Author's note: Woof! Glad to say, I'm feeling much better now! Things have been resolved and I am officially out of my funk! I've been writing this chapter the whole time, since I'm pathological like that, and this is how it came out... for better or for worse...

Bear in mind, this is not the full chapter, but only half, the other half I'll be posting some time tomorrow! But since you've all been so patient and wonderful, I figured you're all entitled to a little something extra!

Enjoy!

Chapter 19: Constellation

Husk took a pull of whiskey and handed the bottle over to Moonchild, who knocked back an impressive string of tugs before passing it onto the spider-demon. The band played on through the night, their undead, shadowy wielders tirelessly belted out the classics. Well, 'classics', most of them would have been on their way to being antiquated when Husk was a kid. Whatever, they cut the silence and the whiskey was making the peppy '20s ballroom bops danceable.

"Awright Grins," Husk growled. "We's good 'n liquored up now. What's yer game?"

Alastor chuckled and snapped his fingers, a flash of static and an ornate, double-edged dagger appeared in his hand. "Why, we're playing the knife game!"

"Fuckin' five finger fillet?" Husk snorted. "And here I thought ya had a creative bone in that pinstriped pecker-pole ya call a body!"

"Hark, Husker, my sour-faced souse! Because a standard game of bishop is a dull affair, I've added a new element: SOOOOOOONG~"

Alastor set his hand down on the table with a 'slam', a shadowy familiar appearing next to him, a banjo in its claws.

"There is an old tradition / a game we all can play / it starts by getting liquored up / and sharpening your blade!" He summoned the whiskey and took a heavy pull, guzzling the spirit like water. "You take a shot of whiskey / and grab your knife and pray / and spread apart your fingers and this is what you say!"

The blade came down between his thumb and forefinger with a dry 'clack'. The blade danced between his fingers, the sound of the blade gouging the tabletop blending into the jaunty, upbeat tune of the banjo. "Oh I have all my fingers / the knife goes chop chop chop / and if I miss the space between / my fingers will come off / and if I hit my fingers / the blood will soon come out / But all the same I play the game / cause that's what it's all about!"

Alastor upended the knife and tossed it forward, the blade sticking in the tabletop. "You try!"

Angel reached out for the blade when Husk grabbed his wrist, jabbing a finger at Alastor. "What're you up to, Chuckles?"

"Why, Husker," said Alastor, his grin widening. "Whatever do you mean?"

"S'pose ya just so happened to have a ceremonial blade on hand?" Husk said, pointing to the ornately designed crossguard and skull-shaped pommel of the dagger before pointing to the tabletop. "And just carved a buncha yer voodoo bullshit wing-dings into the table just now by accident?"

Alastor closed his fingers, covering the arcane symbols. "Wouldja look at that! What a coincidence!"

"Ahuh," grunted Husk, raising the whiskey bottle to his lips. "And if any of us just so happened to cut ourselves with that blade, all while consenting to this game of yers, we'd be–"

Husk was cut off when a hand snatched the bottle out of his grasp. Moonchild upended the whiskey, finishing off the bottle with a few hearty swigs. The young sea-demon set the bottle down and grabbed the dagger, splaying his fingers out wide.

"Oh I have all my fingers / the knife goes chop chop chop / and if I miss the space between / my fingers will come off / and if I hit my fingers / the blood will soon come out / But all the same I play the game / cause that's what it's all about!" The blade was a blur, hammering a frenetic tempo as Moonchild continued to sing, the shadowy banjo-player struggling to keep up with the beat. "Oh chop chop chop chop chop chop / I'm picking up the speed / and if I hit my fingers / then my hand will start to bleed!"

Moonchild tossed the dagger into the air and held out his finger, catching it blade-first, balancing the tip on his finger, a wry smirk on his face. With a flick of his wrist he sent the blade streaking across the table at the snarling deer-demon. Alastor casually caught the blade between his fingers and, with a meager effort, melted it down to slag in an instant.

"Show off," he sneered.

"My baby boy done whupped ya, Smiles!" Angel whooped and wrapped his arms around Moonchild, grinning at Alastor as he held up Moonchild's hand. "Notta scratch, notta fuckin' scratch!"

"That was a dumb fuckin' move, kid!" Husk chuckled and clapped Moonchild on the shoulder. "Cool as shit, but fuckin' dumb."

Angel popped a cigarette between his lips and lit it, the coal glowed pink as thick, acrid smoke poured from his nostrils. He leaned in close to Moonchild, his breath a sour mix of tobacco and whiskey, curling his nose. "Mooonie… I ever tell ya how proud I am of ya?"

