Chapter Text
Val fucking lost.
He actually fucking lost. What a dipshit. Holy fucking shit.
Angel Dust blinked the sunlight out of his eyes as he exited the cab. Sliding his sunglasses up onto his forehead for a moment, he sent the cabbie on his way with a wink and a smile. When he turned to face the casino in front of him, with its obnoxious neon and flashy lights, Angel returned the glasses to their rightful place and took in a deep breath.
Even though he watched Val sign his contract over, even when Val's assistant dumped Fat Nuggets and a box of Angel's things (kindly labeled “Spider Whore's Trash”) outside of the studio, none of it felt real. Angel had been in Hell for a hell of a long time and random, good things didn't just happen there. There was no such thing as an “act of kindness” in a shithole like this. This whole arrangement felt like some kind of...
Well. Angel wasn't sure what the fuck it felt like, but he was suspicious as hell—that was for damn sure!
In the back of his mind, though, he couldn't help but feel... Angel hated to think hopeful, but maybe that was the best word to describe it. Even if this next boss was an asshole, at least it'd be a different flavor of asshole. It took him years before he really grew to loathe Valentino, after all. It didn't start out all bad.
Drawing in one last, deep breath, Angel gave Fat Nuggets' leash a gentle tug, readjusted his box, and went inside. The casino looked just the same as it had the weekend prior when he and Val had shown up, but there were less people around on the off-hour; Angel figured even gamblers had jobs to do during the middle of the day. With a small shrug, he walked deeper into the foyer and propped his sunnies back on his forehead.
“...Well, ain't this a welcome. So much pizazz in this room! I can't get enough of it,” Angel deadpanned.
“Hey—watch what you're shit-talkin',” a deep voice remarked. Striding down one side of the grand staircase was the owner of the casino himself, wings tucked behind his back and thumbs casually hooked into his belt loops. He paused on the last few steps, eying Angel with an expressive, raised brow. “Ya want pizazz, you reno the place. Otherwise, keep your smart-ass comments to yourself.”
Angel was pretty sure he couldn't forget a voice like that, even if he didn't know a whole lot about the being it belonged to. As Husk approached, Angel turned to face him and offered a lazy smirk. “You sayin' you're gonna let me tear the walls down in here, Whiskers?”
Husk prided himself on his casino. It was his magnum opus; the lifeblood that kept sinners losing and himself as a top Overlord of the realm. He only played for high stakes, on deals he knew he'd win—and when Husk saw himself about to lose, then he'd just cheat the system until that didn't happen.
With Valentino though, he'd won fair and square. That dumbass bug had come in fluffing up his fur, insisting that it'd be the day he finally cleaned the floor with Husk. Knowing this wasn't a possibility in the slightest, Husk wagered a good bet: the top demons under the other's respective contracts. Of course the sly cat won just as he knew he would.
And thus here he was, watching Angel Dust the prolific porn star making his way through the doors with a box in hand and... something on a leash behind him.
“Huh?” Husk tilted his head with a frown, bright, golden eyes shifting between Angel and the little horned pig at his feet. “The hell's that? Tino didn't say anythin' about pets...”
There wasn't much Angel knew about Husk, despite his many attempts at gathering all the information he could over the past few days. For an Overlord, the guy took care to keep his image pretty clean; all Angel was able to glean was that anyone who owed him money didn't owe him for very long. Even Val, upon realizing just how badly he fucked up, knew better than to go back on his word—even if that meant losing endless cash flow and his favorite toy. Sure, he'd tried to offer up alternatives (and Angel would be a filthy liar if he said he didn't get a little ego boost watching Val so flustered over his loss) but when they were turned away, Valentino seemed wary of forcefully breaking their bet.
Anyway, what Angel really wanted to know was why this dusty, old cat asked for his contract in the first place. Obviously, it wasn't for Angel's benefit; he was definitely here for some kinda job.
...Did casinos have strippers? He never went to Vegas during his life, so fuck if he knew. Why wouldn't they have strippers, though, right?
As Husk's eyes shifted down to Fat Nuggets, Angel was pulled out of his thoughts. He gave a dramatic gasp, top set of hands flying to his mouth. After haphazardly setting the box down, he scooped the piglet into his arms.
“That has a fuckin' name! This is Fat Nuggets, my precious first-born son, and he comes with me.” With his second pair of arms, Angel gestured between himself and the pig, then set his hands on his hips. “We're a packaged deal, Kitty.”
