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Tap tap tap.
Husker muffled out some words that sounded close to a string of curses, but instead just came out as incoherent babbling. It was hard to tell, really, when he was so insistent on keeping his face pressed to the bar counter and drooling all over it.
Alastor sighed, checked the point of his claws, then used his cane to give another knock over the bar surface.
Tap tap tap.
A groan. The bottom of a whiskey bottle scraping against the wood grain. Then, followed by a deep snore.
Alastor’s grin twitched. Okay, that was enough now.
He made sure to hover the tip of his cane right over Husker’s hatless head, at the juncture where his skull met the top of his spine. Then, he gave it a good ol’ swing!
BONK BONK BONK!
“MROW WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Husker jumped back, clutching the back of his head. His fur stood on end while distinctive yowls still eeked out of his throat in reflex. “Alastor?! God fucking Christ, the hell you doing?!”
“Ah, good to see you up and about, old chum!” Alastor twirled the instrument of his abuse before planting the base of it over the dirty hotel carpets. “I just happened to notice that you’ve forgotten to prep for your weekly restocking. For the sixth time in a row, no less!”
Husker was still nursing the growing bump on his furry head, ears flattened, teeth slightly bared. Which, essentially, was not that much different from the usual, but Alastor could see his drunken minion just wasn’t putting in that extra gusto.
“Ugh, again? Who the hell keeps drinking up our shit?” Husker slowly blinked one eye, followed by the other, before he took a swig from the bottle he still hadn’t let go of.
“You,” Alastor helpfully answered. “It’s literally you. And this is just for the bar in the employee lounge!” He waved back his arm in a grand gesture, showcasing the room for the hotel employees (and Cherri, for some reason) to lay around in, as if Husker had never seen it before.
Another slow, grueling blink. “Just teleport the alcohol in here.”
“Haha! No.” Alastor tilted his head with a tiny snap. “Your work ethic has been sorely lacking recently, Husker. Even for one so pathetic as you! What kind of mentor would I be if I simply did all of your tasks?”
“Mentor? You don’t teach me shit!” Husker pointed an angry claw at Alastor’s face—not realizing he’d let go of the whiskey bottle to do so, which predictably crashed to the floor.
Husker looked down at the glass shards that spread out in a chaotic pattern, befuddled at the entire situation.
“Oh, Husker. Truly there is so much you could learn from me if only you listened.” Alastor sighed with patriarchal disappointment. “As a sorely needed lesson, make sure to pick up those pieces and put them all back together again. We can’t have such lovely bottles wasted!”
“You’re goddamn kidding me. I ain’t doing that garbage—”
“But first, get your list started!” Alastor snapped his fingers and a dirty sheet of paper materialized in front of Husker, lying flatly on the bar counter. “From my own personal archives! You should be grateful.”
“I’m not—”
“And don’t forget your pen!” Another snap, and a fountain pen with a funny bone (haha!) design also appeared, flying through the air to smack itself right into Husker’s cute button nose. “I will check back in half an hour!”
“Fucking hell, Alastor, can you wait—!?”
But there was no need, because Alastor had already made good his exit, pulled away into his shadows. He had left his pot simmering on the stove and he could not risk dear Vajene ruining it all over again.
The last thing he saw was Husker rubbing his aching snout before finally fixing his bright, drunken eyes on the paper. The grease stains from last night’s meal were still on it, decorated like gray polka dots, but he knew his bartender had no high standards. This would fit him just fine!
But before he was gone, he heard Husker mutter beneath his breath, with a hint of that old fire Alastor had grown so fond of.
“This is stupid.”
Ignoring the high-keening of the little alarm from above, Alastor made sure to check his pocket watch. It was a precious vintage that was not decorated to the brim with meaningless applications and pornographic ads. Just a simple timepiece with a sheen of red over the metal.
“Ah, it's been fifteen minutes already. I should be getting back.” Alastor closed the pocket watch, then rotated his head so that he was looking past both of his shoulders. “Niffty, will you be alright with handling the rest of the cooking?”
