Work Text:
Husk didn't want to admit he was panicking when he couldn't find the precious bottle on the shelf. Somehow it wasn't in its usual place, unless he had blacked out one night and took it for a binge. But he was sure he would have found it later, like on his bed stand, or even on the counter. It was too unmistakable to miss.
“Hey, whiskers. What's got you all frazzled up?”
Husk restrained a groan, settling instead for a rolling of the eyes. He turned away from the bar shelf. “I told you not to call me that—”
He paused, eyes now fixated on Angel who was holding his missing alcohol bottle with the gold foil winking in the light. The spider celebrity narrowed his eyes at the fancy script lettering over the label, then seated himself at the bar counter. He held the bottle daintily in his bottom right hand. “Since when did you stock this type of fancy stuff anyway? Can't even pronounce half these words.”
Before Angel could take a swig, Husk swiped it from his hand. His wings rustled with anger. “The fuck is wrong with you?! Don’t just take shit from my bar!”
Angel blinked all eight of his eyes in confusion. “Huh? This is free hotel stock! And you always tell me to take whatever because you don't feel like bartending anyway!”
Husk growled. Fuck. He did say that. “This one's off limits. I don't want you wasting it, got it?”
Angel’s small, pouty frown almost made Husk feel bad. “Fine, fine… What's so special about that one anyway?”
Husk checked the bottle, examining the still closed cap. Didn't seem like anyone had a chance to drink it just yet, which relieved him. “Nothing. I just like it, that's all.”
“Oh, come off it. No way you got this wine on your own! Gift from an ex or something?”
Husk placed the bottle back on the top shelf, taking another long look. “Alastor gave it to me.”
“...Smiles is your ex?!”
Husk straightened up, his tail stiffening. “Not what I meant.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a tired hand, facing Angel again. “He usually doesn't give stuff unless it's for jokes or some other bullshit. This is one of the few times it…wasn't.”
Angel was now staring at Husk, all of his eyes alight. “And it's not poison, right?”
“If it is, it's very slow going. First drank it a couple of years ago.” Unsure what to do with his hands, Husk took a rag, then a cup by his side, and started cleaning it absentmindedly. “I don't like wasting it. So I try to put it up high so even my dumb ass won't drink it all in one night.”
Angel snickered, eyeing his hands for some reason. “You were banking on your height to help you not drink it?”
Husk frowned. “Yeah. That so wrong? Didn't think I'd have to worry about a tall fucker taking it instead.”
“I mean, you have the wings. Nothing's really stopping you.”
“Don't give me any ideas that my drunk self might try, alright?”
Husk wouldn't expand on the story anymore, no matter how much Angel needled and whined about it. The bottle with its French script stayed in its proper place, pristine, barely drunk from. The wine had a savory taste to it, a fullness, a lingering effect that left Husk's mind brimming long after his first sip. Though to be honest, it really wasn't anything that special of a brew.
Alastor wasn't known for his generosity. Yet when Husk thought he would lose an argument with the Radio Demon once again, Alastor had surprised him with the bottle, gift-wrapped even. One that wasn't cheap. One that looked like it was at least a bit hard to find in this literal hellscape.
Husk knew he shouldn't look a gift horse (or deer) in the mouth. But it was why he tried to not take those little moments of softness for granted.
“So, uh, can I ask ya something else then?”
Husk sighed. “Fine, shoot. I'm still not letting you drink from it.”
Angel pointed at Husk's hands with a smirk. “That a gift from Alastor too?”
His hands stilled. Then, he looked down. His bar rag was over the rim of what appeared to be a clay mug that was in the shape of a curled up kitty. Little hearts were adorned along the side of it, especially around the fluffy ears.
“...This one's from Niffty,” Husk said automatically. “She made it for my death day, because she likes celebrating those.”
“Heh, it's cute!” Angel said, eyeing it with a grin. “Can I hold it?”
“Fuck no!” Husk stepped back, holding onto the clay mug protectively. “What's with you trying to grab my stuff lately?”
“Oh, you know I love grabbing your stuff alright.”
Husk’s answer to the lame innuendo was to throw his bar rag at Angel’s laughing face, using that moment to place Niffty's mug present in a nearby cupboard. He really needed to secure this stuff more carefully…
There was one place that Niffty hadn't checked just yet. And she’d been looking everywhere. The vents, the toilet pipes, Baxter’s funny beakers, some of the guests pockets, and even her room! But she couldn’t find it!
So she burst through the door of the designated therapy room. Charlie, Baxter, and a whole group of hotel guests, all seated within a circle and holding hands, turned their heads to stare at the frantic maid.
She couldn't take it anymore. “Where is it?!”
