mazeofrelationships | TV didn't exist when he was alive but Molly probably wouldn't fight him for the remote

TV didn't exist when he was alive but Molly probably wouldn't fight him for the remote

Angel didn't always get along flawlessly with his twin, siblings will argue now and then. But she was as close to a best friend as he had in those days, even when he got into drugs and would freak her out while under the influence. And Molly was far from perfect.

But Vaggi is like if he had another sister who wasn't as kind and open to compromise as Molly.

He just wants to watch some cool gangster films. The hotel gets some good classic movie channels now that Heaven's not being so damn stingy and looking the other way when Baxter "borrows" them. And even if he left the mafia behind when he got to Hell, Angel's still got a soft spot for gangster films. Especially when they've got a hot jazz-playing bartender serving up drinks to the gangsters.

"You can't even decide what you wanna watch! Anything but that aint really narrowing it down," Angel mutters. Giant robot cartoons, dumb sitcoms about roommates where the innuendo's so obvious and forced everyone might as well fuck right there onscreen, bad teen soap operas...Angel may not be as obsessed with his own era as Alastor, but he can't pretend there's not a lot of dumb crap on TV.

(Okay, some of it is kind of fun. But still.)

"Just gimme the remote already!"

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"No!" Vaggi glares at Angel, pulling the remote back to her chest. "I don't have a lot of time to actually sit down, and the last thing I want to see is people getting shot! I can see that if I look out the damn window!"

She doesn't mind the romcoms, or some of the action movies, but everything that Angel's been pausing on today just looks dumb. Finally, she found something talking about silly things pets do, and, well, it's not violent, and it isn't sponsored by Voxtech. "Now here, this looks amusing. And relaxing." Oh, look. That cat just ran into a door.

"Oh, stop being such a puritan!" he grumbles. Of course she replaces it with some dumb animal show. "Seriously? Fat Nuggets is ten times cuter than any cat or dog on this show." Said pig is currently snuggled on his lap, and has been the subject of over 100 pics taken on Angel's phone that day,

"I'm not!" Vaggi glares at Angel. "I just want to see things that I don't see all the damn time."

She can't help a small smile, however. "I might agree with you on that. Fat Nuggets is pretty cute when he's not eating the bar."

"Ya know gangsters do more than shoot people, right? They rob banks and fire off classy one-liners and look hot while they're doin' it." And sometimes have homoerotic tension with each other, especially if it was made before the stupid Hays Code.

"Damn right he is. Aint it, Fat Nuggs? Cutest widdle piggy in all of Hell!" Angel can't pick on anyone who goes all cuteness proximity about their pets, he does it too! He cuddles the pig close, scritching behind his ears. "That's my good boy."

She can't help a small smile at how much Angel loves Fat Nuggets. Demon pig or not, he is pretty cute. "I... might not mind a good heist."

Maybe. That might be as far as she goes. "As long as it has some pretty ladies in there somewhere."

"Yeah, a lotta those are after my time. Least the movies, but I remember seein' a damn good play about a couple lady murderers. Hear it got made into a musical down the line, too." Angel digs into a bag and pulls out a piece of carrot for Fat Nuggets, who munches away.

"Nice!" Vaggi can't help the grin on her face. "Now that's something I'd love to see." A pause, and she fusses with the remote for a moment. "Although you'd have to convince me."

"I bet they've got the musical version somewhere on one of these channels. The play's good, but I've got it on authority-" Read: Husk "-that some of the songs in the seventies version? Pure gold." He pauses. "Think there might also be a movie version of it too."

Vaggi can't help but smile. "Oh, yeah, that's what we're looking for." She starts switching channels, back to scrolling (when did Hell or Heaven or even Earth have this many channels?) when Husk comes in the door, looking a little worse for the wear.

His wings are drooping, there's a slash across his chest, and blood all over him. It looks like he's trying to sneak up the stairs without anyone noticing he's back.

Sorry, Husk, Angel may not have eyes in the back of his head but the tiny ones passing for his freckles can sense another person. And even with a lack of a visible nose he can smell the blood!

"Take a rain check, Vaggi," he says, Fat Nuggets leaping off his lap as he too senses something isn't right. Angel's at Husk's side as fast as his feet can carry him, Fat Nuggets snorting worriedly at the cat. "The fuck happened to you?! Wait, save the explanations, we've gotta take care of that gash first!"

"Angel, what???" Vaggi gets up, remote dropping on the floor, her victory forgotten in the face of someone hurt. "Oh, fuck. Get him upstairs, I'll send Niffty with some bandages." She runs off to find the tiny maid, in full battle mode.

"Vaggi, I'm fine. Angel... don't worry about it. You two go back to... whatever you were doin'. I think I just need a nap..." Husk stumbles a bit, but tries to just go upstairs. He's more than a bit shaky on his feet.

"No fuckin' way, not when you're bleedin' like that!" Angel reaches out with his main arms to hold him steady, not giving a damn as blood smears on his clothes. He's gotten worse on him, Niffty's good with stains. He already has a sinking feeling of how this happened, and while he knows a certain Radio Demon didn't do it himself he's got a lot to answer for.

Thankfully, Husk has already reported to Alastor, so Angel doesn't have to hold back from punching the guy.

He shrugs, looking down. "Huh, the bastard did get me pretty good. 's fine. I've had worse." He glances over at Angel, trying for a smile, but it just comes out looking awkward. "Might not turn down help up the stairs, though."

He just might. Angel has no patience for assholes who send their "toys" or "pets" into danger, and he may not be able to do much about his own situation but Husk's seen first hand he won't hesitate to throw hands if he's in danger.

