Archive of Our Own

The club was about what Alastor expected: crowded and garish, with hordes of pushing, shoving, gyrating bodies and sticky floors barely visible in the hazy air and flashing strobe lights. Husk took the lead, his slumping figure making its way through the crowd with curious ease, allowing the rest of them to scurry along in his wake. Alastor sauntered behind and observed everything with a judgmental eye.

They had all overheard their celebrity resident inviting Husk to the opening night of his newest side gig for a special viewing at a bar. Charlie had inserted herself, as usual, asking incessant questions and dropping heavy hints about how she would love to attend and support him. Angel Dust had hesitantly extended the invitation to anyone who wanted to come; Charlie had turned around immediately and insisted that the whole staff attend in solidarity. Niffty had nodded eagerly next to a protesting Vaggi, though Charlie wore her down as she always did.

Alastor normally would never step foot in such an establishment, but as this had been a direct request from Charlie herself, he hadn’t wanted to waste an opportunity to ingratiate himself with a potential powerful contact. Therefore, Alastor had accepted the invitation, smile widening tightly as she squealed with glee and hugged him right there in front of the bar, glaring at Husker’s poorly hidden snicker at his discomfort. Alastor had sniffed daintily, dusting off his coat as Charlie pulled Vaggi and Angel away to discuss logistics and transportation.  

“I’m surprised you said yes; didn’t think you’d wanna spend your Thursday night at a peep show.”

“Well, needs must when one is involved with such an unusual endeavor as redemption, my friend!” Alastor bit back, eyeing the grumpy bartender. Husk didn’t notice; he was gazing across the room with a fond smile on his face. Alastor peered in that direction, seeing an exasperated Angel Dust trying to prevent Charlie from bursting into song. 

“So, I see our resident arachnid has successfully ensnared you in his web. I must say, I thought you had denounced dalliances in favor of the bottle some years ago,” Alastor mused lightly, watching as Husk’s ears tilted backward. The ex-Overlord rolled his eyes, reaching for a bar rag and wiping the already-clean counter with a scowl. 

“I ain’t ensnared,” he grumbled. “I just judged the kid before I really knew him, and now I know better.”

“Oh, really? And what brought about this unexpected development?” Alastor batted his eyes, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and grinning curiously.

“...Angel works at one a’ my old casinos,” the bartender muttered, scratching idly at a speck in one of the glasses.  “Caught his act when the whole thing was going down with Vox.”

“I had no idea your establishment had lowered its standards to scraping the bottom of Hell’s barrel by employing one of Valentino’s little toys. What happened? Were you so titillated that you fell wing over tail? Won over by his wiles? Seduced by his sauciness? Besotted with his bosoms? Dazzled by his derriere? Infatuated with his-”

“Jeezus, no! Cut it out,” Husk growled, making Alastor’s grin grow dangerously. He had just been getting started. “Kid was freelancing; performed a real class act of a number. Angel’s got true talent…well, when his asshole of a boss allows him to use it, at least.”

Alastor hummed disbelievingly, but Husk wasn’t one to blow smoke. He felt a stirring of interest; perhaps he would learn something useful during this little venture. If Angel Dust was truly more than a vapid, hypersexual degenerate, then that meant that either Alastor had been sloppy in his assessment or Angel Dust was more capable than he expected, creating a mask so impervious that even Alastor couldn’t see under it. 

Not that Alastor had looked very far. Alastor prided himself on his ability to read a soul’s nature and gauge what made them tick; it was what led him to such success both as a serial killer and as a deal maker. The issue stemmed from the general population’s unfortunate obsession with sex, something Alastor had never understood. In life, it had been easy enough to hide his condition; society was much more proper, and those who made overtures often excused his blind obliviousness to a prudish rigidity at best or temperamentality at worst. In Hell, depravity was much more open, and it was much more difficult to feign normativity. Alastor had heard it all; he was broken, he was frigid, he was confused, he hadn’t tried hard enough, he simply hadn’t met the right person, or-

Frankly, he had grown so damnably tired of the whole rigamarole. He had long resigned himself to being wrong in society’s eyes; nearly every other aspect of his being had gone against the grain since his very conception. Why would his sex drive be any different? In his youth, he had wished vainly for those feelings; he had stared (in retrospect, probably unnervingly so) at individuals regarded as attractive, at countless bosoms and bottoms, chests and curves, simultaneously dreading and yearning for that elusive attraction to swell his heart (small though it may be) or groin (he was going to refrain from commenting on the size of that, thank you very much). It never happened, and the sense of inadequacy had never quite faded away. There was nothing Alastor hated more than inadequacy, so he had quickly developed an aversion to anything that reminded him of his failing. 

Angel Dust’s overt sexuality was apparent; the Sinner oozed lust and carnal desire with every lascivious look and hungry grin. His first words to him had been a proposition of oral sodomy, for pity’s sake! To his credit, Alastor’s dismissive response had been taken with unusual ease. However, it still made for rather a poor first impression, and Alastor had not been overly eager to expose himself to it again, to make his bluenosed reputation even worse than it already was.

Additionally, the spider was contracted to Valentino; while Vox was an absolute disgrace of an Overlord, and definitely among one of Alastor’s least favorite souls in all of Hell, there was something particularly distasteful about the pimp. His obsession with sex, lack of boundaries, and disregard for anyone’s desire but his own repulsed Alastor. Between his rapist tendencies and Vox’s manipulative tactics, anyone and anything associated with them tended to be tainted; Alastor was sure Angel Dust could not have survived such a long contract without either being sympathetic to their ways or absolutely broken. 

Alastor awaited the outing with trepidation, picturing a sleazy back-alley joint with spiked drinks, drugged air, and barbed comments from the Vees the moment he set foot in their territory. Thankfully, once the crew arrived at the location, he discovered that while the club was in the Vees’ territory, it was managed by an old friend of Husk’s who had been given practically free run of the place. The troupe had booked the room above a club and Husk’s friend had left their name at the door for easy entrance. Angel was performing in a private stage room on the second floor, and as they entered the room, they saw a more tasteful setup. A curtained stage with a grand piano was at the far end of the room, with a long runway-style catwalk extending out to the middle. Around the walkway and stage, small tables were set with fabric tablecloths and candles, creating an intimate experience, especially with the muffled bass from the club almost silent below them. 

