Chapter 8: Sewing Your Design

"Mornin' Charlie."

She gasped, smiled her usual giant smile, and turned to give Vaggie a very pointed look. She rolled her eyes and shook her head in response, but had her own tiny smile like she always seemed to when her girlfriend was around. "Good morning, Angel!" Charlie sing-songed back. "You seem much more awake today, and much happier!"

"Guess I slept good," Angel said. Picking up a particularly crispy piece of bacon to munch on, he fiddled with the espresso maker. Guess he forgot to put it back last night. Might as well get some use out of it. "Anybody want a latte, cappuccino, macchiato…?" They gave him their orders and he set to work. Husk was great at the bar, but he had nothing on Angel as a barista.

"Seems like you're taking the new drink policy well," Charlie said, "and the token system and chore chart."

He snorted. "It's just been one day, babe. Maybe put your standards a little higher than that."

"Still!" She clapped her hands. "You've been improving a lot recently, helping out and staying out of trouble and giving hand-made gifts when there isn't even a holiday coming up—"

"I said there ain't no gift!"

"—wait, is there a holiday?" She gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, no! Is Al's birthday or helliversary coming up? Did he tell you, Angel? We didn't miss it, did we?"

One set of hands flew up defensively, the other still working the espresso machine. "Hey, I don't know shit, toots! He didn't tell me nothin' like that. Bet Husky or Nift would know, if anybody. Try askin' them."

Charlie hummed, leaning her chin on her hand. He could see the plan forming in her head. She'd probably already jumped to decorations and presents and what flavor of cake to serve.

Vaggie nudged her gently. "The announcement, hon?"

"Oh! Right!" She took a deep breath and stuck her hands on her hips. "Angel, I have another hotel announcement. Just for you this time!"

"Oh boy."

"Angel!" she repeated. "Because of your marked improvements and the great strides you've made towards redemption, we're going to shorten your probation based on good behavior. As of today, you're officially free to leave and enter the hotel at will!"

"As long as you stay out of trouble while you're out," Vaggie added, "and you don't bring your bullshit back with you."

He nearly dropped his mug. "Holy shit," he said quietly, then louder. "Holy shit! Fuck yes!" Cackling like a madman, he raced from the kitchen, door slamming into the wall with a bang as he burst through. He couldn't decide where to go first—Cherri, to tell her the good news and bust a few skulls? A real bar, where he could get shitfaced without trading in good boy points? The studio, to hang out with some of his favorite costars who were never on shift when he managed to sneak out?

He stopped suddenly, right before the entrance. Just stood there in the middle of the lobby biting his lip.

"The fuck's got into you?" Husk asked between swigs of his cheap booze.

Without responding, Angel turned on his heel and walked back to the kitchen at a more sedate pace. He heard the girls talking as he approached.

"—told you he'd—" Vaggie's eyes fell on the figure in the doorway. "Angel?"

"Angel, you're back!" Charlie said. "We thought you'd be out all day celebrating."

He shrugged, slipping into his seat with his coffee and another piece of bacon. "Got my sip and stitch and bitch or whatever the fuck with Smiles in a bit. I got time for all kinds of celebrating later."

He didn't miss the way she turned to Vaggie and mouthed "I told you!"

This time, finding Alastor's room took almost zero effort. Angel took one flight of stairs to get to the residential floors and it was right there, waiting for him. When he knocked, Al responded immediately with a "come in, Angel!" He was waiting for him, too.

"So glad you could make it, my dear fellow," he said as he ushered him inside. "Have you spoken to Charlie lately?"

"Hell yeah I did," Angel said, sprawling across half the sofa with his arms folded behind his head and over his stomach. "Probation's over! Now I'm back to doin' whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want. 'S long as it don't get back to Charlie, I guess."

"Very interesting."

Without elaborating, Alastor went off to gather the sewing supplies, shoes clicking on the wood floor. He hummed some old song as he piddled about, taking his sweet time to pick through the fabrics even though Angel could plainly see all the supplies he'd been using before set to one side of the cabinet.

Angel gave him a few moments to continue before he got impatient. "What's so interesting?"

"You, my dear."

Okay, he hadn't been expecting a straight answer at all, but he especially hadn't expected that one. He opened his mouth to demand more of an explanation, but Alastor continued without prompting.

"You've just been given your freedom," he said. The usual radio drone picked up for a moment, then switched to a different pitch. "You're officially free to leave and enter the hotel at will!" Charlie's voice said before the drone returned to its original sound. "You now have all the nine circles to visit at your leisure after being trapped in this particular pit of suffering for weeks, yet you've chosen to remain in what had been your prison."

"It wasn't that bad," Angel said, forcing a laugh. "I mean, I made it out like every other day anyway, not like I was cooped up too much."

