Chapter 8: Anima

Moonchild's eyes fluttered open, he was in his bed, swaddled in the luxuriously soft linens the hotel had provided. He groaned as he moved to sit up, his whole body hurt, like he'd well and truly overdone it at the gym. Still, some part of him felt… good? It was a good kind of hurt, the kind that promised growth.

"Hey twink!" Angel said, popping into view. "You're up!"

"I am. And you're…" Moonchild said, looking around. "In my room?"

"That's right!" Angel said, booping him on the low, rounded, slitted nub that served as his nose. "We patients gotta stick togedda, yeah? How're ya feelin'? Need anythin'?"

Moonchild was exhausted, sore, and more than a little confused, but even he chafed under this obvious sychophancy. "What do you want, Angel?"

Angel's smile only widened at his tone. "A little tender, are we? I like this side'a ya, Flounder! Right, okay! So, Husk, see, he got this look in his eye, right?"

"If you say so."

"I watch 'im a lot," Angel chuckled. "Mostly when he thinks no-one's lookin', so I knows when he's gots an idea. And I gots an idea too, see?"

Moonchild shook his head. "No, I don't?"

Angel sighed and snapped his fingers. "Kid! Yer powers! If a cardshark like Husk walks into a casino witcha at his side, the two a yous could clean a bitch out! Like ya said, ya know who's gonna fold, who's gonna call, what they're holdin'! Y'know how the dice'll fall or where the ball drops! Kid, yer a goddamned goldmine! Ya tellin' me y'never even thought about usin' yer powers for money?"

Moonchild blinked, a crease of consternation forming in his brow. "But… that's cheating."

Angel wasn't sure if he wanted to slug the kid or slip into that bed and steal some of that innocence for himself. He took a third option and squeezed his cheek. "Fuck me, yer adorable. Yeah, kid, it's cheatin', but those casinos is rotten anyhow, so I don't think it counts as a sin. Point is, I'm gonna pop th'question to Huskie-Wuskie and I need ya on board. The three of us, workin' together, we could pull down some fat stacks, yeah? Waddaya say?"

"I don't know…" Moonchild said, rubbing his neck. "Will it… make Mr. Husk happy?"

Angel smiled broadly, winking. "Nothin' and I mean nothin' makes 'Mr. Husk' happier'n knockin' those fatcats down a peg. Ya might even see 'im smile."

Moonchild weighed his options; stay in like he'd always done and, what, take up pottery? Or would he go out with some friends(?) and have fun?

Welp.

"I'm in."

"Great!" Angel cheered, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek. "Now, I'm just gonna need ya to ask yer boss for a day or two off, yeah?"

"…Oh."

Husk sipped his coffee and read the newspaper. It was the usual tripe, useless stocks, gang murders, a new cannibal joint opening up the street; stuff he couldn't give a shit about. In fact, there wasn't much that could distract him from the fact that, once again, some nonsense was threatening to bring the whole hotel crashing down around their ears. And if they were lucky, it would only be the hotel. And, once a-fucking-gain, Charlie laid out the red carpet for the likely agent of their doom, and was planning some cockamamie scheme to redeem the little hellion come hell or high-water.

He sighed and sipped his coffee.

Whatever.

She'd done it before, and she'd do it again. Besides, what's the worst this edgy douche canoe could do? It's not like he could flat-out erase people like Kira could. Nah. Worst case Ontario, he'd just… grind them into paste with his bare hands? Not fun, but not dead, either. No, no, the plan's still good.

He just needed to be prepared.

Husk flicked his wrist and a deck of polished metallic cards appeared in his hand. They were gently tapered inward on all edges, giving them heft despite their thinness. It also meant that their corners and edges were sharp enough to mince a pinpoint and the hypothetical angels that danced upon it, too. Oh, and the cards were made of Seraphim Steel, their primary selling-point. Reforged from an Exorcist's weapon God-knows how long ago and printed into a 52-card deck that was as priceless as it was deadly. Looking at the deck always made Husk smile, reminded him of the day he'd won them from a murderous gangster known as Poker Face. He'd mogged that smug jackass but good.
He pulled a card from the middle of the stack, a mirror-polished ace of spades. He could slice an apple from thirty paces with a paper card, these babies could pierce armor, flesh, and bone. And unless you knew how to treat the wound, it'd kill just like it would if the target were mortal.

He was prepared for anything.

"Heeey, Mittens~" A familiar voice cooed as a pair of willowy arms draped over his shoulders.

Almost anything.

Husk sipped his coffee. "What did I say about touchin' me?"

"Don't ever stop?" Angel Dust leaned in and blew in his ear.