Moonchild smiled despite not caring for the acrid smoke. "Really?"

"Yeah, kid!" Husk broke in. "When ya first came here, we thought we had ya pegged as a spineless jellyfish in the shape of a man."

"A twinky man," slurred Angel. "The softest of softbois. We figgered we could spread ya on crackers, you eunuch jelly, thou. But then ya surprised us and hardened the fuck up!"

"But that ain't what we're proud of," Husk said, soberly. "Any cunt can harden up and throw his weight around. But you, kid? Ya was sick and ya got better."

"I don't follow?" Moonchild glanced between his friends.

"Even after learnin' t'stick up fer yerself, yer still a sweet, kind babyman we's just looooove ta bits!" Angel said, clearly soused, wrapping Moonchild in several pairs of arms. "I juss wanna squeeeeze alla dat goodboi juice outta ya. Drink it all up!"

Angel took a pull on his cigarette, eyebrow cocking as he discovered the coal was snuffed. "Da fuck?"

"Bug's comin on a little strong," Husk grumbled, but gave Moonchild a playful punch on the shoulder. "But he's right. Ya learned to stick up for yerself without becomin' a dickhead. You kept your heart soft while hardenin' up around it. That ain't easy, not for nobody. We remember how ya were and see how ya are and… well, we're happy for ya, Moonie."

Moonchild sniffled, his fuchsia eyes large and wet, the bottle he had downed earlier was starting to make itself know. "M-Mr. Husk… Angel…"

"Yous tearin' up, Moonie?" Angel said as he relit his cigarette. "Watchit, Mittens, Fishy's got hugs in his eyes!"

Before Husk could back away, Moonchild had scooped both him and Angel into a crushing embrace, his powerful physique making itself known as he crushed them with heedless affection.

"Thank you both so much!" Moonchild cried, tears pouring down his cheeks. "I wouldn't have come so far without you guys!"

"Ghhk…" Husk growled, smiling despite himself. "Don't mention it, kid."

"Urrk…" Angel croaked out a puff of greasy smoke, grinning as a blush burned in his cheeks. "Harder~ Ya gotta go 'till the vision tunnels…"

"Oh ho ho ho~" Alastor chuckled, his tone almost affectionate. "How repulsive."

"Awww poor Chuckles! Smile's salty cuz he ain't got no friends! How–" Angel moved to take a drag on his cigarette, only to find the coal had once again been snuffed. "Piece a'shit, what's goin' on?"

Angel held out his lighter and flicked the wheel, a small green flame flaring from the nozzle. He moved to relight the cigarette when the lighter was roughly snatched from his hands, floating in midair, held by nothing.

"What the fuck?"

The shiny metal lighter crumpled inward with a sharp, metallic crunch, the fuel inside squirting out and painting a phantasmal shape, a stray spark ignited the fuel and wreathed the shape in a second skin of flame, a clenched, flaming fist.

"What the fuck?!"

"D!" Moonchild exclaimed, turning to empty air to his left. "Rude! Also, since when can you summon yourself? … Oh, 'evidently'! When were we going to talk about this? … I know we're talking about it now, don't be a smartass!" Moonchild sighed and shook his head, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Sorry. He doesn't like cigarette smo–"

Angel was on the other side of the table, hiding behind Husk, their eyes as wide as dinner plates. Alastor snickered to himself, stabbing the spaces between his fingers.

"What?"

"WHAT THE FUCK, MOONIE!" Husk exclaimed.

"What's goin' on?!" Angel screamed, pointing at the destroyed lighter.

"You…" Moonchild pointed to the empty space over his shoulder. "You can't see him?"

"See who?!" Angel cried. "What're ya talkin' about?!"

Moonchild cocked his ear and frowned. "They're not that drunk! …Or stupid! They're my friends, be nice!"

Alastor chuckled and drummed his fingers on the gouged table. "Well, this night took a turn."

"…No, no, that's a good theory," said Moonchild, nodding to no-one in particular.

"Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?" Angel moaned. "Aren't things crazy enough, now we gotta involve imaginary friends!"

"D thinks that only Hellborn and former Stand-users can see him, since Via and Charlie were able to see him before."

"I can see him!" Alastor added, cheerfully.

"You don't count."

"Moonchild!" Husk bellowed, slamming his hands down on the table. "Explain!"

"Oh, uh, well, earlier today I was trying to, uh, talk to Diavolo and he kinda, sorta, appeared? He's sort of like a Stand now, I guess."

"And when was ya gonna let us in on this li'l development?" Angel snarled, gesturing at the empty space over Moonchild's shoulder and then to himself. "When Mr. Hole-Punch decided to make a strawberry-cream donut?!"

