A/N:
Hello, fellow readers, just wanted to clear some stuff up before you carry on with this story. First off, I fully intended to write down a situation in which both Husk and Angel Dust are more closed off about their inner feelings, that is, I disregarded the bond they created rather quickly in the aftermath of the "Masquerade" events. Secondly, I don't mind the HuskerDust ship, whether they officially end up together or not, that's no priority of mine right now. Last but not least, this chapter contains minor sexual content. Detailed, yes, nothing too graphic. Without further ado... happy reading!
Reflections Pt. 1
That night, the princess rested coldly, face fresh and flawless on that luscious bed of hers. She thought she'd doze off with the last sounds of pitter-patter up above in a matter of seconds, but the core of her heart twinged restlessly all the same, and Alastor's music didn't help either way. Charlie shifted positions and rubbed the other side of the mattress, unwrinkled and cold beneath her palm. She found it to be strange and a little sad how quickly Angel managed to block her out like that, her mind still reeling around the picture of a crestfallen individual and the guilt boosted. Did Angel overhear their spat earlier on, or was it an eavesdropping? Maybe he worked hard and turned back into the stoic demon he's always been when he wasn't alone, but what were the chances he'd walk gloomingly back inside the hotel if he wasn't listening? That could explain his soaking attire. It's the water, I hope...
A tear peeped through her eyelashes in reaction to the grumbling tone of the woman she knew she would hear. Vaggie's trivial complaints about everything she saw or touched upset Charlie at some point, but right now she felt as though they were necessary to handle. She needed to listen her voice. With a sigh, the princess crept stealthily into the bathroom then out of her boudoir, through the gallery and down the ground floors. Mellow jazz music crackled in the background to keep her company throughout her stroll, apparently without rhyme or reason, but Charlie couldn't afford to get caught by conflicted demons or a wicked Overlord. Off she went, in a hunch, outside the violet-blanketed balcony, where Vaggie stood leaning on the railing to contemplate the twilight just before crack of dawn. Charlie crept closer and closer, hopeful but hesitant with each step, waiting eagerly for the next move.
"The rain's stopped." Vaggie's words issued forth, like revelation, keeping her vision straightforward. No one other than Charlie knew where to find her with her face buried under the crook of her arm.
"Yes, it has." Charlie answered casually, retracing steps towards the balustrades next to her partner and into a flurry of wind. She smelled of petrichor, lavender and the outdoors. Charlie liked this new combination.
"How long have you been up?" Vaggie asked, rather reticent.
"Long enough to find you here," was Charlie's answer. The angel merely slid her eye shut in comprehension, currently at loss of what to think. Her mind still trying to register how everything went from up to down in a whistle, she couldn't bear to see the other hurting after what both Husk and Alastor had said. Including what she'd herself said.
"Why do you keep him?" Vaggie questioned again, making Charlie frown confused. Keep whom? Husk? As far as she knew, he remained in the hotel under Alastor's command after a trade-off of free beer, so it was not likely Husk the answer she was looking for. Not to mention the selfsame Alastor, who just happened to 'hang out' in the aftermath of a long 'vacation' simply because he pleased. Unbeknownst to Charlie though, the curt topic that Vaggie brought up was directed inwardly about herself. Like a reflection. "What do you see in him that could possibly change?"
"You mean Angel?" She asked, au fait with her own beliefs. "Well... an absolute contrast with Husk's standpoint, which I completely disagree with..." She smiled wryly. "But with his standoffishness comes great compassion. I mean, he made breakfast after all." She added playfully, earning a tight-lipped chuckle from the hotheaded lady. "Seriously, Vaggie, this cannot be imposed... Sometimes, when someone reaches out for help, you never know whether that someone's unready for it. Some feel as though they're not good enough, others are just too proud to accept it. It's my duty as Princess of Hell to lend a hand to these souls in pain, what better way in doing so if I'm not with the ones I love?"
"You never change." said Vaggie tenderly; an absolute contrast indeed, one that she adored. So sweet and upbeat it made her feel the need to protect her so she'd continue smiling wholeheartedly and never cry, to keep on dreaming without someone like Alastor plotting to clip her wings. It was him who attempted to corrupt their heads with unpleasant thoughts, and for what? A good laugh? "Charlie, hon," she murmured, "I'm sorry."
Charlie blinked, to which Vaggie restated thoughtfully for yesterday's mistakes. To upset Charlie like that, being carried away by Husk's fuming words and Alastor's taunts. Had she still be in the dark on Charlie's insight about Angel's outer character, her perspective about herself would have been entirely different. Charlie softly cut her off once she thought she heard enough.
"The rain's stopped." She mused.
Vaggie's body involuntarily stiffened. "Babe?"