“Oh! Hi, Niffty!” Charlie attempted to wave with her right hand, forgetting said hand was already holding onto Baxter’s. The result was her lifting up the tiny mad scientist several feet off the ground. “Did you want to join today’s session?”
“Agh! Unhand me, woman!”
“Oh shit!”
Niffty could barely pay attention to Baxter falling to the floor, or Charlie saying silly things again. Focused on her mission, she looked under the carpet, even crawling under it as much as she could. Nope, not there. Then she checked behind the sad clown paintings on the wall. Still not there!
She was getting more desperate by the second. “Where did it go?!” she shouted. She then took out her knife, carving through the wallpaper to see if maybe something was hiding in the walls. It must be in the walls!!
“We can make room for you!” Ignoring the property damage that was being done, Charlie continued to welcome Niffty to the group. “Why don't you have a seat over there by Rooster?”
At that, Niffty turned, ready to stab the other walls and maybe the paintings too. Her eye latched onto said Rooster at Charlie’s comment, seeing his funny-looking face, and also his chicken feet that were bent awkwardly in his sitting position.
Then she saw it. The familiar shade of black with patterns of red, the way Rooster was itching at his neck continually, the symbols etched over the black…
“My scarf!” Niffty yelled, pointing the end of her knife at the pointy-nosed sinner. The scarf, wrapped snugly around his neck, was now all too obvious on him. How could she have missed it before?!
“Eh? What?” Rooster blinked, continuing to scratch at his neck. “This was in my room. I thought it was like a, uh, free gift! For staying here at this joint!”
Charlie gave a great ‘Aww!’ at the statement. “I didn't even know we were doing that!”
“That's my present!” Niffty salivated, still holding onto her knife with a shaking hand. “It was made for me by Alastor with Husk's fur, blood, sweat, and tears! Mostly his fur!”
Rooster stopped scratching. He then looked at the scarf he wore with clear discomfort. “...What.”
“It's my gift from Husk and Alastor!” Niffty yelled louder, already scurrying up to the sinner, pushing through the therapy circle. A few other guests dodged out of the way of her charging knife. “It’s really special to me! I made sure to keep all the fleas on it alive!”
“....THIS HAS FLEAS ON IT?!”
Before Rooster could even unwind the infested scarf from his neck, Niffty had already pounced. She started gnawing at Rooster’s fedora, and then his head, already forgetting her knife. Screams erupted throughout the room, most of the guests rushing out the door at the sight of Niffty going rabid
Soon, the only ones left were Rooster and Niffty in their scuffle, as well as Charlie and Baxter, who were still holding hands.
“Um.” Charlie tried to speak, though her voice was barely above Rooster’s screams. “Niffty, I'm sure if you just ask him nicely, he'll give it back…”
“Keep fighting for it, Niffty!” Baxter shouted, completely undercutting Charlie’s plea. “Show him who’s boss!”
“Yeah!!” Niffty responded, finally done with her biting and was now grabbing at the scarf. Though by doing so, she was essentially strangling Rooster. “And the boss is Alastor!!”
Eventually, through sheer luck, the scarf was finally off Rooster. As the sinner laid on the floor, gasping for air, Niffty cuddled the fuzzy scarf to her face, her smile so wide with happiness. “Hee, it's so warm and scratchy…”
“Well! I'm glad that worked out,” said Charlie. Rooster gave another cough and gasp that everyone promptly ignored. “You can tell us next time if you lost something important though. It's probably gonna be tough to reschedule this session now…”
Niffty blinked, still rubbing the scarf against her cheek. “It is important! This was made with the love of my boss and best friend! They gave it to me when I was so sad about my lost bug collection. I like to take it out on really cold days.”
Baxter looked at some sort of smart device over his wrist. “It's 250 degrees Fahrenheit today. A new record actually.”
“Ooo, I should probably take this to bed too. Don't wanna get too chilly!” With that, Niffty quickly skipped away from the room, humming a tune as she clutched her precious scarf.
Charlie stared after her curiously before she heard a cough by her side. She soon realized that it was Baxter instead of Rooster, who was busy coughing in a different part of the room.
“I believe I asked you to unhand me five minutes ago.”
“Oh right!” Charlie kept her grip on him, her smile firm. “You know, I remember you saying woman instead of my name. So I figured it must have been someone else that you meant!”
Baxter stared blankly, though the little fintail on his head twitched. “This is another redemption exercise, isn't it?”
“You're catching on!” Charlie smiled wider. “Now, what do we say?”
Baxter sighed. “It starts with sorry…”
With a quick shadow teleportation, his smile first appearing before the rest of his body, Alastor gave a heavy sigh. “Finally. Some peace and quiet in this madhouse.”