Husk's mouth set into a thin line at the dramatics, eyes narrowing at the second feline-inspired nickname to escape the porn star’s lips. He remained silent for a long few seconds, before clicking his tongue and shaking his head.
“I've got a name too, Legs,” the Overlord remarked, unamused. “You might want to fuckin' learn it.” His gaze dropped to Fat Nuggets again, and though he wasn't a fan of the arrangement, he acquiesced and told the spider: “Make sure he doesn't shit on my floors, and you can keep him.”
The casino cat had a solid chunk of demons under contract working for him, all the result of a personal deal gone bad, defaulting on a debt, or being bartered off another Overlord like Angel was. Would his minions call Husk a fair and patient owner?
...Patient, not exactly. But fair was a bit more in line with Husk's style; as much as one could be in Hell. He worked in deals, after all—and he knew that stacking the deck too much could end with unfavorable results. So as long as the demons under his command did their jobs without putting up too much of a fuss and didn't try to fuck him over, Husk allowed them a few pleasures. For Angel, the first would be Fat Nuggets. Provided, as Husk said, the pig didn't mess up his beautiful carpets.
Angel grinned at the nickname and gave a little snort; Hell wasn't all bad—he really did get a great set of legs. “He ain't gonna piss on your carpets; he's a good boy!”
Still, though, underneath his cheekiness, the spider felt a small wave of relief wash over him; he wasn't really expecting to lose Nugs during this move or anything, but at least Husk's response to him was a sign of some kind of... Well, it made him seem almost reasonable.
“Alright, pick up your shit and come on.” Husk gestured for Angel to follow before turning on his heel, long tail swishing out behind him. “I'll take you to your room.”
Once assured the spider was trailing him, Husk ascended the steps to an elevator. He remained quiet as it came to meet them, watching Angel (and Fat Nuggets) out of the corner of his eye. They rode up to the second highest floor, just under the penthouse suite Husk stayed in. The rooms on the these levels were better quality than all the rest—half dedicated to top-tier guests, and half designated for Husk's best employees. He wasn't trying to butter Angel up though; everyone started at the top.
See, it was far too easy to work your way down—getting back up required some effort.
As they traveled up to his room, Angel checked out the décor of the place he'd be living at for the foreseeable eternity. He took note of the fancy carpets, the chandeliers, the dramatic curtains. This place really looked like something out of a movie! It was still tacky for sure, but in more of a vintage kinda way.
“Voila,” Husk remarked, deadpan in tone and expression as he unlocked a door at the end of the hall. He stepped inside, twirling the square access key between his fingers like a playing card while gesturing around the room with his other arm. “It ain’t The Ritz, but it’s yours.”
Once Husk unlocked the door, Angel set his box down on the floor and looked around. It wasn't exactly a palace, but the room was spacious and gave a nice view of the city; it was definitely an upgrade from his last place, that was for damn sure.
“This is...” Angel blinked, then arched a delicate brow. “My room?”
This was... fucking weird. First of all, Angel had been there for a full ten minutes and this guy hadn't tried anything. Second, his Ma taught him young that anything seeming too good to be true probably was. There was something fishy going on here and Angel was sure as shit going to figure out what.
...Well. First, he was going to score some drugs. Then, he was going to figure out what was going on.
“Okay,” Angel released Fat Nuggets' leash, allowing the pig to begin sniffing around the room—probably in search of a snack. Next, he whirled back to face Husk, wariness obvious in his expression.
“What's your deal?” he asked, taking a step closer. Once he was just a little too near for comfort, his tone became more lilting. “...You know you own my soul, right? Why are you tryin' to impress me?”
“Ugh.” Pulling a disapproving face, Husk pressed the keycard roughly against Angel's chest, simultaneously shoving the demon back. “Take your key and get outta my damn space. I'm not a costar in one of your fuckin' movies.”
When Husk pushed him away, Angel was (for the first time in, probably, decades) genuinely stunned. For a moment, all he could do was blink, blankly slipping the key in his blazer.
...What the fuck? No, really—what the actual fuck? What kinda schmuck wins his own personal (award-winning) porn star and pushes him away like he's got some kinda infectious disease? What's the point in owning a fucking whore to begin with if you flinch when he touches you? Geez Louise.
Almost as quickly as it came, the stupefied look on Angel's face was replaced with his (once again, award-winning) grin. He crossed two of his arms before leaning over and giving the Overlord a gentle tap on the nose.