"Right." Husk slapped the arms off his shoulders. "Cept the 'stop' was silent! Waddaya want, Bug?"

"Oooh…. y'know what I want, Fluff," Angel purred, sitting on the table-side, crossing and uncrossing his legs in full view.

Husk glanced at the spider's selling points, and while some part of him conceded that the poof was a gorgeous slice of cake, the rest of him wanted none of the arachnid's baggage. "I'm broke. Go sling yer wares at the new guy."

Angel tittered and batted Husk's shoulder playfully. "Oh, y'are? Too bad! But it's funny y'should mention. See, I been thinkin'…"

"A dangerous passtime."

"I know." Angel's smile widened. "I also know you've been thinkin' too. 'Bout the kid, 'bout his powers. Cardshark like you, why, y'could turn a tidy profit."

"What do you want, Angel?" Husk growled, his fur bristling.

"I want in," said Angel, polishing his nails on his lapel. "I also wanna cut a'the winnin's."

"And I want bottomless bottle of 12 year old Glenmorangie in my hand," said Husk, brandishing his mug. "Gawrsh. Too bad, huh?"

"He likes his scotch how he likes his girls," sneered Angel. "12 years old and mixed up with coke."

"That's disgusting!" Husk shook his head and snipped his coffee. "What kinda degenerate mixes scotch with coke?"

"Well, what was yer bright idea, Mittens? Walz into a casino with th'kid in tow, have him whisper th'winnin' hand or whatever into yer ear until ya win too much and have the house skin ya alive?" Angel rolled his eyes and re-crossed his legs, running a finger down Husk's ear. "I knows ya been thinkin' about how ta get Moonie to help ya, but ya also been hittin' a wall. That's where I come in."

Husk set his mug down and sighed, glaring at the spider-demon. "Let's hear it."

Angel smiled and framed his face with one pair of hands and pointed to it with another. "I doll us up. You saw back there, th'kid's gorgeous! Alls I gotta do is dress 'im up some, and ain't no-one will even think twice about a pretty young thing leanin' in and whisperin' in ya ear, or holdin' ya hand, or whatever system yer goin' with! Think about it, ya walk into a casino wit' two choice pieces a'arm candy hangin' off ya, him pullin' eyes offa you, me pullin' eyes offa him, it's perfect camouflage!"

Husk's fingers rapped against the table-top like machinegun fire, his face a darkening storm-front of irritation. "…Fuck. I hate it when ya make sense."

"Ayy! See?" Angel leaned in and planted a little kiss on his cheek. "We're the perfect team!"

Husk swatted him away and growled. "The kid's still gotta be on board with this!"

"He is, I asked!" Angel said, leaning back on the table. "Alls I had to say was how happy it'd make ya and he was all for it!"

Husk willed a small blush out of his cheeks and cleared his throat. "Well… we'd still gotta run it by Chuck. I doubt she'd want you in a high-temptation environment, or him, well, anywhere near a casino!"

"You kiddin'?" Angel scoffed, waving him off. "Chuck wants to build the kid up, yeah? Well, what better way than to hit the town witcha friends and have a night-long winnin' streak? Grab some booze, grab some hooers, feel like a big-shot for once! She wants the kid to grow a spine and feel like a man, ain't no better way that stacks, slots, and sluts!"

"Well, I'd have to pitch it a bit differently to Chuck, but…" his eyes snapped open. "Hey, waitaminute! How'd ya know she wants to put starch in the kid's pants?"

"Niffty told me," said Angel, shrugging. "She was bringin' Moonie some soup or some shit as I was walkin' outta his room."

"She told you–" Husk's eyes snapped open. "Oh shit!"

Husk shot to his feet and scrambled out the room.

"Ay!" Angel called after him. "We gotta deal or what?"

"There you go, sweetie~" Niffty said as Moonchild swallowed another spoonful of soup. "You were hungry, huh?"

"I suppose so," said Moonchild as she prepared him another spoonful. "Really, Mrs. Niffty, I can feed myse–ulp!"

"Nonsense!" Niffty giggled, pushing the spoon into his mouth. "I heard you had quite an ordeal! Mr. Alastor wants to help, but he can be a touch indelicate, you know?"

"A touch, yes," said Moonchild, his brow furrowing. "I don't remember much of what happened, but Charlie seemed happy with the results, so I guess it's okay!"

"And how!" Niffty nodded, her smile widening. "Oh, we'll have you redeemed in no time at all! I can feel it! But first, we have to get you all big and strong again!"

"Thank you, Mrs–" Moonchild began to say, only to be silenced by a slender little finger pressing against his full, pouty lips.

