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Summary
Nothing good can come of a late-night drinking session with a plastered Radio Demon, right?
Husk and Alastor were at the hotel bar, clearly deep into a drinking session, when Angel Dust returned from work. ‘I was eighteen, back in Normandy’ Husk was saying with a grin on his face ‘It was this beautiful lil’ German lad, all blond hair and blue eyes and belief in the Fuhrer. He never stood a chance against my big black ass’. Alastor laughed along with him, both of them slamming whiskey back messily.
‘I’m quite sure!’ Alastor agreed jovially ‘Myself, I was thirteen. My father, of course’. Angel sidled up to them with a sly smile ‘Lemme guess, first kills?’ he asked, accepting the glass Husk had sloppily filled for him when he spotted the front door opening ‘I thought you was talkin’ bout the other first time, if you know what I mean, til Al said ‘bout his bein’ his da’.
Or: Angel Dust offers Alastor a favour. Alastor responds, and Vox spirals.