There were a few dancers on the stage (well, Alastor felt a bit charitable calling them “dancers” as their motions were quite clearly meant to simulate fornication rather than grace or agility), and other employees walked around in skimpy clothing. Despite the less-than-sophisticated entertainment, Alastor felt his hackles lowering; the quieter atmosphere and moderately clean furniture at least reassured him that he would be able to sit without contracting some sort of venereal disease. 

At Charlie’s insistence, they were ridiculously early for the show; despite Angel’s warning that most club shows were less than punctual when it came to start times, Charlie was paranoid that something would happen to make them miss Angel’s routine. 

Besides a few drunks ignoring the dancers in favor of nursing their drinks at the bar, and one rather pudgy fellow receiving a less-than-enthusiastic lap dance, they were the only clients in the room and therefore the sole focus of the staff. Tray servers and escorts were quick to descend upon their tables, much to Alastor’s disgruntlement. 

Husk nonchalantly swiped two shots, handing a few bills to the server with a wink and laughing gruffily at something they said. Charlie was blushing with averted eyes as two escorts, a busty fox Sinner and a tall, sinewy horned cyclops, each slid into the seats next to her, pressing up against her arms with flirtatious expressions. Vaggi switched quickly from seething with protective indignation when the vulpine escort simply turned to face her and shimmied in to grab her arm with a salacious grin. Niffty was cackling and propositioning an imp server, who was looking desperately around, obviously regretting his choice of target. 

Alastor settled gingerly into one of the chairs, clutching his microphone in a tight fist. He tried to radiate disinterest, observing the room disdainfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small group of Sinners notice him, elbows jabbing into bony arms and non-existent guts. One brave employee adjusted her bustier, jiggling her “wares” into place before approaching him for the sell. 

“Hey there, hot stuff. What’s a big bad like you doin’ in a dump like this?” 

Alastor let out an involuntary squeal of radio static as the slattern laid her hand on his arm, trying to disguise it with canned laughter.

“Ah ha ha, suffering!” Alastor boomed, using his gloved claws to pinch and remove the offending hand. “And while I appreciate the attempt, I am not interested in procuring any of your…services. Better luck elsewhere, my dear.”

As the busty escort pouted, another approached the table; this one was slim and reptilian, with long hair and narrow eyes, which she batted coyishly at him.

“Well, sssweetie, maybe I am more to your tastesss?”

“Slithering up the wrong tree, I’m afraid!” Alastor shook his head, hands twisting on his microphone. He felt his antlers growing. It was getting difficult to speak around the extra teeth that had begun to overcrowd his mouth. 

“That’s right, ladies! A giant hunk of man meat like this is too much for little girls! Come on over with me, buddy. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is you’re into.” The gigolo who approached was muscular bovine sinner with a truly heinous Canadian tuxedo outfit of distressed denim. Alastor, feeling plenty distressed himself, felt his eyes begin to glow as he let out a mechanical screech. 

“For the last time, I. Am. Not. Interested! Ḻ̇̓ͪ͝e͉̣̪̼͂̆̈a̺̦ͬ͜v̸̩͡e̛̟͐̅!̞͔̩̘̯͆̕”

With grumbles of confused annoyance, the group finally left him alone, though he had to snarl again before the last of them sashayed away with an annoyed pout. 

He took several deep breaths, feeling unusually targeted and hunted. He hated it. He stared blankly at the stage as the dancers from the first performance finished up, exiting through the small door next to the stage. Many of the escorts wandering the room disappeared through the backstage door with them, and the ones that remained were all finishing up with clients. The lack of a crowd eased the pressure weighing on Alastor’s chest. The room grew quiet save for some sleazy lounge music and a janitor sweeping the stage clean. 

Husk plopped into a vacated seat with two amber drinks; he rolled his eyes when Alastor grabbed one of them out of his hand and took a deep gulp. 

“You know you can leave at any time.”

“What exactly is so hard to understand about the phrase not interested?” Alastor sneered, swirling his glass around so that the dark liquid splashed about in the crystal. “The desperation that drips from Valentino’s playthings is abhorrent to me in all respects.”

“Well, it is their job,” Husk reminded. “Some people like to play hard to get; most people who come to a sex club are actually interested in, y’know…sex.”

“Yes, well, I am hardly most people,” Alastor sneered. He should be used to feeling alienated when his lack of sex drive was highlighted, but it was still bothersome. There were plenty of cannibals, hordes of murderers, liars, and manipulators galore, but in this, he was always alone and always questioned. No matter how accustomed he had become to his frigidity, the judgment and disbelief from others would always rankle.

Thankfully, other Sinners had begun trickling in, and Alastor was distracted from his thoughts. The crowd looked marginally better than the hooligans gallivanting in the club downstairs; everyone was adequately dressed, at least, with all their bits appropriately covered for polite society. The demographics were changing as well. While the majority of the crowd was masculine, there was definitely a smattering of female Sinners. They seemed as enthusiastic as the rest, especially the group tittering and laughing at a long table, enjoying what looked like a girl’s night out. Despite being above a nightclub deep in the Vee’s territory, the crowd looked very similar to the ones that patronized the nightclubs and jazz lounges Alastor himself liked to frequent. 

With the increased crowd, the staff's behavior changed; they were too busy handing out drinks and taking complex orders for the bar to attempt any sort of overtures of service beyond those of a typical bartender. He was able to take a breath and fortify himself for the upcoming show. He watched absently as some stagehands began to reset the stage. He was grateful for the reprieve; while he was familiar with burlesque and cabaret performances from his time alive as well as his early days in Hell, there was no telling how things had changed since the last time he attended a show. In addition, these were all Valentino’s people, and he wouldn’t be surprised should the atmosphere devolve into wanton debauchery the moment the actual show began. 

Despite the sizable crowd, the volume was sedate, expectant and excited rather than rambunctious and wild. Charlie, at the table beside them, had begun murmuring quietly about hoping everything was going okay backstage while Vaggi tried to convince her that she should just stay patient. Niffty was folding a slightly used cocktail napkin into a swan, easily amusing herself. Husk had his head propped up on one fist, eyes closed, and looking unbothered, though his tail was flicking back and forth with near-imperceptible impatience.

Alastor noticed that a few of the dancers from the previous performance had re-emerged from backstage, wearing less-revealing (but still tacky) clothes, settling at the bar, and ordering some drinks. Surely they would have rather gone home, or at least gone drinking somewhere other than where they had just been trawling for strange? Once they received their drinks, they lingered idly by the bar, and Alastor realized they were watching the stage just as expectantly as the rest of the audience. How odd.