"Mrs? Oh no no no no…" She leaned in close, batting her eye in a sultry fashion. "I'm single. Very single."

"O-oh? Um, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Moonchild said, slowly backing away up the bed.

"Not at all!" Niffty purred, crawling after him. "I see you're feeling stronger."

Moonchild's head bumped against the head of the bed, stopping him. "M-Miss Niffty?"

"Have you ever heard of the concept of the psychological shadow?" Niffty's hand settled on his thigh, slowly moving up his lap. "See, it's this idea that all the stuff we repress about ourselves, bad thoughts, good thoughts, natural impulses, why, they all get pushed into this mass called a 'shadow'. And the more and more we repress, the darker and deeper the shadow gets, until it pops out in unhealthy outbursts." Her hand, now quite high on his lap, began to inch inward. "See, if we indulge the shadow, let it out from time to time, get to know it intimately, why, the less dark and deep and repressed it becomes! Charlie figures you got yourself a mighty big, burly, dangerous shadow that needs to be let out in a… constructive manner."

Moonchild pressed himself against the headrest, sweat beading on his forehead. "M-Miss Niffty…"

"Shh shh shh…" she cooed, her face inching closer to his. "It's alright. I'm here to help…"

A stream of cold water splashed across Niffty's cheek, causing her to squawk and scramble off of Moonchild.

"Shoo! Off!" Husk said, a spray-bottle in hand. "Go on! Git!"

Niffty hissed and swatted at him as he sprayed her. Husk pulled out a bottle of red wine and capped it, holding it forebodingly over the white linens of Moonchild's bed. "Ah! Beat feet, critter, 'else I'll upend this shit, I swear to God!"

Niffty's eye narrowed. "You wouldn't!"

Husk tilted the bottle and allowed a single drop to fall.

"No!" Niffty roared as she leapt forward. "That's Egyptian cotton, you goddamned barbarian!"

She caught the single drop in her hands, her face splitting into a triumphant smile. Husk cleared his throat and drew her attention up, he was swishing the bottle around, preparing to pour. "Think you can catch it all?"

Niffty growled and hopped off the bed, scuttling out the door, stopping only to leer and blink (wink?) at Moonchild before leaving.

Moonchild exhaled explosively, wiping sweat off his brow. "Thank you, Mr. Husk."

"Sorry about that, kid," Husk said, sitting down on the bedside. "She got a type."

"I'm her type?" Moonchild said, cocking his head to the side. "She didn't seem to like me much before."

"Nah, nah, it's just…" Husk eyed Moonchild up for a second. "Say. How much do ya remember of yer, uh, session with Al?"

"Nothing, why?"

Husk grunted and hoisted the wine bottle, taking a few solid gulps. "No reason. Happens with hypnotism, I hear. Anyway, Angel done chatted ya up about our little excursion?"

"Oh yes!" Moonchild said, sitting up and smiling glowingly. "It sounds like so much fun!"

Husk felt an involuntary smile almost crawl across his mug before he turned away from Moonchild, drawing his hand down over his face. He paused for a moment before clearing his throat. "Yeah. Fun. So, uh, ya think you can get the time off?"

"Oh, I'm sure!" Moonchild said, nodding. "I haven't asked for a single day off in 20 years! Prince Stolas is sure to let me take two days."

"Great," said Husk, getting to his feet and walking to the door. "Wonderful. Tomorrow after work, uh, ya meet up with Angel and he'll, uh, make ya presentable, yeah?"

"Of course. Oh, and Mr. Husk?"

Husk felt a chill crawl its way up his spine. He turned around, expecting to see whatever green-eyed sea creature had savaged two of the the strongest demons he'd ever met towering over him. Instead he saw Moonchild sitting in his bed, a small, gracious smile on his face.

"Thank you for taking me along," he said. "It means a lot."

"Uh, yeah…" Husk said, something strange and bitter catching in his throat. "Don't mention it."

The palace was unusually empty that day. The ubiquitous staff were nowhere to be seen, and the general feel of the vast palace was ominous, foreboding. He made his way through the empty halls toward his workplace, his anxiety slowly building: something was terribly wrong.

Moonchild leaned into the reception room, looking around slowly. The room was dark, slightly askew, as though there had been a small commotion that had yet to be cleaned up after. A light shone out from under the door, someone was in Stolas' office.

He gently rapped on the door. "My Lord? Are you in?"

The sound of clattering furniture and scrambling feet sounded on the other side of the door. It swung open to reveal a disheveled Prince Stolas, dressed only in his night robe, his eyes were deeply bagged and sunken, the feathers beneath his eyes damp; the prince had been crying.