With the hotel being more of a headache these days, Alastor was determined to find a time to unwind for the evening. No frivolous hotel guests crying for his help, no Vaggie hounding his door to do some menial chores, and no Charlie to try and rope him into her little saccharine exercises.
This was his time now! The wound over his chest wasn't healing well, and it was imperative that he relax.
In fact, he had already done his preparations! The employee-only parlor was typically empty at this time of day, with most of the staff busy with their tasks. He didn't need to do any hosting, not with most guests occupied. There was the bar, open for him to self-serve, as well as his cherished radio on the main table, already set to a jazzy tune. Ah, certainly the best way to destress!
Since Alastor didn't feel well enough to go for a walk around town, and he was getting tired of staying in his room, he did the next best thing. A little change of scenery could do the mind wonders, after all!
Next to the couch, there was a small bookcase that Alastor had designated as his own, so that his possessions would be in easy reach when he wanted to lounge. And he had made sure to tell everyone so! Husk and Niffty would understand, of course, and he was confident Charlie and Vaggie would respect his space. Angel was up in the air, but the celebrity certainly didn't read anyway.
So, Alastor sat down on his spot on the couch, next to his bookcase, with his glass of rye already set on top and filled. He would soon continue reading this one riveting novel, but figured that a little game of solitaire could warm him up. He then reached over for the deck of special cards—one that he kept in his possession for a good several decades now—that he had placed next to his glass—
The cards were not there.
Alastor bristled. The tune on his radio turned fuzzy, losing signal before finding its way again. He looked again. No, they were not there. Even though he had left them there just for this exact time.
Unless he had misplaced them? No, of course not. Someone else is to blame. He knew this for a fact.
Alastor decided to take another look, just to be sure. The radio continued to play, trying to soothe his nerves as best it could. Well, he could at least make sure his novel was there, unless it had been pilfered too. It should just be in the middle of the bookcase. Why, he had even used Niffty's little crown to mark it so he could remember—
The crown was not there either.
Alastor stared. The radio had gone deathly silent, then crescendoed into static.
And, somehow, something else made this day even worse.
“Well well well! Fancy seeing you here, bellhop! Sneaking off to slack off from work again?”
Alastor's grin stretched wide. His monocle shifted ever so slightly. This was not good for his health right now. Extremely not good.
With a slow creaking of his neck, Alastor turned to face the pathetic so-called King of Hell. He expected the famous Biblical figure in his usual gaudy attire, perhaps carrying around another stupid rubber duck in his hands. But he was only half-right—Lucifer walked into the parlor with his ringmaster outfit, but instead of holding a duck, he held something else.
Were those his cards?
“Gotta say, when I tell Charlie her host of the hotel is hiding away from the guests again, I don't think she's gonna be too happy about that!” Lucifer, in his frustrating manner of speaking, was talking from out one side of his cheek, clicking his tongue like a mother hen. “That’s a pre-he-he-ty bad look there, my guy!”
All the while he was yapping, he was shuffling the cards in his hand. And he was doing so very, very, badly.
It was as if the man’s hands were too tiny to handle the deck correctly, completely foiling the riffle shuffle so that the cards were more uneven in their place than before. Not even a simple cutting could be done, Lucifer somehow always needing to take a moment before trying the next motion.
If Alastor didn't think Lucifer was already so stupid, he would have thought the devil was doing it on purpose.
“Now, I'm sure I can put in a good word for you if you, uh, show a little respect around here for once. Ya get me, Bambi?” Lucifer gave a wheezing laugh that sounded both painful and mind-numbing. He then predictably lost a few cards in his mindless shuffling. “Oh, whoopsy-daisy.”
And then, when Lucifer went to pick up one of the cards, he bent the edge of it when doing so.
“Heh, got a case of the ol’ butter-y fingers going on here. Must be the syrup from my breakfast this morning!” A pause, followed by another tongue-click. “Wouldn’t that make these sticky instead…?”
Alastor was going to have a heart attack. This had to be on purpose. It had to.
“Why. Do. You. Have. Those?” he finally asked in a tight voice.
Lucifer blinked at Alastor, continuing to shuffle those cards with all the dexterity of a drunk goat, nearly losing another card again. “My fingers?”
“The cards!”
“Oh, these? Just found it here! Kinda tacky design though, like…” Lucifer sucked in air through his sharp teeth, taking out one card to stare at it. “Like, who puts themselves on a card? Big ego much? Ha, I wouldn't know.”
Alastor grinned so hard he felt a tooth crack. “Those are mine.”
“Oh, I know! But since it was just lying around here, I figured it was free use. Felt I should brush up on my card-cutting skills! Lot of cats in this one though. I like cats.”