"Well, it wasn't exactly an easy topic to segue to," Moonchild said, sighing. "And besides, he's promised to be good… or at least to not hurt anyone."

"Oh, he promised!" Husk sneered, turning to Angel Dust. "Y'hear that, Angel? Rippin' Tearin' Red Nightmare pwomises he'ww be a good boi!"

"Well, sorry Moonie, I'm just not comfortable chillin' with an invisible psychopath!" Angel said, crossing his arms. "He was bad enough when I could see him!"

Husk squawked in surprise as his top hat was lifted from his head and set down, levitating in midair. "Hey! Give that back!"

"No, no, waitaminute…" Angel said, smirking. "This gives me an idea…"

Angel reached under the table and pulled out his portable make-up station, a wide, gold-glinting grin on his face. "Imma doll the killa up like a right tart so's we can keep an eye on 'im!"

"Hate to say it, Bug, but that's a great idea," Husk said, smiling toothily at the levitating hat. "Bust out the tackiest hooer-paintjob ya got! We's gonna–"

–Husk was standing, jabbing a finger at the entity under his stolen hat. "–Paint ya up like a-wait, what?"

"Where's my touch-up set?!" Angel cried, bare hands shooting to his face. "And my gloves!"

A pair of gloved hands waved at them under the hat.

"Ay! Casper the Douchey Ghost! Where's my make-up kit?!"

The gloves shrugged in an overdramatic manner, the invisible sneer clear on his face, Angel started forward, reaching into his purse, growling. "Fuckin'–"

Husk reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Angel glared at Diavolo and roughly brushed Husk's hand off his shoulder. "A'ight. Well, Imma head to the smokin' table. Moonie, get yer bud drunk or laid or somethin'. Catch ya in a bit."

Moonchild sighed and clapped his hand to his face as Angel stormed off for Charlie's table. "Well, I hope you're happy."

A gloved hand tipped the rim of the hat.

"Octavia was right," Moonchild said, shaking his head. "D does stand for douche."

Octavia sighed and sipped her drink, wincing at the alcohol burn that overrode the fruity sweetness of the punch; whoever mixed this had a very loose grasp on what constitutes a 'splash' of vodka. She drummed her fingers on the table as the others prattled on like they weren't all going to die.

Because of her.

Octavia shook her head and took another, larger gulp of her drink.

"…And that's basically what happened," said Charlie. "Now the Other Guy is, like, a ghost or something."

"As if he couldn't get any creepier," Vaggie grumbled.

"Oh, you have no idea!" Charlie exclaimed. "Even worse, he's all… polite and respectful, calls me 'Charlotte', It's so creepy!"

"Is he hot?" Niffty said, her claws digging into the table top.

"Well…"

"Answer the question!"

Charlie sighed and folded her arms. "…Yeah. He's hot."

"Yeeesss…" Niffty hissed, grinning.

"Oh, well then!" Vaggie said, throwing her hands up. "He's practically half-way redeemed already!"

"That's what rock hard abs and a tight butt are for, Vaggie," Charlie said, smiling wryly. "They help us girls overlook obvious personality flaws."

"Like, okay." Octavia broke in. "Excuse me, but I have to ask: is redemption actually possible? Like, for real 'pass go, collect 200$' redeemed and Heaven-bound?"

Charlie and Vaggie exchanged looks. "Uhh… kinda?"

Octavia arched an eyebrow. "Kinda?"

"Yeah, kinda 100% true facts, Li'l Hoot," Angel said as he pulled up a chair next to her. "Redemption is con-fuckin'-foimed."

"Angel, what're–"

Angel popped a cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a long, savoring drag on it. "Ooh yeah… that's th'stuff. As I was sayin' before, Hooty-Toots, yeah, redemption's a thing. I saw it wit' my own eyes, see?"

Octavia turned to him, wafting the acrid smoke out of her face. "What? Really?"

"Yeah!" Angel said, tapping on the table. "My buddy, see, he was a right bastard down here and on Earth, a serial killer what became an assassin! But after a little while here, wit' us losers, he done turned his life around, came outta his shell, and… and he gave his life to protect us. Took an angel-knife right through the pump, but he didn't die, see? Well, I mean, he did, but right after he let out this weird golden smoke and passed on. Now, if'n ya tell me that ain't redemption, Imma have to ask ya to step outside, tits!"

Octavia shrank away from the increasingly incensed spider, glancing nervously over at Charlie, who nodded. "It's true. Our former patient was showing excellent progress before he, uh, died. And the phenomena after his death was witnessed by almost everyone here!"