"It's stopped." She glanced at the sky, greeted in the rose-golden mountainscape on the horizon. "These sinners befallen by the rain, befriended by a storm... make us forget the promise of a new dawn, that we're here for a reason." She recited with her usual sprechgesang phonation, her sunlit curls glowing in a harvest streak. Vaggie glided her hand northwardly across Charlie's cheek and relished in her beauty. "You've always been a wordsmith," she told her.
Charlie leaned into her touch, nuzzling her, holding her close. "A muse can inspire the artist."
They kissed. It was getting warm.
Earlier on
As incredible as it seemed, Angel's life didn't revolve entirely around promiscuity and drug use. Beneath his borderline personality, he concealed traces of happiness and benignity. Still Anthony underneath— brokenhearted, disconnected. It was only recent that he'd begun to embrace whatever he thought had with him without letting out a cry of pent-up agony that caused him to wake up, polluting his mind again with the same scream. His hot breath brushed down his throat to the depths of his stomach that led to a hack of dry coughs. Angel gasped for air and sucked in a pungent taste, he recognized the stench, it lingered of Valentino's personal cigarette pack. Something made him look beyond the dim-lighted vanity and he descried his own reflection, sliding four hands out of the satin covers to raise and press lightly into the glass. The glamorous demon on the other side returned the gesture and started laughing mockingly... A distortion of self-perception, not Anthony's laugh, not even Angel Dust's, just a spitting image of the pimp Overlord and the idiosyncratic cherry tongue, slithering out of his mouth.
Angel jerked awake, slightly startled by the hooves of his pet piglet tapping 'clop-clop' onto his chest fluff. So many times he'd been plunged into the vivid pictures of his inner fears he felt particularly hesitant to exchange looks with the mirror. As high-strung as he could get, he could've sworn he was laughing involuntarily in his sleep, as if getting caught between two different personalities residing in the same body, acting like one. Against his better judgement, perhaps clouded by denial, he declined Fat Nuggets' company and sprang out of bed to make his way up the roof terrace. Nightmares weren't a pretty sight, but he told himself this one wasn't exactly as disturbing, so why would he run away? To reassure himself he had the will to make his own choices?
Upon reaching topside, Angel was immediately dazzled by the Hazbin Hotel sign. "Shit!" He hissed, shielding his eyes from the giant marquee letters flashing overhead, almost like an ambush attack. He glanced up at the sky; those faint pink arrays rotating gradually past navy hues told him dawn was coming. It irked him a little that he couldn't get more time of night for himself up there, but might as well make the most of it— venturing closer to the edge with a cigarette in hand, a flare match to light it and—
"Now you abide by the rule of 'no smokin' inside the building'?" Came the croaky voice, making Angel wince. He quickly turned and caught a glimpse of Husk's winged shadow on the rooftop concrete floor, darting eyes up, there he was; the former Overlord sitting with his knees up on the crossbar of the 'H' next to the 'O'. He didn't know why, but the height made him feel powerful in a way. "It's a start," he remarked. "Keep that up and you shall be redeemed in no time."
"Right." Angel made a face. "Of all the fuckin' places I could find you... it had to be here, right now?"
"I'm a cat." Husk stated simply. "Cats walk on roofs all the time. On the other hand, I thought spiders were supposed to stay indoors."
"We can be on the prowl any time a day, anywhere, like all the pussies like yerself." He talked back.
Husk purred aggravatingly, staring the other down. "In that case, cats are bigger than spiders." He gruffed. "They can be at our mercy as long as we want."
Angel sneered. "One bite from the spider and we drag the kitty along with us."
"It takes one swing to squish the spider flat."
"Are you tryin' to hit on me? 'Cause it kinda gives me a hard-on."
"Get the fuck out..."
"I am out."
"Whatever." Husk rolled his eyes and proceeded to lean back into the stem, idly flipping an entire deck of cards. Not being fully able to see Husk's tricks from below caused interest to build up in Angel, every spontaneous move seemed to engross him a little more. Without warning, he began to ascend the backside ladder of the letter 'H', same one Husk sat on.
"Hey!" He exclaimed as soon as he sensed metal clank under Angel's high heels. "The hell are you doin'?"
"What do you think I'm doin'? I'm climbin'." Subsequently, Angel swerved his body and walked on six limbs until he reached the crossbar, which appeared ample enough in width for two people to recline with their legs up against the stem columns. He stopped to lie on his stomach, kicking his feet in mid air with a certain look on his eyes. Husk screwed his face up in displeasure and pulled himself back as far as he could, locking the distance between them by spreading the cards in the middle.
"Don't creep any closer."
"Gosh, ya' such a killjoy." Angel reproached, one pair of hands with fingers intertwined glided under his chin, other hand pulled a random card from the layout and spinned it apace to create the illusion of hovering blades.
