch abomination that would cause so much stress and anxiety that Husk would have no choice but to resort to drinking his problems away.
Come to think of it, that was probably the reason why he had a drinking problem in the first place.
Also, that monstrous, eldritch abomination? To be honest, that was more than likely Alastor. However, after knowing the Radio Demon for an indeterminable amount of time, Husk was kinda, sorta used to that. (Not really, but as long as Husk knew that and Alastor didn't, then that was fine).
Whatever the case, Husk found that his wings were looking worse for wear. Most of his feathers were matted down and had lost its glossy, downy sheen. Dirt and grime would cascade onto the floor if Husk moved too fast. Often, that would result in a number of feathers being shed as well. And that wasn't even including the state that his fur was in!
Given that Husk sought help from no one and was decidedly a chronic procrastinator, it was only logical that there be one reasonable outcome.
Two, really.
One, Husk would get his act together and actually start preening his wings and cleaning his fur.
Or two, he would drink his problems away until someone had the gall to intervene.
If one were to ask Husk, he would have said that the first option was preferable. The first option would have been more likely if he had been on his own. Hey, he had been living in Hell for like four or so decades, he had to clean his wings a couple of times over the years. If he could stomach letting his wings fester in its own filth for a few more weeks or so, then he was golden. Heck, he would have cleaned his wings earlier, but now that he was in the employ of the esteemed hotel for sinners…
Not that anyone would know, but Husk would rather clean himself in the comfort of his own home instead of at the hotel.
Call it a territorial thing, but Husk didn't feel safe in a new environment. Give him a couple of months, maybe then… Oh, wait. That would mean he would have to ride out the discomfort of filthy wings for that amount of time or he would have to find some way to get out of the hotel without anybody finding out.
As Husk hunched over the counter of his beloved bar, his ears pricked forward. He was picking up a pair of footsteps coming from the front entrance of the lobby. After having spent the majority of his time at the hotel, he had gotten used to hearing the different types of sounds that people would make wherever they were walking, how they were walking, and if they planned on making a pit stop at his bar. It was a neat little trick that most animal demons could do, but at that moment, Husk wished that he didn't recognize those particular sets of footsteps.
Because.
Those two pairs of footsteps belonged to no other than the Princess of Hell and her cohort, Vaggie…(?)
Whatever the moth demon's name was, Husk was sure that those two were up to no good when they both made a beeline towards him. Now, it was expected that the Princess of Hell would approach him, after all, she was technically one of his employers. Plus, she was that typical boss who wanted to make sure that her underlings were doing swell in the grand scheme of things. As for the other one...
"Oh, Husk!"
The demon hybrid slapped the heel of his hand against the side of his face. Just hearing the glittery sunshine and rainbow vomit from her voice was already doing wonders for him. And by wonders, he meant that he was already getting irritated. Usually, whenever Charlie wanted to check in, she would ask a few questions and be on her merry way. Either that, or she would just send for Alastor.
Now.
Now, Charlie planted her butt firmly onto the barstool in front of the bar.
When the demon hybrid offered no word of greeting, the blond heiress felt her bright smile from before slightly fade before returning full force.
"We—" She gestured at herself and her lady friend. "—are here to stage an intervention."
The demon in question pulled his bottle of liquor away from his lips with an audible plop. His eyes had narrowed at the mentioned suggestion of intervention; he had a feeling that he knew what they were talking about. After a while of berating him about his drinking habit, it appeared that he was going to have his physical appearance attacked.
Gee, he had to wonder who he had to thank for that.
That was sarcasm. He definitely knew that it was that pink spider demon who like him a bit too much.
"Oh, really?" He propped his feet on top of the counter, mindful that he didn't lean too far backward. "Last time I checked, you didn't have too much of a stage presence."
While Charlie laughed a little too hard at his wordplay (something that he both appreciated and cringed at), Vaggie merely eyed him like he was nothing more than the dirt at the heel of her shoe. Joke's on her, though. They were both in Hell—no amount of posturing could get themselves elevated to a higher status when they were both terrible mortal souls.
Charlie caught his attention again by waving her spindly arms in front of his face.
"It has come to our attention that your physical appearance need some… sprucing up!" The Princess of Hell, looking a little too uncomfortable with the situation, rocked back and forth on her feet, before peering at him hopefully. Why didn't she just say that he looked like he had crawled out of the shitter? Would have been much easier instead of needlessly posturing with fake politeness or whatever. Then again, it must have been her princessly sensibilities or some crap like that. Whatever he thought, Vaggie immediately (somehow) knew.
"You look like you're purposely trying to scare away all our future patrons!" Her one visible eye twitched in agitation as she started to loom over the demon hybrid. Did her bow start morphing into horns? Cool trick. "Can't you at least try to act the part of a responsible concierge?"
"Who the hell let's a barman man the concierge?" Husk downed another swig of his alcohol before letting out a small burp. "Oh yeah, it's you guys and your low standards."
"Now let's not—" Charlie began, but Vaggie immediately reared up in retaliation.
"We're doing our best, you—"
As Vaggie continued her tirade, Husk tuned her out. As long as they weren't physically threatening him, then he was all good.
To be honest, Husk could give a shit of what the Princess of Hell and her lackey thought of him. If they were that desperate to get him to take care of himself, then they would have to try harder than to preach to him. They should do practical things that would appeal to him and his sense of morality. Like bribing him. With money. Or more booze.