Alastor did all he could to not gnaw off his own hand from the sheer torture of this entire conversation. “That is a gift.” A twitch of his right ear, feeling every inch of pain of this miserable existence. “From Husker.”
“Who?” Lucifer asked. Before Alastor could yell, Lucifer snapped a finger. “Oh the cat guy! Is this supposed to be him?” He held up one card, one depicting Husker in a little jester outfit. “Guy must have a good sense of humor!”
It was one of the few things Alastor could concede the King of Hell too. Husker, despite his bitterness at losing their game decades ago, had given Alastor that deck. It was done after Alastor's apology, a rare one, something mostly done to sweep things under the rug and get on with their afterlives. He hadn't expected Husker to give him something in return, especially of a personal card deck he had made with a few small embellishments to them.
“Put some stuff in there that I'm sure you'll find hilarious,” Husk said with a roll of his eyes. “But you haven't been so bad lately, so here. Maybe we can play a game one day. No stakes.”
And Alastor intended to do just that someday, after his other, much more frustrating deal was done with, after his wound finally healed, after he could finally be done with this hotel—
He was immediately distracted by Lucifer whistling. High-pitched and off-key. How was that even possible coming from someone who could play the fiddle professionally? And then when Alastor turned to glare at the devil again, he noticed something else. Something he had overlooked, so preoccupied with the cards that had been taken from him.
Was Lucifer wearing the roach crown? On his hat?
“Why.”
“Huh?” The only upside to Lucifer talking was he stopped whistling to do so. “Why what?”
“WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT?!”
Lucifer directed his eyes above, as if he’d be able to see it from there. The roach crown, crafted by Niffty's talented hands, had been fitted over the top hat, snuggled close to the golden snake that was always present. “Oh this!! Yeah, isn't it just wacky? And it looks so life-like too! Usually I'm like ew, gross, get off me, but I gotta admire the craftsmanship. You know, from artiste to artiste.”
Alastor clenched his hands, his claws digging into his palms. Blood was seeping through, dripping into the carpet.
“Yep! Really kinda absurd. Would fit well for a funny carnival prize. Like, hey look at me! King of the Bugs! I’d choose them over sinners any day!” Lucifer then poked at one dead cockroach of the crown, laughing obnoxiously. “Heh, super gross. Now, if these were ducks! Then we’re getting somewhere!”
Nothing this man did made any sense. This was torture. This was Alastor’s own personal hell.
So distracted by the crown, Lucifer then just dropped all of the cards completely. They flew from his hand, half of the cards falling underneath the couch, while the rest scattered over the carpet. “Oop, well. That happened!”
By this moment, Alastor had a tremendous headache. Some of it was from the sight of Lucifer messing with his most prized possessions, while the rest was from his antlers growing in size and weighing so heavily on his skull.
Lucifer, by this point, had finally noticed and was looking at him with a grimace. “Eugh. Nasty look you got there.”
Alastor completely forgot about his wound, and the fact that Lucifer was a higher rank of angel than Adam was. He was going to kill this fucker.
“Give me back. What's mine.” Alastor shifted and grew, his fangs slavering, and his vision seeing only red. “You shitty thief!”
Lucifer had the gall to frown and puff out his cheeks for some reason. “Hey, I take offense to that! I'm no thief! And I’m definitely not shitty! Look in the mirror sometime, buddy!”
“I’M NOT YOUR GODDAMN BUDDY!”
Alastor was so fucking mad that he smashed his bookcase in his rampage before slowly closing in on the King of Hell.
“Like, seriously! Tacky red and nothing else! And that antler trick ain’t doing you any favors, heh! …Okay, seriously back off. Hey, back off! I'll smite you! I mean it! King of Hell and all that! Settle down! Heel! I command you! Or I’ll— Neh! Fuck, I can't even slap you? Heaven won't just let me slap you?! Come on! CHARLIE, HELP!”
And that was how Alastor learned that day, after finally securing his precious card deck from Husker and his adorable roach crown from Niffty, that the King of Hell could not harm sinners.
He left the room in much higher spirits, while Lucifer sat on the floor, his hat pulled so far down that it was now wrapped around his torso, the top of it having been torn off. The King of Hell grumbled, trying to get out of this predicament, his hair a complete mess. “A little ‘thank you’ would have been nice!!” he called out. “I took care of your trash and this is how I get repaid? Really!?”
Of course he wouldn’t understand the importance of such possessions. Few privileged men ever could, something that Alastor detested in most of humanity, and apparently in the devil as well.
But Alastor got what rightfully belonged to him, and what truly mattered, and that was enough to make him forget the pain of his situation for a little while longer.