"Almost everyone?"

"Alastor was conspicuously absent during the attack," grumbled Vaggie. "And may or may not have been directly responsible for the whole fiasco to begin with! It's impossible to get a straight answer out of that leering jackass!"

Octavia glanced around the table for confirmation, Niffty nodded and so did Charlie, looking not a little proud of herself. "Huh. I just figured that, well, if redemption is possible why haven't you, I dunno, advertised it at all?"

Charlie's pride faltered and she tapped her fingers together, smiling nervously. "Weeellll… you see, while it was a very interesting indicator that we're on the right path, Vaggie and I feel that it would be best if we promoted our methods with a patient who, uh, survives the procedure before advertising."

Octavia rapped her talons on the desk and rolled her eyes. "I guess that makes sense."

"So, Angel," said Vaggie, annoyed. "Why're you over here all of a sudden? Was no one drunk enough for a handy under the table?"

"Like I'd stop if they weren't!" Angel snorted, puffing on his cigarette with relish. "Naw. Moonie's imaginary friend don't like second-hand smoke, so here I am, toleratin' ya broads until I get enough of a nikky-fix."

"He's out?!" Vaggie exclaimed, shooting to her feet, squinting. "…Where?"

"See the pair a'gloves and the hat? Those two're pullin' an invisible man vaudeville or somethin'!"

Charlie cocked her head, looking over at the boy's table; sitting there, opposite Husk with a fan of cards in his gloved hands was Diavolo, Husk's top-hat sitting at a jaunty skew atop his head. The chiseled face of the demon-ghost turned to look at her, his cold green eyes locking with hers. His face pulled into what a lunatic might consider a friendly smile, his eyes glinting like shiny stones. She felt a cold chill race up her spin, gooseflesh rising on her arms.

"Why would Moonie let him out? I thought–wait," Charlie said, before cutting herself off and turning to Angel. "You can't see him?"

"No?" Angel said, shrugging. "Or hear 'im. He put on my gloves and Kitty's hat so's we had somethin' t'look at. See, I wanted to paint the chode up real slutty but he did that '–' thing he does and now I'm down a beauty station!"

"This would all be very interesting if we didn't have Sallos breathing down our necks." Charlie muttered. "Anyway! Moonie wouldn't have let him out if there was any danger."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he had a say in the matter," Angel said, puffing on his dart and blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, catching Octavia in its noxious fume, causing her to cough. Moonchild cocked his head at the sound, but remained focused on the game. Diavolo's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing. "Considerin' what's comin' our way, we don't need–"

–Angel's hand was extended before him, his purse out on the table. "This shit. Wait, what?"

Octavia looked around, confused. "What was that?"

"Big D's power. Asshole can erase snippets a'time so he can–" Angel sneered, attempting to take a drag on his cigarette only to find it had been snuffed. "Oh, you motherfucker!"

Octavia rolled her eyes and took a hefty swig from her cup, digesting the information.

Redemption is possible.

She'd considered the possibility, fretted about it even, but now things were different. She'd seen how Moonchild had changed, how he'd grown and matured. Moonchild had gotten better, stronger. This place was good for him.

Good for all of Hell.

…And she was about to bring the forces of Lucifer himself down upon it…

Octavia drained her glass in a single draught, almost coughing when she discovered that the drink hadn't been properly mixed and the last few dregs were almost pure vodka. She powered through it, her face scrunching up as she felt the warmth blossom in her gullet, spreading through her body.

"Oop! Empty cup!" Niffty chirruped, hopping onto the table. "Getcha another?"

Charlie opened her mouth to intervene but Octavia hurriedly handed the little mite the glass. "Please. Double-strength."

"Of course, Your Highness." Niffty curtseyed and took off for the punch-table.

"Maybe you should slow down?" Charlie said, a furrow of concern on her brow. "Niffty tends to eyeball the drinks she mixes and, well, she only has one."

"Hey!" Vaggie exclaimed, indignant.

"Well, gee, Charlotte. Sorry, but I'm in a drinking mood," Octavia said, her tone icy. "Almost like I'm stressed about something."

Charlie opened her mouth to reply when Niffty zipped back over, placing a towering glass of punch before the goth princess. Octavia picked it up and tilted her head bad, her throat bobbing as she gulped back the punch.

"Whoa," Vaggie said, eye wide. "Damn."

Charlie started forward. "Octavia–"

Octavia raised her index finger as she quickly drained the glass, exhaling and wiping her beak. "Phaaa… another one."