"You can do the card pirouette?" Husk asked, deflected, but not surprised.
"I was in the mob." He proclaimed. "Eventually, ya' learn to pull off the basics, other than withdrawing guns."
"What else can you pull?"
Angel cocked an eyebrow.
"Don't answer that." Husk cringed, he began to question himself whether Angel's choose for wordplay was completely intentional. "So you relish on cuisine, choreography and a weapon proficiency. You don't credit Charlie's cause just like most residents of Pentagram City... What the hell are you doin' here?"
Angel's lips pressed into a line as he recalled the timeline events that took place between his first encounter with Charlie and the present, when he became her silly hotel's first patron after poking his nose into his boss' private affairs. Whenever he thought of Valentino now, he couldn't stop picturing that visage merged with his own when he looked himself in the mirror, the cerise tongue sticking out of his mouth and the laughter, like a mind swap or a fusion. His musings got cut off as he heard Husk's reactive purring. "What you goin' on about, Husk?" He stalled, shifting positions in his seat with both legs dangling off.
"I dunno." Husk admitted. "I guess you strike me as smart enough to do somethin' different."
Angel's usual vitriolic grin faltered into an expression of disbelief, those words actually made his whole being melt up in warmth. Husk had scanned through him and looked past the stigma of debauchery. He shook his head in the slightest, for he still had his doubts. "Thanks." He mumbled. "That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it." Husk corrected. "I'm not into this pep-talk crap, that's Charlie's thing."
Angel pouted. "That I can't promise, pussycat."
"Don't call me that..." Husk grumbled and scooped up the cards to stow them back into his trousers. Dawn has flared up above and blazed down both sinners below, who were chilling out on the hotel sign's clear viewpoint, about 20 feet visually closer to the sun. Husk's ears perked to a toned-down ringtone inside the spider's miniskirt, Angel blinked as he felt an array of vibrations spasming through the compartments of his spandex. Husk's ears twitched again, detecting faint shuffling and a treacherous rustling of Angel's hand slowly gliding closer. "Hey, kid." He called, pulling back from the thin distance between his claws and Angel's fingertips. "Think someone's tryin' to reach you."
"Let it ring." Angel murmured tacitly, the tone was suggestive, yet his features reflected a subtle complex of sadness— a sadness that he bluffed, one that Husk could discern easily with a flutter of his wings. He let out an ineluctable 'brrpt' akin to an activation sound when a housecat gets poked, albeit with a stern expression all along, and told him in an abrupt little voice that Angel was feigning his desires. Hell, he could be feigning essentially after listening last night's quarrels for all he knew. Even if he'd told himself it'd be impossible, Husk's chest thumped again and his pupils shrunk increasingly the further Angel went, best to say, the further Angel was trying to go. Husk's only exit seemed obstructed between the stem column and the dallying spider, he felt as though he had to find a way out of its slow-building prison web without slipping.
"Cut it." The feline stopped him dead with a light push, earning a faint glower in response. Angel grabbed ahold of the hand that kept him back, interlocking fingers with Husk's dominant hand, thus his strength slackened. With that, Angel thrust his body onward so they could face each other intimately. Husk's benumbed gaze died out, completely overstrung, time went painfully slow for him to go off the deep end without using physical force. With a silent growl, he raised a trembling arm in attempt to strike his space invader in the back with his claws, Angel took in a sharp breath and craned forward to plant a kiss on the stiffened cat's forehead, which it relented him from drawing blood. Husk froze in place, his eyes pinned straightforward to Angel's throbbing neck.
"Don't." He rasped, barely, a plumped up chest clung to the crevice of his shoulder, hands tugging at the straps around it, vying minutely for an answer, a sign. Angel traced Husk's face with smooth trails of lip contact, it was hot— the rising sun, the fervent release, Husk's heated cheeks, before he managed to speak. "Don't become him." He breathed. "Don't be like Valentino." Angel jolted up, looking appalled at what he just heard. To accept taking the role as the princess' guinea pig so he could take a chance to get away from the one he hated most... Angel's reflection was a tragic poem, a fluctuation of fear and insecurity, almost like he was seeing himself at his vulnerable state under Valentino's control through Husk's eyes.
Angel hissed one last curse against him, morose and somber, maybe brokenhearted, while pulling back curtly, then spat something Husk didn't understand. The latter sighed and watched the other vault over the handrail as he made his way down. His phone rang again, Angel crumpled up a paper in his hand and tossed it instead of answering the call. After he heard the roof hatch door slam shut, Husk reached the ground in four bounds atop the hotel sign and a single jump to the 'L' beak, which withstood the landing. He took a knee to pick up the creased card Angel dropped just before storming out and stretched it flat in low spirits. He was holding the Jack of Hearts.