The lights dimmed, and the room hushed as everyone took their seats. Alastor leaned back, arms crossed, and prepared to suffer through whatever degeneracy may come. 

A lizard-like Sinner entered from the door right next to the stage with sheet music and slid onto the piano bench. He laid the music on the piano’s music rack before delicately placing his thin claws over the keys. He began to play soft music, and a murmur of excitement briefly ran around the room before it quieted again, this time with breathless anticipation. 

Husk leaned forward, staring at the stage expectantly. Alastor raised an eyebrow, but before he could question Husk about it, the curtains parted to reveal one long, shapely leg in a black thigh-high stiletto boot. The smooth music took on a jazzy edge as a beautiful voice began to sing.  

Gonna lift your spirits, lift your mood,

Might be liftin’ other things too.

Ya’ got no clue what I can do,

So do ya’ wanna play with me?

Alastor can honestly say he had never thought Angel Dust to be angelic before, but now it was the only word that came to mind. The curtain opened to reveal Angel Dust in full drag. He was wearing an elegant gown, corseted to the extreme, all four arms clad in silk gloves and a semi-sheer Marabou robe with thick ostrich-feather trim. He held a pink microphone in one hand, the decorative rhinestones flashing in the stage light. He had arranged his hip-length wig into a voluminous hairstyle, decorated with feathers and jewels, and highlighted his face with gorgeous makeup. While the outfit was sensual and obviously tailored to attract attention, it was also classy and respectable. Every inch of him glittered under the stage lights, and Alastor could taste the audience’s energy, spellbound as Angel sang the next verse. 

There are lots of ways that we can play,

Some sweet, some nice, some rough,

But iff’n ya’ wanna play with me,

Ya’ gotta prove you’re up to snuff.

Angel strutted down the stage’s walkway, his heels clicking in perfect time with the music, posing with each syncopated chord on the piano. Alastor, familiar with every song that had ever played on his airways, realized that he had never heard these lyrics before. Something about the way Angel sang told Alastor this was an original song, and the Radio Demon’s eyes focused intently, listening to the lyrics with increased interest.

Ev’ryone’s lookin’ for love tonight,

It don’t gotta mean a thing,

So if ya wanna play with me,

Let’s have ourselves a fling.

As the audience began to hoot and clap, Angel stepped off the stage onto one of the tables, smiling sweetly at the occupant of the table as he hurried to offer a helping hand. He hopped down gracefully, hair bouncing slightly before swooping back into place, and slid smoothly onto the audience member’s lap, playing with the collar of his shirt and sliding a hand down to linger on the Sinner’s bicep. Despite the…distractions, his voice was pitch-perfect as he continued to sing.

I dig a fella with some dough,

Who buys me pretty stuff,

And nothing gets me more wound up, 

Than a guy who’s big and tough. 

If you’re lookin’ for some fun tonight,

And you've got some cash to burn,

I'll flash a smile, show some leg,

Honey, watch and learn!

The pianist took a moment to play a jazzy solo, as Angel skillfully slipped out of the Sinner’s grip and began working the room. He caressed cheeks and rustled hair; he winked and waved, he shimmied and sashayed. When he approached the tables where the hotel staff was sitting, he did not skip a beat, playfully tugging Vaggi’s ponytail and pinching Charlie’s cheeks before patting Niffty much more gently on her head. For Husk, he blew a cheeky kiss, which made the cat chuff in mock annoyance, though his smile belied his true feelings. When Angel swanned around Alastor, he playfully waved with a deliberate wink, long sleeves fluttering with the movement. Alastor expected to feel a wave of disgust or annoyance, but upon seeing Angel’s relaxed and playful face, he merely huffed with an indulgent eye roll. The lyrics may have been a bit vapid, but there was a soulfulness in Angel’s voice that held the room, Alastor included, in a trance. 

Angel made his way back to the stage, hips swaying hypnotically as he navigated around the close-set tables and chairs. He perched on the edge of the stage, sitting delicately with one long leg crossed over the other, lifting the microphone back to his painted lips.

I’m lookin’ for some lovin’ tonight,

Ain’t lookin’ for a wedding ring,

So if ya wanna play with me,

Let’s have ourselves a fling.

In a blur of movement, Angel skillfully swung both legs over his head, executing a fluid shoulder roll to kneel on the stage. In the next instant, he stood in a graceful motion, one hand flicking the robe back into place, as he repeated the chorus one final time. Alastor admitted that with such an elaborate outfit and acrobatic motion, it was rather impressive that Angel was still able to slide up into an effortless falsetto for the last verse.

We’re all warmed up and feeling right,

I’m cravin’ that afterglow,

We’re gonna play some games tonight,

So fellas, let’s start this show!

The music ended on a sweet, prolonged chord as Angel pointed out into the audience with a moue of playful enticement. The final notes had barely finished echoing when the room erupted into applause, several Sinners howling and whistling in appreciation. The girls were clapping at their table, and Husk blew out a loud whistle between two claws. Even Alastor had to join in, acknowledging the unexpected talent. Angel lit up when he saw their reactions, though he demurred the applause with one hand playfully as he took a bow.

“Well, well, ain’t this a good lookin’ crowd? Welcome to the first night of our Corruption Cabaret season, an independent burlesque company sponsored in part by Valentino Porn Studios. For those of you who ain’t neva’ been to one of our shows, let me just say…fuck you!”

The audience tittered as Angel playfully flicked them off with two hands, before resettling his hands on his hips. Alastor was impressed with how easily Angel seemed to command the entire room's attention. 

“Now, in all seriousness, we gotta go over some ground rules before we start the real fun here tonight. So, for those of you who have been here before, help me out as we go ova’ the borin’ stuff!”

Angel held up a finger, multi-colored eyes scanning the room with a serious expression.

“Rule numba’ one! There’s nothin’ sexier than…?”

“CONSENT!” multiple voices roared back, and Angel laughed as he pretended to stumble back at the wave of sound. 

“DAMN STRAIGHT!” he yelled back, grinning wide. “Now, we ain’t gonna intrude on yer space without permission, ain’t gonna start rippin’ off yer shirts or pullin’ on yer hair, or mackin’ on ya’ without checkin’ in. If yer just here for the show, then all ya’ gotta do is give us a thumbs down or shake yer head, and we’ll move on ta’ the next person!”

Alastor’s smile felt frozen on his face. Out of all the things he had expected to hear, the introduction of clear boundaries was last on the list. 

It wasn’t even on the list at all.