"A prison is a prison, Angel, no matter how poor the guards."

"It ain't prison if you can get out whenever you feel like it."

Alastor's eyes lit up red, smile pulled stiff, static picking up. Somehow he'd crossed the room to loom over Angel from behind the couch like a gargoyle on top of an old Catholic church. "It is a prison if you make it so." The shrieking buzz rang in Angel's ears another moment before dying out. Alastor's face unfroze, no longer a statue. "Though you snuck out, you only ever did so on someone else's orders. When you did escape, you willingly returned before morning. While these walls did not hold you, you held yourself. You had every chance to leave and not return, to forget all about this redemption nonsense, yet you come back again and again. To this prison of your own making."

Angel swallowed. "'S a free room," he said, shrinking into the couch. "I ain't gonna risk losin' that just 'cause I wanna go clubbin' today 'stead of tomorrow. We got eternity, y'know."

"If I recall," he said, standing straight and glancing to the side in thought, "you have a free room already, don't you?" He looked Angel right in the eye, grin turning wicked. "At the studio."

"Shut the fuck up!"

He ignored the outburst. "So it isn't really about the room, then, is it? You must have some other reason to put up with all this. Some reason to stay here, rather than return to your old ways."

Three clawed hands dug into the cushions, the fourth clutching his chest. "You don't know shit," he hissed.

"Perhaps not," Alastor conceded, "perhaps I'm missing some crucial piece of information. But to me, Angel…it seems you might believe in redemption after all."

Oh. That's where he was leading to. It didn't seem to fit the theme Al had been going with, the prison and escape thing, but what did Angel know about how that creep's mind worked? He really should learn to kick his expectations to the curb as far as the Radio Demon was concerned.

He couldn't let Alastor know he'd missed the mark, though, or he'd go poking for it harder. Angel took great care to avoid showing his surprise and relief. Rather than letting himself relax, he tensed further, poking little holes in the upholstery. Faking extreme reactions was what he did best. "Hell no!" he nearly shouted, "I don't fucking—fuck off!"

With that, he swung his legs off the couch and stormed to the door, but nearly hesitated halfway across the room. Was that too extreme? He had wanted to finish those booties, but if Al was going to be an ass…

"Touchy about that, are you?"

Angel stopped. He turned, unamused, to a very amused overlord.

Alastor laughed along with his imaginary audience. "Pardon the antagonism, Angel," he said, absolutely unapologetic, "but I don't allow slights to go unrepaid."

"That wasn't the same and you know it." Still, he perched back on the couch with crossed legs and arms.

"Oh?" Alastor asked, sitting beside him, "Would you prefer if I'd questioned you in front of Charlie? Or perhaps that bomb-loving belle you hang around?"

…yeah, that was fair. But it didn't mean he'd stop pouting anytime soon.

Alastor didn't seem to mind. He rolled some fabric out and went about tracing a pattern, which prompted Angel to actually start what he came to work on, too. He wasn't sure when the supplies had made their way to the table, but he didn't question it. The silence was peaceful despite that little discussion only a few moments before. Al started playing music at some point, classic and jazzy. The silence remained until Angel had pinned nearly the whole boot.

"I did have a real question for you, Angel," Alastor said, "before I chose to irritate you."

"Yeah? Shoot." He stuck another pin in. "I can just stomp off again if I don't like it."

"That sounds agreeable!" He played another brief laugh track. "Well then, why is it you've chosen to remain at the hotel?"

The next pin Angel stuck in with more force than necessary. "Feelin' kinda stompy, Smiles."

"I meant today, after Charlie lifted your probation."

"You mean why didn't I run off as soon as I had the chance?"

"That's one way of asking, yes."

"She told me at breakfast," he said quietly. He poked the last pin through and reached for the needle and thread, never taking his eyes off the boot. "I would've missed our meeting. I'm a lot of things, Al, but a flake ain't one of 'em."

"I see."

The silence returned, changed somehow, punctuated only by rustling fabric and particularly loud saxophone riffs. Angel could stand it for only a few seconds before breaking it. "This shit is startin' to sound like an interrogation. How 'bout we turn this thing around? I get to ask you some questions now."

Alastor hummed. "Fair enough. But first!" He snapped his fingers. The two glasses from last time appeared in his hands. "What's a sip and stitch with nothing to sip, hm? I'll even let you choose the drink this time."

He didn't have to think. "Make it whiskey."

A bottle appeared on the table. "Oh?" he asked, pouring a few fingers. "A bit unexpected, I must admit. I've seen your choices at the bar."