"Moonie!" He exclaimed, scooping the smaller demon off the ground and into a tight embrace, tears flowing down his white face. "You're okay! Oh, I was so worried! When you didn't come in yesterday, I feared the worst! It's so good to see you-hoo-hoo-hoooo~"

"It's good to see you too, My Lord," said Moonchild, muffled by the puffy, feathered chest he was being squeezed against. "Are you okay?"

Stolas held Moonchild out in front of him like a puppy, smiling. "Better now, my precious boy."

The owl demon tucked Moonchild under his arm and walked back into his office. Moonchild gasped as he was set down the floor, the office looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. The furniture was strewn all about, a black scorch mark slashed across the expensive rug and one side of a toppled chair.

"My Lord! What happened here?" Moonchild started and turned around to face Stola. "Oh no! Was there a bomb? If I were here, I would have caught it and–Oh, I'm so sorry, My Lord!"

Stola chuckled and pat Moonchild on head as he walked past him and towards a cracked wood and glass cabinet. "Oh, nonsense, my boy! It was… well, it wasn't a bomb. Drink?"

"Oh?" Moonchild looked down as a crystal tumbler was pushed into his hands and filled with a brown liquid. "I guess."

"Brandy! Camus Napoleon La Grande Marque Cognac, 1970. Excellent vintage! It was given to me by a bishop who needed some rivals to quite literally fall off the face of the Earth. Here, a toast! To wives and sweethearts!" Stolas poured himself a nearly-full glass for himself and clinked the glass to Moonchild's. "May they never meet! Oh ho ho ho ho!"

The owl-demon cackled and knocked back the whole glass in a single gulp, Moonchild sniffed the obviously very expensive liquor, sipping it and wincing at the alcohol burn. He looked around the office, noticing now that much of the debris on the floor were empty bottles.

"My Lord, are you… drunk?"

"I should hope so!" Stolas said, a slur now very clear in his voice. "I've been drinking this expensive swill all night!"

Stolas poured himself another glass and sat down on the floor, patting a spot next to him. "Come, sit. Sit sit sit."

Moonchild sat next to him, swishing the unpleasant alcohol about in his glass. Stolas sipped from his cup and set a hand on the boy's shoulder, sighing. "So. Where were you the other day?"

"Oh, uh, I got, um, kidnapped by a pimp," said Moonchild, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or, he dressed like a pimp, anyway."

"Oh, Moonie!" Stolas groaned. "Again?"

Moonchild smiled and shook his head. "Oh, don't worry about me, My Lord. I got away, it just took me longer this time. May I ask what happened here?"

Stolas sighed and lean back. "Oh, just had some family drop by for a visit. Things got… heated."

"Is that why there's no one here?"

He nodded. "I had Octavia and Stella sent away to the estate in Pride, the staff went with them. They'll be safe there."

"Safe, My Lord?"

Stolas moved to pour another glass for himself before tossing the tumbler over his shoulder and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "Oh Moonie, my dear, sweet Moonie… Look, business is going to be suspended for the next little while, so consider this a paid vacation, alright? Just lay low and try not to, you know, stand out."

"Sir?"

"No more questions, my little fishie," Stolas slurred, pouring more brandy into Moonchild's glass. "Drink, drink, drink with me, Moonie!"

Moonchild steeled himself and knocked back the brandy, hissing and wincing at the burn. Stolas tittered and pat Moonchild on the head, pouring him another glass before taking a pull from the bottle. "There you go!"

Moonchild felt the warm flush of the brandy blossom in his chest, a dull blush forming in his cheeks. "Thank you, My Lord."

Moonchild grunted as he guided Stolas down the empty hall, the much larger demon shambling after him, partially leaning on him. They stopped outside the ornately carved door of Stolas' boudoir, the soused owl gesturing at the heavy door, willing it open.

"Thhhanks you, Moonie~" Stolas slurred, tottering inside. "Come insh–come insiiiide, will you? I don't want to be aloooone…"

"Of-of course, My Lord," Moonchild said, smiling blithely, his head swimming. "No one wants to be alone."

Moonchild followed him in and guided his inebriated boss over to the luxurious bed. Stolas didn't so much as get in the bed as he toppled forwards, bouncing slightly. Moonchild turned around to find a chair when a taloned hand streaked out and plucked him off the ground. Moonchild squeaked as he was swept off his feet and once again pressed into the soft, warm feathers of Stolas' bare chest.

The owl-demon crossed his arms over Moonchild and squeezed. "Moonie, Moonie, Moonie…"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Moonie, Moonie, Moonie…" he repeated, chuckling. "I just like saying your name. It's pretty, like the rest of you."