"Yes ma'am!" Niffty cheered, zipping off to the punch table in a flash.

"Octavia, I know you're going through a lot right now, but I promise you–"

"Charlotte… ugh, I'm sorry, it's just, I appreciate you taking me in and all you've done for Moonie, but–" Octavia paused, shaking her head as her vision abruptly doubled. "Whoa, okay… uh, sorry, I'd just like a change of subject, okay?"

Charlie frowned but relented, nodding.

A silence fell over the table, the music playing lending a detached, sober tone to the festivities. It was Angel who spoke next, sounding uncharacteristically uneasy. "So, uh, anyone got a subject?"

"Here's your drink!" Niffy said, setting down the glass.

"Thank you," Octavia mumbled, sipping the punch.

Niffty smiled before snapping her fingers. "Oh, hey! That reminds me! Have you and Moonchild had sex yet?"

Octavia spat out her mouthful as Angel cackled, slapping his knee.

"Niffty!" Charlie exclaimed, mortified.

"That'll do." Angel snorted a laugh, turning to her. "Well? Didja catch ya a nice fat trout yet?"

Octavia blushed furiously and turned away from the leering spider-demon, sipping her punch and mumbling: "N-none of your business…"

"Quite right! Now is neither the time or place!"Charlie barked, slamming her hands down on the table, a huge forced smile on her face. "But you know what time it is?"

Angel rolled his eyes and took a drag on his cigarette. "Ya better not say kar–"

"KAREOKE TIME!"

Octavia snorted and looked away from Charlie as she dragged Angel and Vaggie over to the stage. She examined her reflection in her drink, even in the red liquid she could see an unmistakable flush in her cheeks, cursing the lingering, no, building heat blossoming in her chest, her heart beating a heady tune. It was at times like this she saw her father in herself, lurid and obscene, with no sense of timing or propriety. Here she was, hanging out with the daughter of the abomination that signed her death warrant, her terrifyingly strong sweetheart of an uncle was coming along to snip her neck, not to mention some class-A lunatics actually went and stole one of, if not the, most dangerous holy artifact in creation and brought it to Hell!

…And all she could think of at that moment was how hot Moonchild had looked in that goth get-up. How right it felt when he kissed her. How good it would feel to have his warm, hard body pressed up against hers and–

She shook her head and gulped her punch, belatedly realizing that it probably wasn't helping her current situation. She glanced over to the other table where Moonchild and the others sat. The Radio Demon was adroitly shuffling a deck of cards while Husk and Moonchild threw peanuts at the narrow rim of a beer bottle. Husk growled and snapped his fingers as his peanut bounced off the rim. Moonchild's big, bright fuchsia eyes narrowed as he focused, positioning his arm carefully, his green-black tongue running along his lips adorably as he lined up the shot. A flick of the wrist and the peanut tumbled through the air in a high arc, the oblong legume spun forward as it plummeted towards the bottle, the narrow end rotating down as it passed comfortably through the narrow rim and neck, dropping into the beer with a fizzling 'plunk'. Moonchild shot to his feet and cheered, arms in the air. Husk slammed his hands down on the table and joined his young friend in a whooping cheer. Even Alastor looked impressed.

The smile on his face, the high, joyous smile that practically made the air around him glow, brought back memories of how he was for so many years. A small, timid creature who spoke softly and smiled sweetly to mask his unending misery and terror. And here he was now, strong, confident, but still that sweet, tender soul she'd confided in for all those years. What was she doing here? Putting him at risk, putting them all at risk…

Moonchild drained the beer and glanced inside the bottle. One of the thicker tentacles atop his head reared up and probed the opening almost sensuously before creeping in. The slick, muscular organ weaved deep into the bottle and wrapped around the nubby little peanut, gently but firmly squeezing it. Moonchild obliviously withdrew his tentacle and popped the peanut into his mouth.

Octavia's face reddened as a renewed flush of hot blood surged through her, countless possibilities and scenarios flooding her mind. "Hoot~"

What was she thinking about again?

"I know, right?" Niffty said, leering at her. "Imagine."

Octavia said, nothing, turning back to her drink. 'Eh, why not?'

Across the room, Moonchild sat back down, examining the hand he was dealt by the leering horror. Looking over his shoulder at Octavia, no, staring, was Diavolo, his expression stern. His eyes narrowed.

Charlie announced the opening of the mic on the karaoke station, futilely offering the first song to the others in the room. Angel was still finishing a drink and Octavia and Niffty were watching the poker game at the boy's table with peculiar interest. With a shrug she guided an adoring Vaggie up onto the stage and began flicking through the library.