There was something about Angel’s tone when he said the words that made the tightness in Alastor’s chest ease enough for him to take a breath. He hadn’t even realized how on edge he had felt, but now that it was gone, he realized he had been tense for days. Ever since he had agreed to go to a sex show, he had been dreading the inevitable infringement upon his personal space; indeed, he had experienced it the moment he sat down! When Angel Dust, the self-proclaimed horniest Sinner in Hell, came out on stage, he had expected the discomfort to increase, and yet…

“But that goes fer us performers, too! This here is a visual show; no touchin’ at all! That means our bodies and our shit. We ain’t strippers tonight; these costumes and props cost a fuck ton of money, and we paid top dolla’ for it all. So iffn’ we throw somethin’ at ya’, it ain’t a gift! Ya gotta give it back. Capiche?”

“CAPOSH!” a dozen voices called back, making the hotel employees jump. Angel nodded approvingly. Alastor had a hysterical thought that it felt like he was in the presence of a master dealmaker, one who was somehow constructing a contract for an entire room and succeeding. 

“Alright, rule numba’ two! This ain’t no library! We at a burlesque, baby! Make some noise when ya’ see somethin’ ya’ like, let us know we doing good! Let’s practice!”

Angel whipped his leg out of the slit in his dress, showing the barest glimpse of white above his extremely tall boots. He leaned down slowly, inching the zipper of the boot down from his upper thigh to his knee, revealing white fur. The audience roared, clapping and shouting as Angel neared his ankle before suddenly straightening back up, re-zipping the boot. He waited until the audience settled before turning around, peeking coquettishly over his shoulder, and slowly lowering his feathery robe to reveal the dangerously low back of his dress. As the long expanse of creamy white and delicate pink was revealed, the crowd hooted and hollered, and one Sinner even flung a wadded-up bill at the spider. It bounced off his shoulder, and Alastor furrowed his brow. That seemed rude.

Instead of seeming upset, Angel simply laughed and scooped the bill off the floor, rearranging his clothing back into place.

“Aw, thanks, hun! Rule numba’ three: tips are welcome and appreciated! Hold ‘em up or toss ‘em out! Just don’t get mad iffn’ we don’t take it from ya’ personally; we got a routine goin’ on, and we don’t always got time to stop what we’re doin’ to thank ya’ for the sugar. Tossin’ it on the stage is the best way; real easy to collect at the end of the act. Iffn’ ya don’t wanna throw it, Terry will come around with a bag to collect at the end of each number. Capiche?”

This time, when the whole audience yelled out “caposh” in response, Alastor was ready for it. He glanced around, noting just how many tables were buying into the conversational give-and-take. He also noticed that most of the off-duty performers at the bar were supportive and smiling, though a small group, primarily composed of the ones who had accosted him at the beginning of the night, seemed annoyed at the ease with which Angel commanded the attention of his audience, rolling their eyes or muttering to each other with catty expressions. Angel obviously saw them; while his smile never dropped off his face, Alastor saw his fist tighten on the grip of the microphone following a bout of snickering. To his credit, he ignored it with professional aplomb, even when one of them, the serpentine escort, loudly shouted for him to “take it off already, sssslut,” during a brief lull in his spiel. Angel merely rolled his eyes, rejoining with a snarky comment about edging and spoiler alerts that went over Alastor’s head but seemed amusing to the rest of the audience, and landed him another thrown cash tip. 

After tucking the bill into his cleavage, Angel went on to explain other rules, outlining how harassment, interruptions, and audio-visual recording without permission would result in immediate removal from the venue. To all of the rules, he had some sort of funny bit or call-and-response, and most members of the audience seemed happy to listen and agree. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement of Angel’s charisma; by the end, Charlie was shouting “caposh” just as loud as Angel’s fans, and even Vaggi was laughing at some of Angel’s snarky comebacks to the ribald riffing from the audience.

Angel was a masterful emcee, easily securing and maintaining the entire room’s full attention. Alastor noticed even the servers and bartenders had paused in their work to watch. There was something magnetic in his smile, alluring and friendly, that made it clear he was having fun, fully in his element as he set his expectations in his own unique and entertaining way. Alastor had to admit that the spider’s personality was perfectly suited to this type of show, and, while he was still dreading the performances themselves, he was impressed with the amount of thought and care put into protecting the safety and boundaries of both the performers and audience members. 

“Okay, with all that said, it’s time to start our little show! First up, we have our sweet girl Lily. She’ll be doing some acrobatics and has even given the okay for photos. Just make sure you tag her at her handle, LimberLily, if you post online, as well as tagging our troupe! Let’s give her a warm welcome!”

A small, lagomorphic Sinner scurried onto the stage. The rabbit was wearing a long, sequined dress, elbow-length gloves, and was carrying two gymnastic ribbon wands which she settled carefully on the floor. She settled into a starting position amid claps and cheers of encouragement.

Uninterested in the peep show, Alastor kept his eyes on Angel, who had made his way off stage and was sitting nearby at a control panel of some sort. Angel was alternating between watching the performer, head bobbing and feet tapping in time with the jaunty tune, and scanning the audience with alert, focused eyes. As the bunny threw her glove out to a hooting Sinner and began plucking at the other one, Angel slid some of the controls to a different spot, making the stage lights shift from white to blue. Alastor took a moment to consider the dancer, who had begun toying playfully with the zipper on the side of her dress. 

Alastor allowed that for a performance supposedly rooted in sex, it could have been much worse. The performer seemed comfortable, though he himself would rather have had every single tooth pulled out one by one rather than parade around with so much skin on display. There was a sensuality and sense of titillation, for sure, but the way Angel had opened the show had set a tone of light-hearted civility and respect. While there was plenty of shouting, catcalling, and heckling, audience members were actually treating it like a show; everyone stayed in their seats, and the majority were spectating with relative decorum. It was obvious that this performer failed to live up to Angel’s command of the audience; their applause for the rabbit was genuine, but lacked the fervor and awe from the opening song. On stage, the dancer had shed her dress, stepping out of it to reveal a fringed leotard with a plunging neckline, and a few Sinners began throwing money onto the stage, yelling for her to keep it going. It still felt demeaning in Alastor’s opinion, but the rabbit onstage seemed encouraged by it, based on her enthusiastic smile. 

Angel was laughing, but continued scanning the audience, keeping a particular eye on the group at the bar who were sneering at the stage and murmuring. His constant vigilance was starting to put Alastor on edge, even though he could discern no threat.

