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The wearied creaking of the spider-like demon's apartment door was a fitting mirror to his present state of being. While night and day held little meaning in Hell, the nights were always, always long for Angel Dust. Being a consummate entertainer pretty much guaranteed a packed schedule for one reason or another. An over-long practice session nailing his pole work had left him mostly dead on his feet, so to speak, but it'd pay off later and give his boss one less excuse to breathe down his neck.
Like clockwork, the soft tippity-tap of hooves on the aged floorboards announced the presence of one of the few entities in this shitty place that didn't piss him off. He'd barely had time to collapse upon his modest sofa and start peeling off his thigh-highs before the familiar nudging at his ankles started up. With an exaggerated sigh, his long frame bowed just enough for him to reach down and pick up the little pink pest.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Daddy missed you, too, Nuggs. You been good, right?"
The piglet's shiny black eyes blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Fat Nuggets was many things but a great conversationalist wasn't one of them. Still, another nudge of the tiny boar's head into Angel's hands spoke of what he wanted. Rubs. Not in a position to argue, the spider snickered to himself, scratching beneath the ham's ears. If only half the assholes in his life were so easily pleased…
Nuggs was more than just a pet to him; the little cutie was a lifeline, a metaphorical tether keeping him from drifting further into the abyss. He had to be some degree of functional to look after the little guy or, on his worst days, find someone else who could. The list of people he trusted with that was shorter than a spent cig and lighting it up too often risked it burning away to mere flakes.
Without him around, the sweet little ham had no clear future outside of a butcher's front window. To much of the world a Hell boar's value was only by the pound, chopped and packaged and sold as so much meat. Nuggets wasn't precious to them, just a product to be purchased and consumed and reduced to shit.
Such seemed to be his own fate and probably explained part of his attachment to the tiny sweetheart. In death as in life, his value only came from selling himself, either for dirty work or his body. Bitterly, he reflected that the major difference between the two of them was how quickly the process would kill them.
While it was decades too late to pull his mangled soul from the system that'd so eagerly crushed it, he'd done alright so far in sparing his baby. Fatty wouldn't thank him, couldn't thank him in words but that was fine. Seeing that little round face waiting for him after a tough shift eased the pain a bit. Yeah, it wasn't enough to make him forget like a good belt of powder did, but the warmth didn't evaporate and leave him trembling and sick to his stomach a few hours down the line.
His baby needed him.
Yet… he couldn't help feeling like he was failing. Yeah, Nuggets didn't go hungry but paying attention to the little porker was another matter altogether. Sometimes he'd be too exhausted or strung out to acknowledge the nudges of the piglet's muzzle, the soft appeals to get up and play. Usually he'd at least reach out a shaky hand to stroke his pet, brokenly mumbling how it was okay, that it was alright, and draw the tiny thing close to his body.
Other days, he just… couldn't, keeping the door shut tight between himself and the boar. He didn't always trust himself not to lash out with his misdirected anger and frustration. He didn't want his precious baby to see his makeup running as he cried.
Two meaningless existences stuck in the same bleak reality, but he wanted at least one of them to be happy.
It sure as fuck wasn't going to be him.