Niffty, meanwhile, was laughing maniacally as she lifted up a steaming soup pot—wearing oven mitts for safety, of course—and jumping around the stovetop so that she could properly follow Alastor’s previous orders of shaking, not stirring, the meal. And she had to shake it just as Alastor had explained, as if she was grabbing the devil by his very neck and strangling it with all of her strength.
Going by the way the dismembered limbs were rattling around in the soup pot and nearly falling over the rim, she was already doing a splendid job! So good, in fact, that the kitchen had now caught on fire for no discernable reason!
Niffty abruptly stopped her laughter, then turned to Alastor with a bright smile. “I'll be a-okay, sir!”
The fire had spread to the cabinets, then to a spice rack, which promptly exploded and sprayed cayenne paper over Niffty—and into the soup pot. The little maid was truly a marvel when it came to cooking.
With that, Alastor gave her a wave with a fluttering of his fingers, one that Niffty mimicked just after she tore off one oven mitt from her hand with her sharp teeth. “Be seeing you for dinner, my dear!”
He made another gesture with his cane to be whisked away by the darkness. Just before he left, he could hear the kitchen doors swing open, slamming against the walls.
“What the hell is going on in here?! Niffty? Alastor! Qué carajo–!”
And just like that, he was back inside the employee lounge, which remained very empty except for the hotel’s only bartender. In the spirit of being a devoted guide for poor Husker, Alastor had decided to head back about fifteen minutes earlier than expected. It would be a good lesson for the cat man! Clearly he needed to be more on his toes. Perhaps setting a little fire under him would really get him going. Alastor always got such good ideas whenever he spent time with Niffty.
“Husker, I hope you’re now properly prepared! The weather forecast has said both scream and acid rain will be pouring down this afternoon like cats and—ugh—dogs, so you better hurry to the supermarket lickety-split!”
He expected a quick clap-back from Husker, perhaps another little yowl of displeasure accompanied by that grumpy scowl of his. Instead, he heard nothing. Alastor decided to actually look towards the private bar—and found his minion back to sleeping over the counter once again, his back painfully slouched.
My, this was a new record for how fast Husker had passed out, even for him!
However, this was now just getting ridiculous, especially after just having left Niffty who was giving her all to her tasks! He could even smell the kitchen fire from here, and knew that the meaty soup would be burned to perfection.
On the other hand, here was Husker, being somehow even more disappointing than before.
Alastor walked over to the bar with a tight grin, gripping his cane behind his back. Perhaps bonking him on the head wasn’t enough? He could always light Husker on fire, still very partial to that idea.
But as he got closer, he noticed Husker was laying over something—that same sheet of paper he’d left behind, as well as the pen clutched in his hand. Why, there was actually something legible that had been written there. Even if Husker was drooling all over it and smearing the ink.
Alastor supposed that at least this was an improvement. A very, very marginal improvement.
Though the urge to smack Husker over the skull was quite high, Alastor’s curiosity over what he wrote overcame that urge. With a delicate touch, he instead lifted up Husker’s head by one of his thick, red eyebrows. A little mewl of discomfort left Husker’s mouth, but he stayed unconscious, the fur around his chin crusted over with the vestiges of dried booze and peanut shells.
Alastor then pulled away the now freed paper with his other hand, ignoring how it had even more stains on it than before. Once he got what he wanted, he dropped Husker’s head right back on the counter with a little slam. The cat man made a low groan of pain, but then got right back to snoring and drooling all over.
“Well,” said Alastor, adjusting his monocle and bringing the paper closer. “Let’s see how well you did, my failing pupil.”
After a half a minute of skimming, Alastor already had some critiques. And that was putting it politely.
For one, this would hardly be called a proper shopping list! He would give points to Husker for having written it plainly in blocky letters, especially for one with such failing eyes as the drunken kitty. The ‘RESTOCK LIST’ was clear and to the point. Underneath that title was the assorted list, with some proper checkboxes for approval. Scotch? Yes, they did need that. More scotch? Now Husker was just being repetitive. Vodka? Husker knew he was banned from such a drink after the last incident.
It was truly a very lacking list—only saved slightly by the addition of the last item, which made Alastor raise a curious eyebrow.
‘Cocktail Cherries (Niff likes ‘em).’