The dancer began a dizzying combination of acrobatic tricks, and the audience went from catcalling to cheering. She grabbed the ribbons and began crafting elegant shapes as she leapt off the stage. She swirled the ribbons playfully over some whooping Sinners in the front row, bending backward to flash a saucy smile across the aisle and letting another Sinner slide a bill into her leotard strap. She returned to the stage with a surprisingly powerful leap, bypassing the stairs completely, and threw the ribbons to the back to free up her hands. She flipped and cartwheeled at a dizzying speed, making the audience clap in surprise. A shower of bills hit the stage following several aerial flips, and the dancer ended her routine in an impressive split, chest heaving with exertion but face beaming with pride. 

“Give it up for Lily!” Angel said over the microphone, as the rabbit-like Sinner bowed and began collecting her discarded dress and props, along with a good handful of the money littering the stage, before bouncing away. A few scantily clad Sinners, as well as Terry the piano player, started wandering the room with open bags, collecting tips from audience members who enjoyed the show, while another performer swept the money off the stage into the wings with a broom. When Terry approached the Sinner who had caught the glove, he made sure to collect it, wrapping it around his neck as he continued collecting tips.

“Great job, you guys! You are all being so well-behaved! Such nice little deviants,” Angel purred into the microphone, making some of the audience howl in appreciation. “It’s so good to see you all here tonight; I see quite a few familiar faces in the crowd. I hope youse know how happy it makes me to see all of ya’ come out and support us. It took a lotta hard work to get this group to where it is, and I’m so proud of it!” The audience clapped as Angel placed a hand over his heart, smiling back towards the wings before turning back to the front with a rakish grin.

“Now, let’s keep the good energy flowin’! Next up, we got our firecracker, Ember! She’s requested no photos tonight, so let’s put those cameras away and live in the moment.”

Words after Alastor’s own heart. The next performer came onstage, wearing an elaborate wrap-around pantsuit patterned with flames made of red and orange glitter. Angel dimmed everything but a bright spotlight, making the glittery costume sparkle. He turned on the music and began scanning the room again as the dancer performed, her style much less acrobatic and more sensual, quickly untying the belt holding the pantsuit closed and flashing her lacy undergarments as she strutted around the stage. 

Alastor had even less interest in this performance, though it did offer something unexpected that amused him. This dancer bore a close resemblance to Vaggi, something which both girls appeared to notice. Vaggi looked torn between awkward discomfort and a kind of curious thoughtfulness, looking away from the stage and catching a glimpse of her girlfriend’s blushing face. 

While Alastor was watching, he happened to catch a glimpse of a Sinner at a table behind the girls, raising his phone as if about to take a picture, just as the dancer discarded her pantsuit to reveal a lacy negligee. Alastor bristled; of course, the civility couldn't last. The performers had set a simple boundary; was it too much to ask that the audience follow it? Alastor did not think so. He half-stood, raising his hand to summon some of his shadows to take the infernal device, but before he could do so, the phone was confiscated.

Angel had appeared almost as if by magic, snatching the phone out of the Sinner’s hand and pressing the screen a few times with an expert finger. Another of his hands descended heavily on the Sinner’s shoulder, all eight of the spider’s eyes glinting with bioluminescent rage. He leaned down, chest fluff just barely brushing against the Sinner’s arm as he whispered a few words into his ear. He was smiling pleasantly, but whatever he said made the man’s face pale. Angel squeezed the man’s shoulder, pointed nails digging into the flesh even through his glove, and used another hand to encourage the man to stand. With a genial smile, he frog-marched the rule-breaker from the room without ceremony, the rest of the audience cheering and whooping as the dancer took off her negligee to show off her corset, tossing the silk behind her with a gleeful laugh as a fresh flood of money rained on the stage. 

Angel pushed his disgraced delivery into the arms of the bouncer standing by the door, speaking quietly to him, before returning to his stool by the stage. He seemed unbothered by the affair, immediately clapping as the Sinner ripped off her corset and shimmied, the tassels pasted onto her breasts swinging in a way that made many of the audience members laugh. While the sight was certainly scandalous, there was a definite element of light-hearted performance that kept the audience from devolving into the depravity that Alastor had expected. Alastor realized that having an eight-foot-tall ex-mafia arachnid drag queen working as both the host and enforcer may have something to do with it. 

The rest of the show passed similarly. Several more performers danced, posed, and performed a variety of acrobatic and rhythmic skills. Girls held impressive poses using folding chairs and stools, flashed glances of lingerie and flesh from behind feathery fans and luxurious fabrics, and flirted with audience members sitting close to the stage. A few athletic male dancers performed as well, one displaying feats of strength and balance with a stepstool and a walking cane, another demonstrating an impressive command of poi, spinning weighted balls on thin chains in dizzying patterns. A few times, some of the performers tossed their clothes in the direction of the Hotel staff’s tables or danced up to them. Niffty seemed to be quite entertained, happily catching any thrown clothing and folding it neatly. Husk and Charlie always demurred to any overtures, but to everyone’s amusement, Vaggie once complied when a busty dancer indicated she wanted help unclipping her brassiere. Whenever a dancer even glanced in his direction, Alastor would merely shake his head once, and the performer would cavort away. Every time it happened, Alastor felt something tighten in his chest, and every time nothing invasive occurred, the constriction would loosen. It was a most unusual sort of torture, and he was becoming oddly addicted to the feeling of relief that followed every occurrence. That was dangerous.

Between sets, various members of the troupe scurried around the room, collecting costumes, discarded lingerie, and tips. Charlie tipped after every act, and after the busty performer, even Vaggi offered up some money. Alastor caught Niffty throwing something in one of the offering bags, but by her cackling laughter, he was pretty sure it wasn’t cash. His money was on either a dust bunny or the carcass of a dead cockroach; to be fair, that was fairly high praise from Niffty. Husk mainly tipped the cocktail waitresses, but he still laughed gruffly at some of the more comedic acts or clapped at a particularly impressive stunt.

Through it all, Angel was the consummate host, keeping a watchful eye on the performers and audience alike. Alastor couldn’t help but notice that every time a performer approached his table, Angel’s eyes were glued to Alastor’s expression, tense for any sign of discomfort. It was oddly reassuring, though he hardly needed the coddling.

