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"So," Husk said brusquely, ignoring Val's barely concealed irritation and muttered profanities as he stalked off, smoothly taking his place at the bar and signaling for two fresh drinks. "It's been a while, Vox! Drink's on the house—so what's the occasion?"
Vox's expression was still dark and surly, flushed with a staticky glow that said he'd already had a few too many. There'd been a brief flicker of relief as Val had left, but now Vox was eyeing Husk with a wariness that said he was realising this wasn't much of an improvement.
"No occasion," Vox responded at last as a fresh drink slid his way, taking a slow sip before rubbing absently at the side of his boxy head with one hand. "Just felt like a change of scenery. That a problem?"
Prickly little bastard. Husk grinned at him around his cigar, showing a little teeth; might as well get straight to the point. "Alastor know you're here?"
A fritz of electricity sparked between Vox's antennae as he scowled, drumming his claws against the surface of the bar and shooting Husk a look of deep annoyance. Bingo. It was something of a rhetorical question, sure—locating a contracted soul was easy enough for any overlord, and Alastor would definitely—
"Maybe if he actually gave a fuck, so let's go with no." One hand was worrying at the casing of his head again, only now drawing Husk's attention to the fact that it was visibly damaged, cracked down the side and barely held together by Alastor's signature neon threads.
"You think he doesn't?" Husk asked offhandedly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He wasn't really expecting Vox to tell him anything; he was weirdly fuckin' loyal for how unhappy he always seemed, but reactions could sometimes say far more than words. And there it was: a brief flicker of frustrated hurt, quickly hidden by Vox downing the rest of his whiskey and leaning forward to rest his screen against the back of one hand, empty glass dangling from his claws. "Funny thing," Husk continued easily, eyes lingering on the damage to his head, then moving down to note similar stitches on his neck, visible just above his collar, and likely hidden elsewhere. "I've known Alastor a long time now, but he's always been pretty cagey about his contracts." Vox didn't respond, but Husk could see his shoulders tensing. "In fact before that little maid of his, you were the only one he's ever publicly acknowledged."
He heard Vox's breath catch; watched him set the glass down with an unsteady hand and gesture for a refill, which Husk instantly vetoed with a sharp shake of his head. Vox shot him a bitter look before giving a resigned shrug. "What's your point?"
Admittedly Husk'd had his suspicions, but Alastor was, well… Alastor. Still, it was feeling increasingly like he was giving Hell's most fucked up marriage counselling to a neglected wife. Was that what this was about? Really? "Do you remember last time you ended up here?" Vox immediately looked slightly embarrassed, which Husk took as a yes. "When you caused a huge fuckin' ruckus after accusing some asshole of cheating, and a bunch of guys beat the shit out of you?"
Vox's screen fuzzed and flickered, expression sour. "Yeah," he said flatly, "great night."
Husk hummed in agreement, grinding out his cigar. "You ever find out what happened to those guys?" Silence. As Vox stared at him, Husk could see the anger draining, realisation settling in. "Yeah," he continued lightly, "next night, Alastor came by, real fuckin' unhappy and killed 'em all—thanks for nothing, by the way, they were big spenders." And—fuck, there it was.
Vox looked away, visibly flustered as he schooled his expression back to blankness.
"…Poker?"
"Sure," Husk said easily, standing and stretching out his wings before gesturing for Vox to walk with him. "Just leave any cheaters to us this time."
The corner of Vox's mouth ticked up, just a little.