Chapter Text
The lobby was quiet when Alastor made his appearance at the bar. It was a nice evening, jazz sprinkled the warm air with loopy tunes, the fire was going well, overall a calming ambience.
It was only Husk and Vaggi and the bar. Alastor was rather surprised that the fallen angel was there, since she was against drinking, and wouldn’t go further than green tea. Husk, the obedient feline, was busy cleaning away used glasses, content with his work.
It was 9 hours past noon and many hotel residents were either out clubbing or whatever, or retiring early. It was indeed a peaceful night.
Giving Vaggi a nod, he sat down two chairs across to the right from her. She acknowledged him with an “‘evening’ and continued texting away on her mobile phone.
“May I ask, where is the princess, the spider and dear Nifty?" he inquired.
Shrugging her shoulders she replied with, “Not sure. Charlie and Nifty are having an early night, and Angel the poor thing has a long shift at Valentino’s. Also, cherri went out to catch up on some old friends.”
He hummed in response as he let himself sink in to the ambience.
Husk, on the other hand, was not relaxed. He had a rather jarring thought, late that other night. He didn't dare think about it too hard, in case his mind could be read or something.
But, he had thought, what if he tries to kill Alastor? It obviously wasn't the first time he thought of such a thing, but at that instance, he had a plan figured out.
In the past, he was always thinking of ways to end his soul deal, and the only way always circled back to the overlord’s death. Maybe if he stole Vaggi’s angelic spear, snuck into Alastor’s room, (somehow) and stabbed him through the heart or neck as he slumbered, it would definitely work.
It sure was a difficult thing to do, it did not help how a chain was tied to his neck, the end yielded by the walking blood clot. Husker was a servant, a slave. This shit had been going on for too long, surely.
Sure, he openly gave Alastor his soul, but only because he was desperate.
And, lo and behold, they were in hell.
Torture of some sort was expected.
Alas, it was true that he didn't have it as hard as Angel, continuously molested by the vile moth. He didn't even want to think about his name, let alone speak it aloud. He knew Alastor would never do such things to him, even if the deer was a sadistic, cannibalistic narcissist.
It was last night, decided by husk himself, even so slightly drunk as usual, that he would sneak into Carmilla Carmine’s warehouse and pinch two vials of holy water. Such a dangerous rarity was locked away in chambers, as were other angelic weaponry and such.
It was a difficult mission, having to rely on his refined hearing and sight, shitty memory and such to navigate the route to the cellar, but he eventually did it. (after taking out four guards and breaking one too many security cameras.)
One vial was surely enough, even a tiny droplet that landed on the tongue of a demon could end their lives in minutes. But he knew how strong of a creature the Radio Demon was, so he stole two, just in case one got lost or something.
And so here Husk was, pretending to clean bottles, but in reality he was fiddling with the tiny vial of holy water in his pouch pocket. The lid came off rather easily and he put it back on in a haste, making sure not to spill any of the precious liquid. Hell, even touching the water
Even touching the liquid would make any demonic being’s flesh sizzle through the bone, be it feathers, scales, fur or skin.
“Hard whiskey on the porch, if you will!” His boss’s staticky voice called from behind him, giving him a fright. Husk was so lost in his deviations that he had almost forgotten his victim was right there.
He grunted and leaned down, ready to grab said beverage. Husk lingered under the bar counter for a tiny bit longer, but that was because he was carefully pouring the holy water into Alastor’s whisky, yet again, being careful not to spill any,
With the being done, and his murderous plan in motion, he ducked back up to hand him his drink, tainted with poison.
He discreetly watched as Alastor lifted the drink to his lips, about to take a sip.