Moonchild laughed as Stolas booped his nose. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Call me 'Stolas'," he crooned, pinching his cheek. "Mmmmoonie~"

"Okay, Stolas. Hee-hee! I never thought I'd call you that to your face!" Moonchild said, his brow furrowing when he didn't respond. "Stolas?"

Stolas lay with his head craned back, snoring softly. "Snnrr-hoo-hoo-hoo… snnrr-hoo-hoo-hoo…"

Moonchild smiled and wriggled out of his lord's grasp. He dutifully set about tucking the unconscious owl in, setting his head upon his pillow as he drew the blankets over his body. "Be safe, Stolas. It's nice to know you care."

"Nope!" Charlie chirped. "But Husk said he was going to keep a close eye on Moonie and Angel. He'll keep them out of trouble."

"Okay, but wouldn't it be easier to keep them out of trouble if, you know, they stayed in?"

"Vaggie, we won't make any progress with Moonie if we treat him like some delicate flower or dangerous animal." Charlie turned to face Vaggie. "Husk is right, socialization is vital if we're going to build up his confidence and strengthen his sense of self."

"Husk said that?" Vaggie smiled, cocking an eyebrow.

'A little quality time with the guys will get that guppy to untuck it.' Charlie laughed and shrugged. "More or less? Look. Positive reinforcement is key, and if we're going to build up Moonchild's confidence, we have to start somewhere. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

The door swung open and in tottered a clearly very drunk Moonchild. "Hellooooo Happy Hotel! Sssomeone tell Mr. Husk I got the time off! I just need to-to-to–"

Moonchild paled, greened, and rushed over to a nearby potted plant and vomited loudly.

"Guy's Night is off to a great start," Vaggie said, wryly. "I'll get Niffty."

"Moonie!" Charlie exclaimed, rushing over to the retching demon. "What happened?"

"Ooh, that feels so much better," said Moonchild, looking up at her. "Oh, Stolas was, uh, wallowing, is that the right word? He sent everyone away and was wallowing and invited me to drink. So I did!"

Charlie helped him to his feet, he laughed and waved her off. "I'm okay, I'm okay now! I may be a fish, but rarely drink."

"Why was he drinking?"

Moonchild eyed her up, his expression uncharacteristically sarcastic. "Some people find being investigated by Duke Sallos stressful, I guess." His eyes went wide and he clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh no! I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that!"

"It's alright, Moonie," Charlie said, smiling gently. "I already knew."

"What? How?" Moonchild paused and shook his head. "Well, I mean, you're the princess. Of course you'd know."

"Yeah… that's how…"

"Hey, Moonie!" A gruff, raspy called out, Husk was making his way over to the two of them, a perplexed smirk on his sour face. "Whoa, kid. You hammered?"

"Helloooo Mr. Husk!" Moonchild said, grinning. "I got the time off! I just had to, uh, schmooze with the boss some. He has some expensive tastes in cognac."

"Cognac, eh?" Husk said, shaking his head. "Well, nothin' to be done now. You'll probably sleep like a ton of bricks once ya come down, and we need you peppy. C'mere."

"Husk, I–" Charlie began to say when Moonchild pulled away from her, following after the grouchy sphinx.

"Mr. Husk knows his stuff when it comes to drinking," said the fish-demon. "And I still want to go out and have some fun, Charlie."

Charlie started to follow after them, but relented, a concerned crease in her brow. "I… okay, Moonie."

"Alright, kid, I'm gonna fix you a pick-me-up. Ya done got an early start on the night, but that's okay. Just don't drink 'cept when I tell ya to and we can keep on rollin' to the wee hours."

Husk hopped behind the bar and, in a series of seemingly unconscious movements, laid down a swath of celery salt and a lime wedge with one hand and produced a tall glass with another, his tail lifting up small bottles of Worcestershire, soy sauce, and tabasco in a bundle. He ringed the rim of the lime wedge and up-ended it into the celery salt, leaving a rime. He dashed the various sauces into the glass and reached under the bar, pulling out a can of Clamato and a bottle of light beer. He capped the Clamato and beer, pouring both into the glass, the streams mixing in the air. He squeezed the lime wedge into the concoction and dropped it in, licking the juice off his fingers as he swiped with another hand, sending the tall glass of frothing, reddish liquid sliding across the bar to Moonchild.

"Wow!" Moonchild cooed, clapping. "You're good at that!"

"Red Eye. It'll keep ya from sobering up too much, but it'll keep yer body topped up on the essentials." Husk said, looking terribly pleased with himself. "Drink that up and getcha ass up to Angel's room. He's gonna doll ya up some so we can be seen witcha."