While Angel didn’t have to remove any other spectators, there were a few times he would wander over to a table that was getting too rowdy and speak to them, settling them down with ease and a wink. Alastor kept an eye on these moments, as it was much more interesting than whatever supposedly titillating sight was happening on stage. Angel was quick to assess the type of group he was speaking with and adjusted his body language or expression to match some unclear cue. Every time this happened, the table would settle down, correct the behavior, and apologize. Many of them even offered Angel a tip, which the irascible host always accepted with a wink or simper. Even though Angel wasn’t performing for the vast majority of the time, he was undeniably the star. 

All in all, as the show drew to a close, Alastor had to admit that the entire enterprise was well-orchestrated, professional, and to a certain extent, entertaining. The various performers were talented at their craft, and Alastor could always admire dedication and skill. While each performance was definitely suggestive or scandalous, the focus remained on grace, athleticism, and unique flair. Along with the expected amount of exhibition, each act had an element of dance or gymnastics, hell, one of the performers juggled flaming torches in her bra and panties. Through it all, Alastor was never made to feel as though the whole point of the performance was seduction or sex; sensuality was present, but there was also talent and comedy and skill, and Alastor felt free to enjoy those aspects without pressure. 

He was surprised to find himself disappointed when he realized the show was coming to an end.

Angel had begun thanking their audience, reiterating the Corruption Cabaret Burlesque Troupe’s sponsors of VoxTech and Valentino Industries, but continuing on to thank everyone there for their independent support. He brought out the whole cast for a bow, most of the dancers still practically nude and sparkling under the lights from perspiration and body glitter. 

“-big hand, one more time, let ‘em hear it!” Angel urged, and the audience obliged with a roar. The cast bowed, hands held above their head, before they scampered through the door leading to the back rooms of the venue amid the dwindling applause.

Angel bowed himself. “My name is Angel Dust, and it’s been an absolute pleasure hosting for you all! Come back and see us again soon, and have a great night!”

“Wait, what?” a Sinner sitting up by the front sputtered out in a loud, clearly drunk voice. “Ain’t you gonna dance?”

“Yeah! Dance for us!” one of the girls at the long side table shouted. She banged her fist on the table, making the empty glasses rattle as she chanted in time with each hit. “Dance for us!”

“Dance! For! Us! Dance! For! Us!”

Nearly the entire room took up the chant. Niffty was pounding on the table in glee, but the rest of the staff were less enthusiastic. Husk and Vaggi looked on edge, as if preparing for a riot or fight to break out, while Charlie looked distraught, obviously opposed to the peer pressure but unsure how to make them stop. 

Alastor, meanwhile, was watching Angel Dust, feeling on edge despite having multiple examples of the spider’s competence throughout the entire night. Indeed, instead of looking offended, pressured, or uncomfortable, he appeared amused. He stood downstage, hip cocked, eyebrow raised, with a growing smirk. As the shouting grew deafening, he feigned resignation, shrugging in false hopelessness.

“Oh my~” Angel sighed into the microphone, making the chanting peter out so the crowd could hear his answer. “So forceful…I guess I have no choice, huh?” Amidst the cheers and whoops from a triumphant audience, Angel strutted to the center of the stage as Terry scurried back out from behind the curtains and settled behind the audio equipment too quickly for it to be anything but planned.

Ah, so this was part of the game. Angel had always planned to perform, but pretending like he was only doing so upon request gave the appearance that the audience was getting a treat, something special and preferential. Manipulating the audience into feeling they had control over the product they were consuming, leading to more authentic buy-in and whetting their appetite for the act to come. Alastor could respect a showman in his element, acknowledging Angel’s mastery. 

Angel passed the microphone off stage and accepted a wireless headset, carefully donning it without disturbing his coiffed wig. Apparently, the spider was going to sing again. The audience whooped as they caught wind of this development, and even Alastor felt a stirring of excitement at the opportunity to experience Angel’s surprising musical talent yet again.

Angel re-secured his feathery robe and turned around, posing in a picturesque way made more dramatic by the lighting. Then, something strange happened. Angel froze in that position. He was absolutely motionless, an eerie, inhuman stillness that somehow exaggerated the grace of his arm, the slope of his neck, the swell of his hips emphasized by the curve of his spine. He was a statue, a platonic ideal carved from stone, not even breathing. A hush fell over the room. Alastor noticed that a few of the dancers had reappeared, sitting or kneeling by the tech area with palpable anticipation. Even the employees from the previous group were staring, starry-eyed, at Angel’s frozen form. The room grew heavy, expectant; Alastor felt almost breathless himself. The air crackled with electricity. Another sultry jazz number began pouring out of the speakers, and when Angel began to move, the tension, instead of breaking, somehow intensified.

Angel began his dance with a swivel of his hips and a graceful slide of his arms, head lolling on his neck lazily in time with the music. His leg swung out, the tip of his boot trailing a delicate circle on the floor before returning to a propped position, and he rolled his head to throw a hooded glance over one gauze-covered shoulder. Immediately, the audience began throwing money. While he was still fully dressed, there was something undeniably alluring about his expression, something that begged for attention and adulation, that screamed of a desire to be watched and praised and loved. He turned, one hand holding the end of his robe to swirl out in a beautiful splay of feathery fabric, running his upper set of hands from his neck down the side of his bust, through his torso, to where the tie of his robe was knotted in a delicate bow. A hand began to pluck at the tie, and Sinners whooped and whistled in ribald delight, the money flying from all directions. Alastor had just begun to feel a bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere when Angel began to sing, instantly settling the crowd. 

I’ve been bad with money, 

I’ve been bad with drugs,

I’ve been bad with guys,

Hung ‘round with thugs,

I’ve been a bad friend,

I know that it’s true,

But I could be good for you.

The sweet, mournful tone of Angel’s voice matched the song’s slow melody and added an unexpected air of wistfulness to the performance. The words, unlike the opening song, had an honesty to them that Alastor could taste, bittersweet on his tongue with the faintest hint of spicy honesty that made him hunger for more. As Angel slowly untied his robe, the sheer material sliding away from his form like a champagne-colored waterfall, it felt somehow intimate and personal, the vulnerability of someone in what should be a private moment allowing the observer a glimpse behind the perfect image. 

My whole life’s been filled,

With pain and with crime, 

I’ve thrown hope away,

Ain’t eva’ had the time,

Dreams never last,

And never come true,

But if y'want, I’ll be good for you. 