"I was a mafia man before I died, got used to the tough guy drinks. Had to, 'specially after Pops caught me all dolled up and I had to dive headfirst back in the closet." He grabbed the glass and carefully took a drink the 'right way', the way that wouldn't get him called a pansy. "I'm countin' that as another question, by the way. Feel like lettin' me ask one yet?"

"Oh, by all means. I'm not stopping you, you know."

"Sure you're not," he said. He took another drink of whiskey, more of a sip this time. "Why d'you keep puttin' up with me?"

Maybe he shouldn't have led with that. Maybe he should've asked something simpler and worked his way up. He never was big on foreplay, though. Sure he could play the long haul if he had to, but he preferred a more instant gratification, or at least being able to actually see the progress. But whatever he should have done differently didn't matter, because Alastor's reaction alone was worth it. He paused just as the glass reached his lips in honest surprise, and almost imperceptibly, the music skipped.

He recovered quickly, once more perfectly poised, but the surprise was definitely there. "You're a guest at this hotel, Angel," he said, setting his glass back on the table without having taken a drink. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I've been an annoying little shit," Angel said. "An absolute jackass, like, this whole time. I'd've kicked myself out day one, y'know? Or at least after I grabbed you by your fuckin' throat in public."

"Oh, if you'd grabbed my throat, you would have been a smear on the pavement."

He rolled his eyes. "Tie, then, whatever. Point is, you don't need to do this. But you're hangin' out with me every day, invitin' me into your room, lettin' me make you a goddamn dress, for fuck's sake! All because you want somebody to sew with? I don't buy it."

Alastor was quiet for a moment. The song in the background played out with a long, low note, and no new song replaced it. "Before I answer your question," he said in the silence, "I'd like to ask you one more of my own."

"…I guess, sure."

"It's the same question you asked me that first day, when you came to me for entertainment. Why sewing?"

"What do y—you're the one who suggested it, Smiles."

"I did," he said, "and you agreed, and then you continued. Why?"

Angel bit his lip. If he wanted a real answer, he'd better give one too, shouldn't he? "Thought it'd be a good thing to know," he said. "I don't exactly have the most typical shape, with the extra arms and the fluff with my skinny ass. Plenty of weirder ones, sure, but I still gotta pay for alterations if I want anything more fitted than a potato sack and wider than a postage stamp. Figured I'd save some cash if I could figure out how to do it myself."

"And why did you continue?"

"…I liked it," he said with a small smile. "I liked it a lot. I got all excited seein' the pin cushion come together, then the skirt, and I was makin' shit I could actually use. It—" He moved his shoulders in a barely-there shrug. "It just felt good, y'know?"

Alastor's grin softened, no longer showing his teeth. "That's why I've put up with you."

"'Cause I like sewing?" He snorted. "Come on Al, it can't be that hard to find somebody who likes to sew."

He shook his head. "Husker is far too lazy for any of the domestic arts barring the bare minimum to keep comfortable, and it seems he's decided that even purchasing clothing is well above the minimum, let alone making it himself. Niffty gets far too anxious sitting still for long periods, no matter what it is she's working on. Vaggie, I'm sure, would not appreciate any invitation from me. Charlie would fall in the same category as Niffty, or else would gather the entire staff into a sewing club, which I'd rather avoid. Rosie sews, but only for practicality rather than enjoyment, and she uses a machine." He nearly shuddered at the word, spitting it out as if it were a curse. "Every other acquaintance of mine is far too busy to meet with any regularity, and any other demon would surely be too intimidated to make a decent conversation partner. No, Angel," he said with an air of finality, "it has to be you."

Angel looked at him. Really looked. He didn't think he'd be able to tell if Alastor was lying, but it sounded genuine, at least. The radio tin had nearly left his voice by the end and his grin remained toothless.

"You're gonna regret sayin' that," Angel said eventually. "I'm gonna be at least twice as obnoxious now I know you're not gonna kill me for it."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that, my friend!" The usual crackling effect returned. "If your more annoying traits begin to outweigh my usual enjoyment of your company, I certainly won't hesitate to do a bit of pest control."

"Whatever you say, Smiles, I know you love me," he said with a wink. "So what're you makin' now? A jacket?"

"Indeed! Charlie has been discussing the prospect of a banquet to advertise for the hotel. Nothing is finalized, of course, but I thought it would be prudent to be prepared in case of any more formal events in the future. My usual attire is nearly black tie appropriate, but the coat has certainly seen better days. Appearance is imperative, my good fellow, as I'm sure you know…"

The conversation fell into an easy rhythm, complemented by the jazz that returned just as quietly as it had left. If Angel stayed to chat well after he finished the booties, nobody had to know.

~Communication~! And without Husk this time! They're doing such a great job, aren't they?

Thanks so much for reading! All comments, critiques, and predictions appreciated.