Moonchild nodded and obediently drained the glass. Husk watched with wry amusement as his pretty face flushed from the modest heat of the tabasco. "You like it?"

"Mm! Yes! Very, uh–" Moonchild loosed a small belch and chuckled, wiping his mouth. "Excuse me."

"If that's the worst thing ya do today, it's a wasted night." Husk jabbed a thumb at the ceiling. "Now, get yerself to the spider's parlor."
Moonchild nodded and took off for the staircase.

Husk watched him as he did, slowly becoming aware of the small smile persisting on his face. He willed it away, that strange bitter feeling returning to the pit of his stomach.

What was it?

Husk shook his head and hopped out from behind the bar.

It would pass.

It always did.

It was about 20 minutes later when Angel made his way down the staircase and into the lobby. He was done up in a cherry-red number that reached his knees, his long legs covered in dark stockings and tall, black stiletto heels. His lips were glossy black that complimented his eyeshadow, made all the more striking by the flowing platinum blonde wig atop his head. Under his lower left arm was a small purse on a spaghetti string band.

"Angel…" Charlie began to say, reproachfully.

"Ah ah ah!" Angel interrupted, wagging his finger. "Tsk tsk Chuck! I ain't gonna go out workin', this is guy-night. No Johns, I promise!"

"I'll keep 'im outta trouble, Chuck," Husk said. "Where's Moonie?"

Angel smirked and stepped to the side, arms swinging wide in a dramatic flourish. "Taa-daaa~! I gotta say, this is my best work!"

Charlie gasped, her expression aghast despite the furious blush burning in her pale cheeks. "Moonie?"

"Oh, just get out of here. I don't even wanna look at–" Niffty grumbled something and looked up from the now pristine potted plant. "Holy shit."

Moonchild stood with his hands crossed over his lap in a vain attempt at modesty. His long, leanly muscled legs filled out a pair of fishnet stockings all the way up to the scandalously short-cut Daisy Dukes, seeming to merge together and spout out the top of the slim scrap of denim and swaddle his tight, toned midsection. On top he wore a snug black Bardot long-sleeve crop-top. His face was done up in the same make-up from before, but his 'hair' had extended itself down over his shoulder in a textured braid bracketed by three gold bands and, his bangs held over his forehead by a decorative spider hair-clip.

"H-how do I look?"

"Hey, have they gone yet? I want to give them the updated contact inf–" Vaggie said as she walked into the room, her eye snapping open wide upon seeing Moonchild. "Buh."

"See somethin' ya like, Snatch?" Angel snickered.

Charlie averted her eyes from his long legs, hand raised to her face. "Isn't that get-up a little, er, revealing?"

"I tried to get 'im into a miniskirt, but there was some, uh," Angel said, pointing down. "Overflow."

"Husk…" Charlie said, her tone low and foreboding. "What, exactly, are you doing tonight?"

Husk avoided her stare and grabbed Angel and Moonchild by the wrists. "Leaving."

"Byyye Chuck!" Angel said, grinning at them over his shoulder.

G-Good bye, Charlie!" Moonchild said as he was dragged along. "Have a good ni–"

The door swung shut behind them.

"I'm starting to think you were right, Vaggie," Charlie sighed and folded her arms across her chest, brow furrowed in concern. "Maybe I shouldn't have–Vaggie?"

Vaggie stared out the window, blushing, as Moonchild stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the cab, hips swaying subconsciously as he did. Angel glanced over his shoulder, he saw her and grinned maliciously. The spider tossed his purse to the ground and, ever courteous, Moonchild bent over in full view to collect it. Vaggie's grey face went near scarlett.

"Vaggie?"

Vaggie watched a little longer before blinking and turning to Charlie. "M'sorry, wha?"

The interior of the cab was greasy, well-used, with stains aplenty, but it was cheap and the engine ran. Husk wondered sourly if the brakes worked or if they'd have to tuck and roll outside their destination. The more he thought about it, the less outlandish it seemed, not helped by what sounded like a million loose screws and popped welds the second the rolling scrap-heap hit a jaywalker.

"So, whatcha wanna do is loop yer arm under his and match his pace, like yer a pretty bird on display."

"Like this?"

"Naw naw! Don't lock elbows like ya playin' Red Rover. Weave the forearm under like so. Yeah, see? Delicate, and it loops yer wrist over his, the grip is strong, but don't look it."

Husk looked over to see Angel and Moonchild interlocking arms; the spider was in his element, teaching the new girl the ropes. Husk's lip curled involuntarily. That look in Charlie's eyes. What did she think they were up to with Moonie? Whatever it was, was it really any less exploitative that what they were planning to do?

Not really, but why should that bother him?