Ah, did she? Niffty liked many things, but he was pleased that Husker made a note of such a preference, even if all of his other talents waned.
Still, I mustn't be lenient! This needs to be a much better list! And that wasn’t even getting into the rest of what the paper was scribbled over with.
Love poetry.
Alastor rolled his eyes. How droll.
If he could experience secondhand embarrassment, he truly would at the very phrases Husker had penned down. Even as a limerick, these were just dreadful!
He needed to fix this immediately.
Pulling out one of the bar stools, Alastor sat himself down, then summoned another pen to his hand. This one was decorated with antlers along its side, the ink a truly fresh red. He always made sure to purify the blood of these pens for when he wrote his letters.
Like a proper teacher ready to crush his student’s hopes and dreams, he began his marking.
‘You, me, and my nicest bottle of cheap booze?’
Alastor crossed this one out with no hesitation. Then, right next to the small poem, he wrote out, NO.
That was it. The reason why should be obvious. Onto the next one!
‘Roses are red, whiskey is brown, brandy is also brown…’
Oh, this one was just horrendous. It didn’t even look finished, as if Husker had already been getting drunk the moment he wrote about booze and had given up. Or passed out. Either scenario was quite likely.
Alastor once again crossed out the words in thick, merciless red lines. He added his commentary to the right side of it. ALSO NO.
Husker really should know better.
Before Alastor was ready to declare Husker’s writings an affront to romantic poetry—which was already such a saccharine, frivolous thing—he read the next, and last, poem. This one was written a bit further up the paper, just to the right side of the other literary disasters.
‘Don’t need love when it comes in a bottle but I still need you.’
Alastor held the red pen between his fingers, and paused.
Hm, the imagery is a little clever here. Good cadence. Sentence is a bit run-on, which can be workshopped. Still too reliant on the alcohol theme. But, it ended on a rather interesting note. Love itself is meaningless, but the subject of this poem is everything.
After reading over the poem a few times, Alastor found himself nodding. It was a rather good attempt, one that could even be called romantic if one was also a drunkard. Still, he had to give credit where it was due!
So to show his approval, Alastor graced his poem with his world-famous illustrations! Something to really bring forth this poem to life. And since Husker’s entire existence was booze, Alastor would indulge in it.
A fanciful, red sketch of a cheap booze bottle—Husker’s favorite! He made bold strokes, the trio of X’s on the bottle’s label making it complete. Then, he drew a cocktail in a lowball glass, complete with a heart-topped stirrer. Since Husker was infected with romance lately, he might as well humor the cat man.
After looking at the poem illustrated with his eye-catching art, Alastor could say he was quite proud of Husker…and himself, of course! Such a poem would be nothing without the accompanying art, after all.
Alastor was ready to wake up Husker just then, to tell him that he passed with mediocre colors. Yet, he kept twirling the pen in his hand. Eyes fixated on the small list of items. He ticked the box next to ‘Scotch’ with a checkmark. They were running low on that.
Then, he ticked the box next to ‘Cocktail Cherries.’ He twirled his pen again, then set it down on the paper. Sometimes, the spirit of inspiration would take hold of him, and he couldn’t refuse it.
Just after he put the finishing touches, he heard a familiar groan before him.
“Agh…Fucking dammit, my back.” Husker muttered more inane phrases, then gave a hacking cough and a gag. It was followed by the sound of a wet plop on the floor. “Not another hairball…”
“Good to see you among the non-living, Husker!” Alastor’s pen point was still pressed against the paper, just over the design of sharp teeth he had drawn. “Truly a wonder that you didn’t even vomit this time!”
“Oh, fuck right off, you…” Husker started, still rubbing his head. Then, his words trailed off, eyes glinting as he directed his gaze towards the poetry-slash-shopping list in front of Alastor.
“You woke up at just the right moment, my friend. As you see, I have a few notes on your work here—”
“The fuck are you doing with that?!”
Husker seemed to give no mind at how rudely he had interrupted Alastor just then. Still, he would be the bigger man, only a few blips of ruptured static emitting from his microphone staff. “I’m giving you my advice as your dearly devoted mentor. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re messing with my shit! Gimme that!” Husker, in his ever careless ways, snatched the paper from Alastor, nearly ripping it to shreds. His claws held it clumsily, already tearing holes through it. Such a waste! “You weren’t supposed to see this!”