On the stage, Angel slowly lowered the zipper of his dress, flashing tantalizing glimpses of pink stripes, white fur, and dark lace. While most of the audience was fixated on the visuals, Alastor was reveling in the auditory element. Not only were the words completely raw and emotional, but Angel’s voice was so soft when singing them, sweet and melodic, without a hint of his characteristic brash insouciance. It was an absolute treat to hear such a beautiful voice in person, and Alastor longed for a phonograph to immortalize the sound for his own personal use over and over again. The realization was alarming. When the rule regarding unauthorized recording was first presented, he had smugly agreed without hesitation, but now it quite rankled. The performance wasn’t even halfway over, and Alastor was already despairing that once it ended, he would have no memento by which to remember it besides the memory of an incredibly beautiful expression and an even more beautiful voice. 

Alastor was quite unused to wanting more of Angel Dust, but that’s what he found himself thinking. He wanted more; more songs, more smiles, more lyrics. Even his dancing, which centered around displaying his constantly increasing nudity, was so skilled and graceful that Alastor couldn’t help but recognize it as talented. After half a dozen acts beforehand, the clear difference in experience, grace, and skill between Angel’s command of the stage and his troupe mates was more than obvious. He could watch this kind of dancing all day, provided it was accompanied by such a clever song.

It wasn’t quite clear, even to Alastor, what exactly Angel Dust meant by his lyrics. In context, it seemed as though he was merely commenting upon the compatibility of a dalliance with any one of his eager admirers. However, while his dancing was sensual and erotic, it lacked the teasing beckoning from the other acts. It was not meant to stir up longing or desire; his words, expressions, and movements were gentle and subdued, a study of sensuality meant to entice and soothe rather than to stir the flames of passion and lust. It felt more like an honest offer of compromise, of acknowledging that the way things had always been wasn’t working out, and that Angel was willing to go out on a limb and try something new. That was something Alastor had always noticed about Angel Dust; unlike so many in Hell, he never truly lost hope that things could change, nor lost confidence in his ability to adapt to the situation. Watching Angel continue to hold the audience in the palm of his hand with ease, Alastor easily believed, perhaps for the first time, that Angel Dust could truly do anything he wanted, even if that thing was something as absurd as redemption.

I’ve done some dumb shit,

Played some risky games,

I’ve broken the hearts,

Of both fellas and dames,

I’ve made some mistakes,

I know that it’s true,

But I would be good for you. 

Angel stepped out of his dark, gauzy shift and posed against the piano, back arched dramatically as he scanned the room with hazy, come-hither eyes and slowly undid the busks of his corset. Beneath the lace and silk, he wore delicate undergarments that delicately cupped and supported his fluff-covered chest and crisscrossed in complicated patterns. He flipped his long hair back, and Alastor could almost smell the spider’s usual strawberry perfume. There were so many bills on the stage that the floor could barely be seen; one sinner in particular was tossing bills with such frequency that Alastor wouldn’t be surprised if he spent a month’s rent by the time the song was over. 

My whole life’s been filled,

With pain and crime, 

I’ve thrown hope away,

Ain’t got the time,

Dreams never last,

And never come true,

But maybe I’d be good for you. 

During the instrumental break, Angel turned, showing his lithe back as his hands easily unclipped his bra and dangled it from a pink-tipped finger. His hips swayed, the heart mark on his ass cheek on full display thanks to the g-string underwear that was now his only covering. His lower arms reached up to cover his chest as he tossed the bra to the back of the stage. He turned around, swaying his way over to where his abandoned robe lay on the stage and slithered down onto it, the fluffy feathers obscuring most of his body. In between sensuous poses, the rhinestones on his pasties flashed in the dim lights. His voice grew impossibly sweeter; a melancholy tone ached beneath the words, and Angel hooked sympathetic wistfulness around his fingers like the fabric clenched in his fist. There was a delicate pain in his expression, a tender look of vulnerability that made Alastor wonder if, for once, Angel Dust had shed his mask the same way he so easily shed his clothing. This was what lived beneath Angel Dust’s persona after he had shed his defense mechanisms. This is what Valentino had tried and failed for so long to suffocate under the weight of consumerism and superficiality. This is what happened when an artist was given free rein to express themself without worrying about appealing to demographics and consumers. What was left was a sight so beautiful, so unique, that the audience was left dumbstruck as Angel belted out his words, eyes closed and arms thrown wide. 

‘Cuz the nights and the parties,

They all gotta end,

And the hurt you’ve been hidin’

Will come back ‘round again,

I’ll probably fuck up,

But just let me pretend,

I wanna be good for you. 

Yeah, I wanna be good for you. 

The silence was ringing in the private room as the final notes rang out, and the spotlight on the stage went out after a few long seconds. The audience awoke from their trance, clapping slowly at first before erupting into loud cheers. The light lifted to show Angel, his soft expression replaced with a delightfully boyish grin as he bowed proudly. The audience began to rise from their seats, cheering louder as the porn star received a standing ovation. 

Slippery with sweat and glittery fur oil, Angel took a moment to soak in the feeling of accomplishment as the entire room showered him with adoration. He snuck a glance over at his friends, feeling almost hesitant for the first time that night. Niffty was standing on her chair, jumping up and down wildly as she clapped, while Charlie shouted out several “bravos” and Vaggi clapped in obvious admiration. Husk let loose a shrill whistle, the two-toned catcall ringing out above the roar of the crowd. Perhaps most surprising of all, Alastor was standing, hands raised to the side of his head as he deliberately clapped in Angel’s direction with a soft and genuine grin. Angel laughed in delight, his own smile returning to beaming brightness, as he bowed again, and a third time, before strutting off the stage and through the door, the sound of his triumph resounding in his ears. 

—------

A few stagehands finished collecting the last of the money from the crowd, laughing and conversing with the raving fans, as two other technicians began sweeping the several layers of crumpled bills from the stage and floor. The house lights came on fully as the audience began gathering their personal belongings. The staff of the Hazbin Hotel gathered around one table, waiting for the crowd to die down a bit. Charlie was gushing to Vaggi, enthusing about the performers, the music, the talent, and Angel, oh my gosh, Vaggi, wasn’t he amazing up there? Niffty was scurrying beneath tables, collecting discarded trash and crumbs as she hummed the music from the juggler act. Husk was finishing his last drink, a content little smile dancing around his lips as Charlie continued to compliment the hotel's star resident. Alastor, on the other hand, was observing the group that had accosted him before the show and appeared confrontational towards the troupe. 

The group finished settling their tab at the bar, but instead of leaving through the main exit, they walked back through the stage door towards the employee area. Perhaps they were merely going to collect their personal belongings from their previous shifts, but…

“-don’t mind? Al?”