Husk glared across the table at the faceless void beneath his top-hat, the fan of cards in the disembodied gloves floating above the table, the table between them a forest of unopened beer bottles, the pot on the line. Moonchild was out of the game early and Smiles had been folding like wet cardboard since he dealt. It was between Husk and Moonchild's dickhead alter-ego, and not for beer; this was a matter of pride for the psychotic specter, Husk could taste it.

"Hrmph. That's a helluva poker face ya got there."

The phantom said nothing, or if he did, Husk couldn't hear it. So, what, this chucklehead was a Stand or a ghost or whatever and that's why Husk and the others couldn't see him, but Chuck and the other Hellborn could? Whatever, these fucking things never made any sense to him anyway, why start now?

"Well, I've played faceless dickheads before," Husk said, sipping his beer as Charlie and Vaggie commenced quite possibly the cutest cover of 'Don't Stop Believing' in all of Hell. "Ain't met a one what could spoof me forever."

Moonchild, who had lost the last of his beers a round ago, winked at Husk and glanced at his counterpart, casually running his hand through his long, tentacled 'hair', the slick, pink strands shifting in color and pattern, beginning to form the colors and shapes of his Other Half's hand. Diavolo didn't seem to notice until he reached up and smacked Moonchild on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Thanks kid, but I got this," said Husk, smiling. "Call."

Diavolo paused for a moment, a slight clenching of the hands in those gloves, caused by a nigh-imperceptible tensing of his invisible shoulders. A crap hand? A telegraphed faux-tell? Only time would tell.

Diavolo silently set down his cards, a two-pair, with two Jacks and a pair of sixes with an ace of diamonds.

"Not bad, not bad…" Husk set down his cards with a flourish, three sevens, an eight of hearts, and an ace of spades . "Three of a kind with an ace'a spades cap. Choke on that, Hollow Man!"

The hat canted to the side, a nigh-audible sigh shuddered through the gloves. Husk cackled and moved to scoop the score of beers that was the pot. "Yeah, that's right! Hail to the king, bab–"

"Straight flush~" Alastor crooned, his smile sparkling.

Husk's smile dropped and he glared at the Radio Demon, his deep, gravelly voice dropping another icy octave in disgust. "You've been foldin' this whole round… with a straight fuckin' flush?!"

"Why?" Alastor said, his smile innocent but his eyes mocking pits of crimson. "That's a good hand, right? I'm afraid I don't play pea-knuckle much."

"WE AIN'T PLAYIN' FUCKIN' PINOCHLE, YA GRINNIN' PIECE A SHIT!" Husk roared, Moonchild shooting to his side and setting his hands on his shoulders, calming the incensed sphinx.

Husk glowered as Alastor scooped the beers his way, chuckling jollily. "My, what rush! I can see why you waste your time with such nonsense!"

"Never figgered ya fer a swiller, Grins," Husk grumbled as the Radio Demon surveyed his two dozen bottles of Hell's Finest.

"Pish posh!" Alastor said, making the bottles vanish with a wave of his hand. "Never touch the stuff! This hoppy piss is like sex in a canoe!"

Moonchild cocked his head, confused. "What does that mean?"

"Fuckin' near water," said Husk, finishing his brew. "So what is your poison, Al? Absinthe? Chartreuse? The tears of puppyless orphans?"

"Partial to bourbon and rum, myself," Alastor, snapping his fingers as a dark bottle appeared in his hand. "But a cool fizzy bottle of A&W root beer is what's on the menu tonight! Ahhh… harkens me back to my childhood, when I'd round up stray cats to go gator-fishing on the bayou! There was something about those big kitty-cat eyes those scaly scamps couldn't resist! Ah ha ha ha!"

Alastor capped the bottle and raised it to his lips when Diavolo plucked a Mentos from the bowl in the middle of the table and flicked it at the Radio Demon's face, hard. Alastor's head snapped to the side at an unnatural angle with a gristly, meaty crunch. The mint went sailing over his shoulder into the darkness.

"Ooh! That's one sour puss!" Alastor cackled. "Now, now Diavolo. No one likes a sore loser!"

The Mentos streaked through the air before it ran straight into a balloon, bouncing off and up towards the high ceiling in a long, languid arc.

"I'll let it slide this time, but any more chicanery from you and I promise," Alastor said as he raised the root beer in a mock toast, his eyes burning crimson orbs over the dark glass bottle. "You may think you've been through hell, but I'll–"

The Mentos whistled over Alastor's head and into the mouth of the bottle without so much as touching the sides. An instant later and a light brown pillar of froth belched out from the bottle, catching Alastor square in the face, filling his mouth and nostrils with bubbling, stinging fizz. Alastor gargled and sputtered in surprise as his beverage turned on him.