“Why not, baby?” Angel snickered. “You'd make such a great costar.”
Angel was still glaring at him suspiciously, which Husk couldn't blame him for. Selling your soul to another demon was one thing; having it used as a bartering chip was a whole other level. And, well—Husk was an Overlord, not a group known for their pleasantries and goodwill. Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace slowly in front of the door.
“This ain't to impress you—it's to show what a benefit it is not to piss me off,” Husk replied, watching Fat Nuggets sniff his way towards the queen-sized bed. “Everyone starts at the top. You fuck me over—or try to—and you go down. Impress me after, and you might be able to make your way back here someday.”
Husk looked to Angel again, quirking a brow.
“There's three main rules to follow while you're here.” He held up a paw, counting off as he ran through them. “Do your job, don't scare off or upset the customers, and don't cost me money.” His gaze slid once more to the little piglet, then he lifted a pinky as well. “And for you, number four: keep your pig from chewin' up my furniture. Or pissin' on it.”
And still, that look of suspicion remained on Angel's face. In fact, Husk swore it'd gotten worse as he talked. A mild smirk lifted up a corner of the cat's mouth.
“But I'm guessing you're more interested in your contract, huh? What do I want from you in exchange?” He shrugged, threading his thumbs in his belt loops once more. “Simple. You're gonna be my poster boy. Help me drum up business, work the floor. You keep that up and obey the rules, and you can do whatever the hell you want with the rest of your time. Got it?”
As Husk began to pace, Angel took the liberty to cross the room and sit down on the edge of the queen bed, leaning back and resting on his forearms. As he listened, he couldn't help but feel a little curious; so far, this didn't sound all that bad. In fact, it was still sounding way too good to be true. All he had to do was mostly behave himself, chat up some horny gambling addicts, and remember not to get too high before walking Nuggies every day? That was it?
What the fuck?
“A... poster boy?” Angel scoffed a little, still in a state of disbelief. “You just want me to schmooze up a bunch of losers? Just...” He eyed Husk curiously as he paced. “Just get people in the door? What about, y'know, johns and shit?” He gestured, vaguely, with a hand’ “Y'know, I'm not exactly a salesperson. I'm a porn star.”
“And on your time off, you can fuck whoever and whatever you want.” Husk fixed him with a flat stare, unperturbed by the line of questioning. “But I'm tellin' you now, Angel, this isn't Tino's studio. You've got a reputation, and I'm gonna use it—but that doesn't mean you gotta sleep with everyone that comes through the door.”
He figured there'd be a learning curve here; he wasn't in Valentino's studio when the action happened (thank fuck), but the moth bastard wasn't shy about sharing the gritty details when he had a drink or two in him. Or, just when he felt like being more of an asshole than usual. Husk's teeth gritted at the thought of it all. Maybe it was a little ironic for a demonic Overlord to have anything akin to a moral compass, but the things Valentino said about his “favorite toy”... It was enough to leave a bad taste in Husk's mouth. If that's what Val decided to share in mixed company, he didn't want to imagine how bad the spider probably got it at “home.” He hadn't planned on betting for Angel Dust specifically that night, but Husk wasn't going to say he was upset at the prize he won.
A thought poked its way through Husk's busy mind, pinching his brows together. “Actually—let me do this before someone calls me to put out another fire around this damn place.”
He approached the bed, where Angel still had a smidge of height on him even when sitting down. Husk didn't let this bother him, ignoring how the other demon grinned while he produced an old-looking scroll out of thin air. The paper curled at the edges, barely legible script flowing across the page. Husk didn't miss the way Angel stiffened at the sight of it, a pink manacle appearing around his throat that tied to one end of the scroll.
“Hey—relax. I'm not gonna hurt ya.” Husk's tone wasn't exactly relaxing, but he meant the words. With a single snap of his fingers, the contract ripped in half and the chain links dissolved to nothing. Simultaneously, the manacle snapped into a half dozen pieces and floated away to the ether.
Before Angel had time to blink, Husk produced another piece of paper. This one was sleeker, looking more like a legal document than an ancient scroll. With another snap, a new chain appeared, gold and shimmering like the piles of loot lining Husk’s bank accounts and secret vaults. The manacle attached to the final link was small—far too small to fit around even Angel's delicate neck. No, the circle instead went to his top left hand, wrapping snuggly around the middle finger.
