In their post-coital haze, Angel and Husk cuddled for a bit. "Damn, Husk, you're so silky feelin'!" Angel nuzzled into Husk's fur. Husk let out a groan but secretly approved of the sign of affection.
"Your fur was softer than I expected." He grumbled to Angel.
"So? Ya said ya had a family. Can I ask what happen'd?" This turned Husk's favorable mood relatively sour.
"Nothin' much. A car accident claimed my wife's and daughter's lives when I was in my 20's. My new love became the bottle. Things got hopeless after that. " He didn't want to dwell on the start of his darkest days.
"I'm sorry, Huska' baby." Husk groaned.
"Please don't call me that." He drew his clawed paw down his face.
"Why not?" Angel was twiddling with the fur in his hands.
"'Cause I asked ya to. Isn't that enough?"
"I suppose." They fell into a semi comfortable silence.
"I suppose baby isn't the worst nickname you can give me…" Husk said before they drifted off into sleep.
Selena was in her room cleaning the blood out of her fur in the shower. It was taking longer than normal. Probably because it had coagulated and hardened in her hair into thick clumps. She was brushing it out and shampooing constantly. It was the first time she had gotten so much in one location. Blood was usually sticky, but today it was sticking worse than superglue.
As she groomed herself, all she could think about was her evening. Yes, Alastor had originally put up his front of jibber jabber, but eventually he revealed something true about himself. It comforted her to know that he had weakness and wasn't some all powerful being. He wasn't just a cold blooded killer; he felt the sorrow of seeing his mother's roses destroyed. He killed those that bullied him for his skin color. A trait she couldn't fault him for. It was the closest she felt to the Radio Demon. For the first time, she felt like a true friend and possible love interest. He was trying. That had meant a lot to her. More than she could express.
In his radio tower, Alastor was thinking. She had not been persecuted herself but felt the consequences of being persecuted. Her family was murdered for it. He felt a pang for her. Something akin to empathy. Empathy? No. Surely he was mistaken. Psychopaths like him didn't feel anything like empathy. No. But it was still a deep sorrow. He now wanted to know more about her life in her world. She seemed at that moment to carry an unequivocal sorrow. One he felt his years of "suffering" didn't seem to amount close to. All those years of bullies, beatings, and name callings until he grew strong enough to squash them under his thumb. Become New Orleans's most feared serial killer of his time. That was until he was vanquished by the supposed "monster hunters" that pursued him. No, this woman rebelled politically and stood as a priestess. More than likely healing the people who stoned her and burned her family. They were from two separate worlds. That much was more apparent now than before.