All they were going to do was use the kid's powers to… cheat some very powerful, humorless demons out of an ungodly sum of money. The consequences of getting caught would be, well, Husk had only gotten out of such situations by quite literally throwing his accomplices to the dogs. And when that didn't work… well, he was still on the fence whether or not that particular handshake had been worth it. They'd just have to not get caught, then!

"Alright, listen up, you two," said Husk. "You both look the part, but now yer gonna have to act it. Angel knows how to look good and get eyes on him, but Moonie, yer gonna have to work closely with both of us if we're gonna slip under the radar."

"Okay!" Moonchild nodded, slightly drunk determination flushing in his cheeks. "What do I do?"

"Alright, so, obviously we're not gonna have you call every hand or drop. That's how you draw attention fast." Husk pointed to himself. "I make the call when we're gonna win, yeah? You keep yer eyes on me, the both of ya, when I give the signal," he arced his left eyebrow and flared his left nostril. "See that? When I do that, Angel, ya do yer thing and do whatever ya can to get eyes on ya. Then, kid, I bump ya under the table with my tail and y'whisper the winnin' combo in my ear."

"Make it look like yer givin' 'im a peck," Angel said, smirking at Husk. "Or like yer tellin' 'im where he's gonna stick it, later!"

Husk growled and moved to swat at Angel when Moonchild shook his head. "No, that's too obvious! If I whisper in your ear or something and then you win, they'd notice after the first few times!" He paused and thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Angel, you have some sunglasses in your bag, right?"

Angel nodded and produced the glasses, the lenses were dark pink and circular, ringed with shiny golden chrome.

"Give them to Mr. Husk so no-one can see his eyes well."

Angel did and Husk turned to Moonchild. "Alright, kid. Whatcha thinkin'?"

Moonchild ran his fingers through his 'hair', the inside of his bangs undulated, the image of the cab interior appearing on them, along with a series of shapes that became hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs along with various numbers.

Angel cackled and clapped his hands. "Whoa, kid! How'd ya do that?"

"The creatures on earth that look like this thing on my head, squid, octopi, and cuttlefish, they have these special cells that can change color and reflect light. I have them too, for some reason, and I'm good enough at it to make images and blend into my surroundings. Mr. Husk, with those glasses on, you can look at the inside of my bangs and see who has what cards and decide then if you'll take the win or leave it."

"Hey…" Husk said, tapping his chin. "That ain't a bad idea! Angel, you still make a scene when I say, we need every set of eyes off us we can get."

"Don't need to tell me to make a scene!" Angel laughed, offering his hand. "Moonie, hand out! Team cheer!"

Moonchild put his hand over Angel's, the two of them looking expectantly at Husk.

Husk sighed and put his paw over their hands. "Go team, and shit. Whatever."

"Break!"

The Azathoth Casino was the largest in the West Side, a colossal black pyramid some one thousand meters high, surrounded by equally tall spire-shaped skyscrapers, the pointed caps of each glowed red with hellish energy. The vast footprint of the pyramid served as the common grounds, where low-level sinners, imps, and hellhounds dwelt and dealt and festered, with each floor up signaling a commensurate increase in the quality of clientele. The Azathoth was unique in that it combined the vast fluctuations of money and power that prodigious casinos enjoyed with the profit and traffic of vulgar establishments. The true selling point of the Azathoth was its relatively free upward mobility. Here, even an imp could buy their way to the top with enough luck and guile.

Husk swaggered into the lobby, Angel and Moonchild hanging off his arms. Angel winked and preened, overjoyed at the heads turning his way, The spider was truly at home in the spotlight. Moonchild, on the other hand, would likely have shrank and demurred if he knew how many heads he turned, were he not hopelessly enthralled by the sheer scale and opulence of the casino. Husk smiled despite himself, suddenly aware of how much he'd missed seeing genuine awe and wonder.

"This place is incredible," Moonchild muttered.

"It gets better," said Husk, looking up. "Do a good job and you'll see it all."

Moonchild nodded and tightened his grip on Husk's arm. Husk felt his heart start to race, a mild blush settling in his cheeks. He shook it off, focusing on his mission: clean this bitch out.

"Alright," he said as they approached the front desk. "Game face on, kids."

He bought their way in.

Some time later…

"23!" The dealer, a trim, well-dressed jackal-demon, announced.

The crowd around the roulette wheel exploded into cheers as 50,000 dollars worth of chips was shoved Husk's way. The dour sphinx merely smirked and rolled out his shoulders. Angel clasped his hands together and shook them over his shoulders in victory, he moved to plant a wet one on Husk's cheek, only for the surly cardshark to brusquely brush him off. Moonchild, a few more drinks deep, hopped up and down in victory.