With a flourish akin to a magician's sleight of hand, Husk willed both the contract and chain away. If one looked close enough, the faintest smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “Figured that's a little better than that fuckin' leash Tino had you on, yeah?”
...Angel was starting to feel a little dizzy; it'd been ages since he'd felt genuinely surprised, but this guy had managed to blow his mind at least three times in the last thirty minutes. Yeesh; he couldn't remember the last time he wasn't technically some kinda paid-for prize. Since the day he showed up in Hell, Angel figured the quickest way to get his fix was to work the streets; after all, there was never any shortage of customers around these parts.
Dumbfounded, Angel opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it again. For once (and this was really a historic event) he was actually, truly speechless. The night Val insisted on bringing him to Husk's casino in the first place, he hadn't even wanted to come. In fact, Angel had wanted to go shopping—because nothing bad can ever really happen at the mall. The whole night, he sat bored on Val's lap, wearing a pretty smile and watching as his keeper grew more pissed with every dollar he lost. Angel had made certain to keep a drink on hand the entire time, bracing himself for a night of Valentino screaming over “that cheating fucking pussy,” but then...
Then Val fucking bet him and lost, and now Angel wasn't technically a whore anymore. At least, that's what this whole deal was sounding like from the outset.
When Husk approached, at first Angel grinned down at him (heh, cute little kitty), but that carefree expression didn't last long. As soon as he saw that flash of pink and felt his neck tighten, Angel cringed and, despite Husk's words, he still felt a little sick. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he sat quietly and watched the curious, magical display before him. Once it was over, a hesitant hand rose to his neck. Another, now adorned with a little golden band, Angel held up to inspect.
“...Geez, I've gotten all sorta presents over the years, but no one's ever put a ring on it.” As soon as he blurted it out, Angel actually felt a little embarrassed, which was, again, out of the norm for him. He cleared his throat and brushed it off with another toothy smirk. “You sure this is a wise investment, gramps? Seems like there are better ways to be wasting your money, but... I mean—” A lopsided shrug. “—I guess it's yours to waste, right?”
“Wastin’ money?” Husk tilted his head, then let out a short bark of a laugh. “Ha! No, no—I don't make bets that'll lose me money. You know how many customers you're gonna pull in, just for the chance to see the Angel Dust in the flesh?”
Husk gave a little nod, rocking back on his heels. He definitely wore a grin now—cunning and sharp-eyed, it was clear to see how this small cat was the best dealer in the realm. “Even if all you gotta do is sit there and look pretty, the next few months and on are gonna make me bank.”
At this, Husk turned on his heel, clearly done with the conversation for now. He did pause at the doorway though, turning around to lean against the frame. His eyes narrowed, recalling one of Angel's recent comments. Nothing of importance got past Husk—at least, nothing he considered worthy of note.
“Also, lay off the 'gramps' shtick—makes me feel old. You're no spring chicken either, Legs.” He cocked his head again, wings fluffing slightly to resettle in their tucked-away position. “I'll give you a night to settle in, then you're gettin' to work. Any more questions? Can't promise I'll answer 'em, but you can ask away.”
Husk seemed confident, and Angel would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t find his laugh a little endearing. Could it really be that simple? Just walk around, smiling and looking pretty? Angel didn’t know what Husk’s angle was, but he’d figure it out. Maybe after a couple of weeks on the floor, he’d have a better feel of things.
One thing was for certain: he wasn’t going to let his guard down that easily. Not even for a nice laugh and a cocky grin and a great view. Angel had learned that lesson the hard way. Never trust a pretty smile—not even his own.
“Wha—” in an instant, the spider lost his composure and sputtered. With his newly adorned finger, he flipped off the other demon and stuck out his tongue. “Hey, fuck you! I’m the spittin’ image of a spring chicken over here! I’m cursed to be forever young, fuck you very much.”
Heh. That was one benefit to kicking the bucket so early, Angel guessed—even if that was a dark thing to revel in.
“I don’t got any questions for now,” a thin arm waved Husk off as Angel sprawled out against the sheets of his new mattress.
…Why did he have the weird, unpleasant urge to say “thank you?” Gah! He was too sober. It was fucking with his head. Angel left those words unspoken and instead offered a shrug. “Sure, sure—bright and early and all that jazz. I got it.”
Once the door shut, Angel pulled Fat Nuggets close to his chest and let out a quiet huff. What a weird fucking week.