Unfortunately, Husk was not rewarded with either of those things or material incentives.
Like most of those unimaginative demons out there, they started threatening him.
"If you don't get your feathered ass to—"
Charlie hurriedly intervened before Vaggie threatened to leap into the area behind the counter. Although the princess looked a little frazzled by how well the conversation was going, Husk noted that she calmly placed a hand on her dear partner's shoulder before casting a frown at him. If her frown was meant to have an effect, Husk was almost sorry to say that he had not the slightest hint of guilt in his body.
They would have to try harder than emotional manipulation to get what they want.
"Husk, I'm speaking to you as a friend."
Husk felt one of his eyes twitch at that. This was Hell, she was the Princess of Hell, and he was nothing more than a lackey for one of the Overlords. They were nowhere near the vicinity of friends. Fuck this polite bullshit and propriety, Husk felt that he was being bribed with cheap words and innnocence, both of which were things far worse than death in his opinion.
"I'm your employee, not your friend."
"O-oh…" Charlie looked to him with sad doe-eyed innocence and damn it, if he was back on earth and cursed with the burden of morality, he would have felt something. Thank Lucifer or whatever was in charge of his meaningless existence that he didn't have a heart anymore.
"Look," she continued, her voice soft and encouraging, "I know that the hotel isn't what you had in mind to spend your time, but you're here now and well…" She twiddled her thumbs. "Well, everyone here has to abide by the rules and frankly, you're kind of violating one of them."
She was silent for a moment and for a second, Husk was alarmed that she expected him to say anything in reply. What were they called again? Rhetorical questions? Yeah, he didn't do those unless he was the one asking them.
"Husk, the employees of the hotel are tasked with the reputation, upkeep, and maintenance of it. In order to uphold the reputation of everyone—and I do mean everyone!—we all have to be presentable. It's…" She seemed to wrack her head for a moment before turning to him. "It's for the good of the hotel! Don't you want us to succeed?"
Husk eyed the neck of his bottle of liquor. It was one of his many escape tactics when it came to socializing with people who were far too good for their own good. He gets to pretend that he's listening when he's merely estimating how much liquor was left and his companion could easily pretend that he's feeling guilty for not living up to their expectation. Hallelujah, he's not cursing her outright and thus, he's not being callous or cussing her out without abandon.
He stealthily sneaked a peek at Charlie, not too surprised that she was looking at him with softened eyes and slumped shoulders. Geeze, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was an award winning actress. Who could look so desperate and sorry for him? Certainly not the majority of residents in Hell.
Husk faced the bottle of liquor again, his resolve hardening even in the face of princessly tears.
The truth was, Husk didn't really care outside of his own little world. He had been unceremoniously dumped into his little cesspool of redemption and by the powers below, he was not going to bow down to some prissy little royal. Honestly, there was nothing he had against her, he was just a bit preoccupied with the truth. There was no way anyone was going to get redeemed. No amount of reputation or self-repentance was going to do anything to change that.
Once you were in Hell, there was no way out.
Not even death could save you.
So why should Husk make an effort?
"Look!" Charlie excitedly pointed at the small pile of feathers that had drifted to the floor in the midst of his thoughtless ruffling. At a closer glance, Husk recognized that the feathers were old and matted with dirt and dust. Hmm… He shrugged his broad shoulders before gazing idly at the blonde.
Could have been worse.
"Eh, I had worse."
"Worse? It could get worse than this?" Vaggie pulled out her snow white hair, a spectacle that did nothing to impress the demon hybrid. The demoness turned to Charlie with a disgruntled look on her face. "Look, why do we even bother? If we can't get this behavior under control—"
"Quit talking about me like I'm just a stray!"
"—the problem is going to get worse and where will we be?" She threw her hands in the air and made as if to summon her spear. At the motion, Husk's ears lay flat against his head, but he had nothing to fear. Even with her demonic heritage, Charlie wouldn't allow a brawl to break out if she could help it. "The hotel will do down as a laughingstock because we basically made him our mascot!"
"Hmm… you raise some good points!" Charlie clapped her hands before turning to Husk. "Can we try to convince you to preen your feathers? Or—" She scrunched up her nose in dismay. "—to clean up your fur?"
"We're in Hell, nobody cares."
For a moment, a look that Husk could not recognize passed on her face. It was something dark and almost manic; it looked a lot like those times when Alastor decided to have a little spot of entertainment for himself a few decades back. Chills raced down Husk's spine before he swallowed a few drops of liquid courage and reminded himself that this was the Princess of Hell, the outcast daughter of Lucifer himself.
She was too innocent and practically powerless.
But—
"Well," Charlie turned away from the bartender. "That settles things. Time to bring in the big guns!"
Vaggie turned to look at her partner before a shocked expression crossed her face. Husk eyed the both of them in question, not really understanding, but Husk could see that a light finally switched on in her eyes. Before Husk could question it, she vanished her spear and shook her head thoughtfully. As much as Husk wanted to ask what was going on in the princess' head, he had a feeling that he would rather not know.
After all, he was just a nobody with a shit job and a shit sense of self-preservation when it came down to choices in employers.
Whatever the case, Husk still had time to let his furry-feathery problem simmer on the backburner.