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Husk had once lived on a pile of riches and it was glorious. Spending his days in a daze of laughter, booze, and always betting odd. Always winning.
That was the best part of his newfound existence in Hell, ever since he landed Husk had never lost a game. The higher the stakes the better he seemed to play. Gambling being one of his vices on Earth but it seemed like whatever was watching over him decided to finally pit the odds in his favor. His life as an overlord was rich, he was climbing the ranks and it seemed like nothing could stop him.
Until the day he met Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon.
He had bet everything, his casinos, the souls he owned, every single possession he could remember. He put it all the line because it’s not like he could lose, right? The tantalising prospect of being the first sinner in Hell to beat the most powerful overlord.
So he threw his soul in the betting pool. Liquid courage flowing through his veins, he couldn’t lose. But right when he thought that it was over, that Husk had won-
Alastor laid down his deck, it was a royal flush.
He was fucked the moment he sat down, Husk had lost and his life had been shattered. A losing streak of an existence, a powerful overlord reduced to a bartender. Drinking from the same bottles he served while that smiling freak dragged him here and there for his own amusement. Parading Husk around like a fucking pet.
He watched as his boss talked and husseled his way through their afterlife. Weaselling himself into the politics and only allowing friendships at arms length. Shit, the man was more closed off than Husk was. The only other person in Hell that seemed to actually enjoy his presence was another soul he leashed, Nifty.
From the moment he met her Husk wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t just offer her soul to Alastor, her manic energy and deranged attitude fitting right in with his sadistic nature.
Then, out of nowhere, Alastor vanished. No more pouring out shots of at the end of the day. It was seven years of bliss, alcohol blurring and buzzing the conflicting emotions or anger he felt. The comforting feeling of the liquid burning down his throat.
Paradise, until that asshole pulled him right back into the PR nightmare of the “Hazbin Hotel.”
Until he met Angel-
Until he met the colourful cast of the hotel, his liquor intake slowing down marginally. Charlotte Morningstar’s lessons unintentionally rubbing off on him, making him actually feel things. Complex feelings towards that he didn’t dare to unpack or look into further. Pushing away the fluttering in his chest coming from the heart he thought was cold and dead every-time he looked at a certain spider.
Instead Husk redirected the emotions he was feeling at Alastor. Wondering if he felt it as well or if his outlook was just another facade he was doing to gain the trust of others before stabbing them in the back like he has observed so many times before. He remembered the fallout of what happened with Vox.
When Husk had watched Alastor get blackout drunk off of probably more than one substance, how he had reluctantly dragged him off of the other man’s bathroom tile and into a bed.
Despite his best efforts, Husk felt himself noticing something similar happening now. The worst part of it being that he actually felt a tinge of concern towards him. The feeling made him want to jump out the nearest window because any concern towards Alastor meant that he was screwed.
He didn’t want to change, much less change and care for a piece of shit like him. Ignoring the guilt pressing at the back of his mind while he kept on pouring rye into Alastor’s shot glass way past the time when he should have been cut off. Ignoring how blood subtly soaked into the fabric of his coat from the wound he sustained from Adam. It should have been fixed by now.
A part of Husk wanted to watch the man he despised fall into the same pit he did, the same pit of misery and disrepair that Alastor had caused Husk to wallow in for decades. A part of him really wanted to revel in the satisfaction that it would bring.
The other half just felt pity.