“Now, that makes no sense at all. I left you with a task, you completed it, and I reviewed it! Such a simple thing shouldn’t even need to be explained.”
“That’s not—I was just…trying to get started on—” Another pause as Husker looked at the sheet of paper even more. “You wrote all over this!”
“You’re welcome!” said Alastor. “Please be sure to look over my notes, to help you along with your improvement.”
“You just crossed these out and wrote no! The fuck is your problem!?” Husker narrowed his eyes, nearly pressing the paper so close to his face. He really needed some reading glasses, but did he ever listen to Alastor about getting some? No, of course not.
“What the…? Did…did you draw on this too?” A furrow of his feathered eyebrows. “Is this Niff?”
“Of course it is! It’s the perfect rendition of her lovely, twisted soul.”
“She looks like she’s ready to pounce right off the page and bite my head off.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I was going for, thank you very much!”
Alastor saw no need to be humble. The drawing of Niffty; crouched on her stick-thin legs, arms out, and grinning wide with her single eye staring straight at the viewer, was nothing short of a masterpiece. The tiny cherries he drew around her, like a swarm of mayflies, really pulled the entire piece together.
Husker was growling, his tail twisting around him into knots. “Can’t believe this shit. You weren’t…” He trailed off once more, his words leaving him now in an angry hiss. “This is fucking embarassing.”
“Excuse me? My artistic talent is nothing short of a marvel!”
“I’m—I’m not talking about you, you pompous ass!” Ooo, Husker was certainly stretching out his vocabulary today! “I was just… just writing whatever. God damn it.”
But even as Husker whined so pathetically, placing a hand against his face, he gazed at the paper again. “Wait… you didn’t cross this one out?”
“Hm?” spoke Alastor. He laid his chin over the back of his folded hands, leaning just a bit over the bar counter. “Now you would like my input?”
“Christ, I’m asking why—!” Husker stopped himself, taking a deep breath. His wings folded more neatly over his shoulders as he attempted to calm himself. “I just don’t understand, alright?”
At that, Alastor tilted his head at Husker, then gave him a wink. “I was rather impressed that you somehow wrote such a thing, especially after your other dismal attempts. So I approved of it. May you enjoy the art accompanying your sappy little love poem for years to come.”
Husker blinked slowly, looking from Alastor to the paper with bewilderment on his furry face. “Huh. So that’s why you made these freaky doodles?”
“Such a banal term. They’re inspired.”
Somehow, at that, Husker snickered. It was a soft, short sound, but Alastor noted it. “Yeah, sure. Inspired by my lame poetry?”
That gave Alastor pause, just for a moment before he answered. “As your dear devoted mentor, I have to applaud you for your literary achievement, and I did so in the best way I know.”
“Okay, you're gonna have to stop this mentor shit though, Alastor. You're not my teacher at elementary school.”
“Hmm, now now Husker,” Alastor continued with a lazy wave of his hand. “Please, call me Professor Alastor.”
“...Oh no.”
Before Alastor could question why Husker’s face was so red, he heard the familiar crackle of thunder overhead. For a moment, it overwhelmed the sound of screaming he could still hear from the hotel kitchen. “Ah! The rain has already started, it seems. No time for lazing around now. You should get to your shopping post-haste!”
“Huh?” Husker blinked, shaking away whatever mood had taken hold of him a moment before. “Right now? Fuck, I can barely even walk…” He glanced back at the paper, raising an eyebrow. “Are you saying here that I can’t get vodka?”
“You’re banned from it, Husker.” Alastor emphasized that statement with a quick tap on Husker’s head with his staff. “I thought I made myself clear last time! That drink makes you much too pathetic, even for my taste!”
“Oh fuck you, like I’m not already at the fucking bottom of the ladder…” Another glance. “But the cherries are good to get. I might have to get like double, because Niffty gobbles them up like nobody’s business.”