Husk's glower gave way to surprise, then confusion, then sheer, unadulterated glee as he caught on to what had just happened, leaping to his feet and cackling, clapping his hands as he pointed at the doused demon who once cast a shadow over Hell itself. Moonchild, who was standing behind Husk, punched the air and whooped, pointing to the doused demon, then to the exceedingly smug hat and pair of gloves opposite him. High, ecstatic laughter sounded over the speakers as Vaggie broke down on stage, her peals of helpless mocking laughter overpowering the last few notes of 'Separate Ways'. Charlie looked confused before Vaggie breathlessly filled her in on the situation, pointing to the dripping, confused horror at the guy's table, herself succumbing to a giggle fit on stage, though she turned away from the mic to do so.

"Bois!" Vaggie called out over the spreakers. "Spotlight on Al!"

They did, shining a circle of light on the sticky, snarling Radio Demon. "We got us a winner for biggest dipshit at the Happy Hotel! Three cheers for Alastor, everyone! Hip-hip!"

"Hooray!"

"Hip-hip!"

"Hooray!"

"Hip-hip!"

Alastor crossed his arms, green flares of pact magic popping around him like infernal fireworks, restraining him, his famous grin now a strained, tightlipped smirk. "Hooray."

Moonchild nursed his beer as he watched Angel Dust croon 'Closer' up on the stage, his violent sexual energy convincingly authentic. Husk had left to fetch a 'special somethin' from his room, his genuine joy would have been endearing had it not been so malicious. He glanced over at Diavolo, who was staring right back at him.

"Ask."

"What?"

"Ask," Diavolo repeated. "It's why you tried to talk to me in the first place."

Moonchild sighed and leaned back, finger on the rim of his bottle as he rolled it around on the table. "How'd you do that? I mean, we're good, speed, reflexes, coordination, etc, but we're not that good. That was like something out of Tom and Jerry."

"Would that make me Jerry and you Tom?" Diavolo said with a smirk. "Tell me how you think I did it."

Moonchild exhaled and leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer. "You… looked into the future?"

"I did."

"But that's not all," said Moonchild leaning forward. "When I look into the future, I can change a few things here and there, but I can't do something like that. I mean, you could have looked into the future and saw that that would happen if you did it, but what are the odds of that happening in the first place?"

"Twenty-five million, four-hundred and ninety-six thousand, eight-hundred and forty-two," said Diavolo, examining his gloved hands. "To one."

Moonchild shot him a chiding look, Diavolo smirked and shook his head. "You really have no idea what we're capable of, do you?"

"Enlighten me, wise one."

"You've never wondered why things are different down here? Why you can even do what little you can?" Diavolo said, getting to his feet. "In life, on Earth, we could only see the future and brace for it, because those events would transpire no matter what we did. This is because of fate. Fate is the bones of time, the scaffolding on which the flesh of reality is affixed. It was only through King Crimson that we could shirk the confines of fate, by stepping out and back in to avoid its machinations, but it was still unchangeable in and of itself."

Moonchild stared blankly at Diavolo. "But in Hell it's… not that?"

Diavolo sighed and rolled his eyes, looking around at the table, reaching out and grabbing a toothpick. "This. See this? This is our Earth, our universe, our timeline. See? It's a line, there's no breaks, it follows itself as a consequence of its structure. Understand?"

"No."

"Ah, but we know there are alternate universes, because Stolas' grimoire can traverse them. Look." Diavolo grabbed a dozen toothpicks and laid them out on the table in a circle, their tips overlapping. "Multiple universes, multiple timelines, multiple fate structures. But here, in the middle, is Heaven and Hell. These realms are the focal point for infinite timelines, the hub upon which countless spokes intersect, like a great wheel. In this place, the lines of fate cross, their structures become confused, fluid, interchangeable."

"How did you figure this out?" Moonchild pored over the toothpicks, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And how does this explain that Looney Tunes bullshit you just pulled?"

"It was a theory, one I've been working on since you let me out." Diavolo waved his hand and summoned their immediate past. "We can view the future from only one perspective, our own, but our past-vision is far more free. Multiple angles, differences in resolution, even time is ours to play with in this state. I theorized that it's because in this recollective state we could examine all the information our potential alternate selves could see. In literary terms, first-person plus infinity equals third-person limited."

Moonchild examined himself as he drank his beer, eating peanuts, sped up and slowed down, from multiple different angles. "I… never thought of it like that."