"I can imagine, but still. You're barely standin', how'd you even get home without keeling over?" He slowly helps Husk up the stairs, hoping he remembers his own medical "training" from anytime he or his brother got hurt on the job. He and Arackniss were never on great terms, but death was a liability their folks couldn't afford.

"I'm a stubborn old fuck, you know that." He can't help but lean on Angel just a bit as they go up the stairs and to... well, someone's room. Husk has cleaned up in the past few days, so his room is less full of empty bottles and sadness, but it's still definitely very bland and basic.

There is already a pile of bandages in front of Husk's door with some other medicines as well as a roach that salutes the pair and scuttles off. Niffty might be a gremlin, but she's thorough, and cares.

Good, Angel's not a neat freak but the less empty bottles he has to kick aside, the better. He reaches down with a spare arm and scoops up the supplies, still keeping his hold on Husk, and soon they're inside

"All right, first things first." He grabs the bottle of antiseptic and a washcloth, then another one that he folds a second time. "Bite down on this. If this is the good stuff it's gonna hurt like a a bitch."

Husk manages to sit down on his bed, taking a breath. "Didn't want your first time in my room to be like this, Angel." He might be a bit loopy. However, he does dutifully do what Angel tells him, growling around the cloth as the antiseptic hits his chest.

Fuck. Niffty does get the good stuff. He's secretly glad, though, that it's Angel seeing him like this and not anyone else. He absolutely hates feeling vulnerable.

"Eh, no big deal. First time you ever came to my room I was a bloody, sticky mess tryin' not to cry after a shitty day at the studio." He takes his time with the wound, making sure to clean every inch before trying his best to scrub the blood from Husk's fur. Whoever did this sure went outta there way to make it hurt, huh. It's long and deep, like the person knew even if he couldn't actually kill Husk they wanted it to come damn close.

"Well, I definitely got the bloody mess going on." Husk winces, leaning a bit more heavily on Angel.

The slash is absolutely going to leave a scar, one that Husk would rather forget about. "You should see the other bastard, though. He got the worse end of it." That fuckin' spy will definitely be slinking back to Vox the worse for the wear.

Husk's wings droop a bit. "Didn't think it was going to be that bad."

He's gotten the fur as clean as it'll get for now, and luckily Niff brought them the non-sticky bandages and gauze. He gets to applying the gauze.

"I can imagine, yeah! Those cards and claws aint nothin' to sneeze at, I've seen you in action." He wraps the bandage around Husk's chest, tightly enough to apply the needed pressure but not tight enough to hurt. He then gets to checking for other scratches or cuts, years of patching up and being patched up have given him a sixth sense for medical shit. Not that he could've ever become a doctor even if he went to university (without fucking his teachers for good grades anyway), but he could pass for a field medic. Maybe.

"Damn hellhounds." It definitely didn't help that he's a cat. The rest of Husk is reasonably alright, cuts and bruises everywhere, and the bottom of one of his wings looks like it's been ripped to shreds, but it's not too bad.

Husk takes a shaky breath, and shakes his head. "I'll be fine, Angel. You can go back to... whatever you were doing." What Husk really wants is for his boyfriend to wrap all of his arms around him and hold him for the rest of the day, but he doesn't deserve that. He'll be just fine by himself. There's gotta be a full bottle of something in this room somewhere.

"No can do, Whiskers. You're not gonna get drunk and sleep it off alone." The thing with Angel is that once he trusts someone and loves them enough he's going to fuss over them, especially when that someone's been comforting and caring for him since before they were dating. He tends to every cut and bruise he can find, and pays special attention to the damaged wing. "You won't be using these for a while, but you rarely do anyway, so."

"You ruin all a guy's fun, you know." He doesn't mean it at all. Sighing, he glances down at his wing and shrugs.

He's silent for a while, just staring out at his room, basic, plain, but somehow still his. Notably, there's a poster just peeking out from behind an open closet door that Angel might recognize as one of his drag posters. On Husk's desk, there's a photo of Husk and Angel that someone took, Husk behind the bar, and Angel leaning on it, chatting.

It's odd this feeling of just being comfortable that someone's here with him, that someone cares enough to ignore everything else in favor of spending time with his sorry loser ass. But the proof is sitting right here, looking him over with a concerned face. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, Husk could rather get used to it.

When Angel's finished tending to the damaged wing, he does indeed look around the room. It's a sharp contrast to his own with its vivid pinks and purples and boxes of vibrators and other sex toys he sometimes forgets to put away, but it's oddly cozy.

Especially when he notices the poster...and the photo. His cheeks go warm and his heart flutters at the sight of the latter, seeing how natural and comfortable they look together.

This is ultimately why he gave in and came back despite his guilt and shame. The hotel, the people here, Husk...this is home.

"Nice pic, huh? The lighting really captures your eyes."

"Oh, come on, Angel." Husk manages a smile. "I just... well, Charlie gave it to me, and I thought I'd humor her by putting it up."

He's always loved that shot, how comfortable they look with each other, and how calm everything is for once. It reminds him that there's good in this hole and that he's not allowed to drink himself into complete oblivion.

"Sorry my room's not that interestin'. I haven't had much to put up, and I'm not really into decoratin'." He blinks a couple times, a wave of dizziness and tired washing over him. "Uh, Legs? Can I lay down a bit? Maybe... without you leavin'?"

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headcanon lifted from a fic someone wrote me

I like it! I'm assuming for this Husk's room is closer.

Works for me!

I'm also somewhat assuming that Husk's room is less fancy because he's technically staff.

Yep

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