“Ah, well she’s a growing girl, let her!” Alastor said with a smile, knowing full well that Niffty would be short for the rest of eternity. “Anyway, along with that list, here’s what else you’ll need to get on your trip.”
He snapped his fingers, and out of the air materialized a long sheet of paper. It landed smack in the middle of Husker’s face, who yowled in shock.
“What the?! You already had a fucking list?” Husker pulled the paper away, and then the bottom of it extended even further, rolling out its list of contents across the floor. “Then why’d you make me try to write one myself!?”
Alastor chuckled slightly, bringing a hand near his mouth in a coy gesture. “Because it’s funny.”
And Husker’s resulting grouchy frown, so deep it carved into his face, along with his silly eyebrows and big ears—ah, surely there was nothing like it!
“Don’t look so glum, my friend. I’ll even let you have some help along!” He snapped his fingers once more, a shape appearing out of the shadows right above Husker. That same shape proceeded to fall right on top of the grumpy cat, making him tumble to the ground.
“Ow! Niff?!”
“Hiya, Husk!” Niffty was laying across Husker’s torso, kicking her feet and pressing her cheeks into her hands. “Whatcha doing?”
“Trying not to get a damn ulcer…”
Seeing no giant pot in her hands, Alastor assumed that Niffty had completed her cooking task as expected. Because if she didn’t, her entrance would have been much more messy and scalding.
“Niffty!” he called out to the bug maid. “Be sure to give Husker your assistance! It’s shopping day!”
“Ooo, can do, Alastor!” Niffty got up, bouncing her feet against Husker’s stomach. “Shopping day! I love shopping day!”
“Niff, get off!”
Even in her manic glee, Niffty obliged immediately, then pulled at Husker’s arm to get him to his feet. The girl was always such a self-starter, ready to take on the world. She would lead Husker to self-improvement.
“Remember to get each and every item on the list. And don’t forget the scotch and cherries!”
At the mention of cherries, Niffty started to vibrate rather violently. “Cherries?! We’re gonna get cherries! I love those!”
Husker rubbed his stomach where bruises from Niffty’s pointed feet were already forming over. “Yeah, just try not to eat ‘em all before we buy ‘em. I don’t want to go to jail again.”
Niffty was barely listening, already climbing up on Husker’s shoulder, gripping at his wings. “I want to pop some cherries, Husk!! I want to pop them until they bleed!!”
“I genuinely need you to stop.”
Oddly enough, Husker didn’t resort to his usual complaining. He simply went to pick up his hat that he had shelved under the bar, then folded his own shopping list carefully, tucking it into his pocket. Niffty clutched Alastor’s long list around her like a scarf.
“Make sure to grab an umbrella, Husker! I know you have one of those!”
Husker rolled his eyes. “Yep, don’t worry, boss.” He started to head out, Niffty already scrambling out of the employee lounge, the shopping list trailing after her like a paper snake.
As Alastor looked on, he couldn’t help but be somewhat curious. He was typically never interested in anyone’s love lives, finding them quite tiresome and ridiculous. Yet, Husker’s little attempts at poetry had been surprising.
“Before you deliver your love poem,” he called out before the bartender could fully leave. “Be sure to hand it to me first.”
“What?” Husker turned around, looking at Alastor with shocked eyes. “...Why?”
“So I can add even more art to it! It’s the only way to lift up your words to much better heights. Think of it as a collaborative effort!”
“You fucking hate collaborating with anyone.” Yet Husker looked away, his shoulders relaxing. “Do you even know who I was writing this for?”
“Haha! Oh dear, no. I couldn’t care less.” Alastor placed both hands on his cane, grinning assuredly. “Unless the subject of any conversation, musical piece, or poem is about me, I will not waste my energy!”
He expected another grumpy mutter, but he only heard silence instead. He looked at Husker, finding the other’s eyes staring straight into his. Open. Almost vulnerable. He even looked like he was about to say something, opening his mouth partly before slamming it shut.
The gaze was oddly intense, but then Husker looked away, letting Alastor go. “Right. See ya later, Alastor.”
Even as Husker had long left the room, Alastor remained seated at the bar, wondering.
Hm. Very strange.
But he wouldn’t think much of it. It had nothing to do with him after all.