"I know." Diavolo then shifted them into their shared perspective, back into a fixed point of view, but when Moonchild looked back, he saw a long line of himselves looking forward, and then back, and back, and back, down the line, replaying his immediate past up until that point.

"W-what?!"

"My time in the Requiem taught me much," Diavolo said from within Moonchild, a smile in his voice. "That the past and present can co-exist within the concept of zero. In this zero-state, with the past and present briefly overlapping, we can see the void in which causality lay. Look forward."

Moonchild cast his sight forward, to the future, and saw that their table extended ever onward in countless frames, all the way to the end of the 100 second window that was his precognition.

"You can see how things will play out, that much is true," Diavolo said, patiently. "But you were still thinking it worked as it did on Earth, as though in a line and not a fractal of possibility. Try altering what you see while you see it."

Moonchild looked down at his hands, flexing them. Suddenly, the hands in the future doubled, tripled, and then broke into infinity. Possibilities of his right clenching, then his left, the reverse, both at once, his hands smashing the table into splinters, grabbing his beer and taking a drink, and on and on.

"What is this?!" Moonchild cried, horrified.

"This the power of zero, the absence of fate," Diavolo whispered in his ear. "The void into which countless possibilities can flow. Reach out, Moonchild. Choose your future, choose your fate."

Moonchild picked up his beer and drained the mostly full bottle in a single draught.

Diavolo chuckled. "Good choice."

Moonchild set the bottle down with a 'clunk', in the present once more, wiping his mouth. "That was… weird. So you, what, chose a timeline where Alastor got a face-full of root beer?"

"More or less," said Diavolo, tipping Husk's hat. "I admit, I never would have thought to experiment in this way had you not also wanted to wipe that grin off his smug, grey face. Were it up to me, I would have opted to tear it off along with the rest of his head. Your… reticence to do harm forced me to reconsider my options. Your passivity led me down a path of greater power. Charlotte is right, who we could be is far greater than the mere sum of our parts."

"So, you're still up for trying redemption?" Moonchild said, a wry smile on his face.

"Let's just say," Diavolo smiled, Moonchild couldn't quite decide if it was friendly, "The future's looking bright."

Just then, Husk was back, in his hands a squat black bottle with an elaborate crest that read 'Bunnahabhain's 25'. "There's my favorite twins! Hey, Big D, I gotta say, I had ya pegged all wrong. Figgered ya was some stone-faced psycho with no sense a'humor. But then ya done goofed on that smug asshole like a fuckin' boss! That makes ya okay in my book. Here."

"Big D?" Diavolo mused.

"It's term of endearment, relax."

"No, no," Diavolo smiled, tipping the hat to Husk. "I rather like it."

Husk produced a trio of glasses and set them on the table, pouring a dram of the amber liquid in each, grabbing a cup for himself. "Hey, to friends and the future."

Diavolo and Moonchild raised their glasses in a toast. "To friends and the future."

The three tipped their glasses back and savored the sweet, slightly oaky flavor of the ambrosial spirit. Husk's face was a mask of contentment, Moonchild's scrunched at the alcohol burn, Diavolo's hat canted down as he looked at the pool of hideously expensive liquor pooling on the empty chair.

"Oh…" Moonchild said, sheepishly. "Sorry, Mr. Husk."

"Fuggetabout it, kid," Husk chuckled, waving him off. "I didn't pay for it."

"Moonie~!" Came a voice, it was Octavia, the waver in her voice as clear as the totter in her step as she made her way over. "Moonie, heeeey~ I wanna do the thing, okay? I want you to siiing with me~"

The soused owl grabbed Moonchild's arm and hauled him to his feet, Moonchild smiled apologetically at his friends and shrugged. "Sorry, guys. Duty calls!"

"Knock us dead, kid!" Husk called after him as he was dragged on-stage.

Husk watched with wry amusement as the demon princess pawed at the robust young man, it didn't take an engineer to see what Slot B's designs were for Rod Support A.

Something moved out the corner of his eyes.

No, not moved.

Blinked? Flickered?

He turned to see Big D, in his gloved hands was a glass of scotch, a finger of the amber spirit sloshing about. Husk glanced at the bottle: the level of fluid hadn't dropped. Or had it? He was a few in already and his most recent belt of scotch wasn't improving the situation. Big D handed him the glass, jostling it in an offering gesture.

"Hey, maybe yer not so bad, Big D." Husk grabbed the glass and knocked it back.

Husk felt the air sour, curdle, electrify. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it: Diavolo was smiling, and it wasn't a friendly smile.

The chair on which the phantom sat was dry.