"We won!" He cheered, turning to Husk. "You won!"

"Thanks to you, kid," said Husk, notching the sunglasses down his snout and winking at him.

Moonchild's eyes sparkled in the dazzling casino light and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Husk's shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. To Husk's surprise, he didn't for a second consider rebuffing the little demon, he didn't even react to the affection. Instead he just smiled and glanced over at a sulking Angel.

People would notice if he didn't give his girls a little sugar. "C'mere Bug!"

He wrapped his wing around Angel's hips and pulled him in, the cheer from the crowd kicking up a notch. "Dealer! Gimme four 10k chips, five 1k chips, and keep the change! We're headin' for level six, baby!"

The dealer nodded and gave his thanks, making the change and handing it off to them. Husk and his entourage took their winnings and made their way over to the elevator.

Husk dropped one of the 10k chips into the slot and the door opened with a dazzling display of lights and a triumphant round of fanfare. The trio stepped in and were on their way.

Pleasant elevator music played as they stood and waited, the smell of the first floor was finally starting to fade as they rose in the vast structure. Husk glanced over at Moonchild, who was blithely gawking at the interior of the fancy elevator. He smirked to himself, the kid was doing well. He probably didn't quite comprehend the danger they were in, thank God, but it was the booze that was taking the edge off the kid's shyness.

'Better keep that rollin',' Husk though to himself. 'He seems to get a float offa watered down beer, so this'll take some finesse, he's no good to me hammered… though he would be fuckin' adorable…'

The doors opened with a 'ding'. The sixth level was where the chaff began to filter out, and it showed, exotically dressed demons milled about, the tasteful, syrupy music hung in the air like sweet perfume, the glint and glitter of gold and jewels flashed on the taloned hands of a different breed of hellion. Husk grinned and sauntered out, his eye-catching company made more than a few eyes drawn by the chime stick and follow. Angel Dust was known to this crowd for his exemplary service, but Husk noted with sardonic amusement that Angel's Hell-renowned looks were being overshadowed by the gentle, innocent little fry on his right.

Angel noticed too.

Husk could almost laugh.

"This place seems…" Moonchild said, his voice faltering. "Different."

"It is different," said Husk. "Angel, take Moonie and find us a table, I'm gonna grab us some drinks. Any requests?"

"Two Dirty Shirley's, double-strength for me," said Angel, patting Moonchild on the shoulder. "It's a swell drink, kid, you'll love it. C'mon."

"O-okay…" Moonchild said as he was led away. "Mr. Husk?"

"Yer doin' great, kid!" Husk called out after him. "I'll be right witcha!"

Husk turned away from them and made for the bar; he needed to get a shot of liquid courage into the kid if this roll they were on was going to play out. He stood at the bar and looked around, examining the whiskey and scotch section. There were some pretty fresh choices here; Glenmorangie, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Edradour, Nikka Whiskey, the list went on. He decided to stick to the cheaper stuff, wait until they were further along in their winning streak before shelling out for the big stuff. Being a big spender before making big money always raised the wrong set of eyebrows.

He ordered their drinks, getting half-strength Dirty Temple for Moonchild and a double for Angel, he himself settling for a 12 Year Glenfiddich.

He reached for his wallet when the bartender raised his hand. "Your tab has been covered, sir."

Husk blinked. "What? I just got here."

The bartender nodded. "Indeed. A gentleman told me he was expecting you and to tell you when you ordered 'your swill' that he'd be covering your tab for as long as you're at the Azathoth."

Husk's eyes narrowed, his hackles raising. "Which demon?"

The bartender pointed. "Over there. The gentleman in the red and black suit at poker-table 7."

Husk took his drinks and made his way over. A single lizard-demon sat with three other, seriously frightened looking hellions, all around him stacks of multi-colored poker chips… a smaller, much more ominous stack of bone-white chips. As Husk approached, the cardshark slapped down his hand.

"Call. Six and King," he said. "Bob Saget."

The other three demon's faces twisted into paroxysms of horror, one shooting to his feet and scrambling away from the table. Quite for naught, as all three collapsed into boneless heaps, the color bleeding away from their paste-like forms as they each abruptly imploded into tiny discs, poker-chips, and floated over to the stack. The lizard-demon, specifically a gecko-demon, plucked one of the chips from the stack and began rolling the chip back and forth on his fingers.

"Husk," he said, gesturing to the now-empty chair opposite him across the table. "Have a seat."

"Much obliged," said Husk, sitting down and glaring at his host. "How are you, Poker Face?"

Poker Face flipped the chip and caught it, a wide, hateful grin spreading across his face. "Rolling."