Alastor blinked, shaking his head and widening his grin at the expectant expression Charlie was sending his way.

“I apologize, dear. What was that?”

“I was just saying that I forgot to ask if Angel wanted us to wait around or if he was going to be back there for a while, and since he hasn’t answered his phone, I was wondering if you could, maybe, go and…ask him?”

“Me?”

“Well, you can use your shadows to travel, right? Maybe you could just pop in, speak with Angel-”

“-and get an unfortunate eyeful, in the meantime-”

“-and pop back out! Easy peasy! Please? I’d hate to leave without giving him a heads up, but it is kind of late, and I did have an early therapy session planned-”

“And if I refuse?”

“Hey, Charlie, I could go back there for you…The owner and me go way back; he wouldn’t say nothin’ if I get caught backstage,” Husk offered brusquely, shooting Alastor a disgusted look. Alastor merely grinned wider, tsking his tongue against his sharp teeth in mock disapproval.

“Oh dear, now you are manipulating my employees into taking advantage of their connections and breaking rules just to trespass for you? For shame, my dear Charlie, where have your scruples gone?”

Charlie looked panicked, sputtering denials, but Alastor merely twirled his cane and vanished it into the ether as he prepared to slink into his shadows.

“As a personal favor, I suppose I could pop back for a quick chat. Only to spare poor Husker here from the indignity of explaining himself were he to be caught prowling around the dressing room of sex workers, of course! Run along now, and I shall be behind you, lickety-split. Oh, and Husk, do be sure to bring Niffty with you; the little darling is currently trying to remove a stain from the bartender’s shirt, and security seems to be on the way.”

The last thing Alastor heard before slinking back into his shadows was Husk’s gruff voice shouting out an expletive and the smack of Vaggi’s hand against her own forehead. 

— — — — —

Alastor slipped under the door, slithering up the wall and darting down the hallway as a shadow. Through a few open doorways, various employees, waiters, technicians, and dancers fiddled with their lockers or slumped in chairs, some on their phones or listening to music as they decompressed on their breaks or waited for their time to clock back in.

There was a crooked piece of paper next to one doorway that read Cabaret Space and he peered around the corner cautiously. To his relief, nearly everyone was more covered than they were during the show. Most of them had on jackets or robes, and some were already back in streetwear and heading out the door. The few still in their corsets or leotards were rummaging around in their bags or working on removing their makeup. Alastor finally spotted Angel, wearing his robe but now wigless, in the back corner of the room. He was laughing with one of the other dancers, and Alastor was deliberating whether he should interrupt when someone else stopped the conversation for him. 

The group of dancers who had been performing before the Cabaret entered like scantily clad mobsters, looking around with sneers at the makeshift dressing room. One of them purposely pushed aside one of the smaller dancers, making her stumble to the floor with a yelp. 

“Watch it, pipsqueak,” Canadian Tuxedo snarled, staring down his nose at the girl. In a moment, Angel was there, helping the dancer up.

“C’mere, Ruby, I gotcha. God, Dex, don’t be such a fuckin’ asshole.”

Dex merely laughed at Angel’s glare, leaning up against the wall with a carefree snicker. “Aw, c’mon, Angie, lighten up! If your little friend there can’t handle some friendly teasing, then I’d hate to see what would happen during a real gig.”

“Burlesque is a real gig, dickbag,” Angel spat back, rolling his eyes. “Just ‘cuz none of you can earn a dime without a suck or fuck, it don’t mean ya’ gotta take it out on those of us who can!”

Dex turned red with anger, sputtering out aborted rebuttals, but was stopped by the serpentine escort grabbing his elbow. 

“Oh really?” she sneered, flicking her tongue at a smug Angel. “Well, I didn't see you, or any of your precious little dancerssss, pull much from that little friend group of yours. No idea why Val sent us here to watch them; none of ‘em did anything interesting the whole damn night!”

Alastor bristled. Of course, it was too much to hope that their evening had gotten past the Vees; to find out that they had sent a brainless little mob of prostitutes to try and get some blackmail on the Hotel was both woefully predictable and also a sad new low. He ignored the slight pang in his chest at the thought of Angel inviting them as a way for his boss to get easier access, but what else could he expect from one of Val’s contracts…

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Crystal?” Angel’s voice interrupted Alastor’s thoughts, derailing them from where they had begun to spiral darkly. “That’s why you guys booked the space before us? To try to get to my friends? I told Val to lay the fuck off!”

Something interesting twinged in Alastor’s chest when Angel claimed them as his friends, and he tried to squash the little voice that pointed out that Angel truly looked enraged, as if he really didn’t know what was happening. Meanwhile, Valentino’s employees looked less than impressed, even as Angel’s eyes glowed neon and his mantle bristled up around his shoulders. Behind him, the few dancers who hadn’t already left began hurriedly stuffing the last of their belongings into their bags and duffels, trying to leave as quickly as possible.

“D’you blame us? V-daddy offered a cool grand for any info we got outta any of the fuckers at the hotel, plus a kilo if one of us actually got hired by one of them and brought back dirt. I was hoping to get between little Miss Rainbows and her little guardian dyke, and Crystal had a bet going with Dex over who could bag the Radio Daddy.”

Alastor could very well believe that the Vees would sink low enough to bribe their employees to reveal intimate or embarrassing details divulged during private dalliances, but the thought of it was disgusting. Fortunately, those who resided at the Hazbin were a different caliber than Valentino’s usual targets, and it wasn’t like any of the Vees were particularly imaginative when it came to their plots. It was amusing to think that after all this time, Valentino was still so blind to the fact that there were Sinners in Hell who couldn’t be won over with genitalia and flattery. 

“Ha!” Angel snorted, crossing his arms as he stood in front of his last few dancers, edging their way out the door. “I could have told you not to waste your fuckin’ time. The Scissor Sisters are practically inseparable and only got eyes for each other. And Alastor is the poster child for averse asexuality; he ain’t stone, he’s fuckin’ steel.”

Alastor, still the merest shadow on the wall, blinked in confusion. He remembered Rosie had called him ace once before, but there had been bigger things to worry about and he had never bothered to look into it. He knew the word averse, as well as the word sexuality, so he had a pretty good idea of what it meant. It meant he was missing that biological imperative, different from everyone else. The prostitutes around Angel apparently knew what it meant as well, as their expressions twisted with understanding.

“Holy shit, are you fuckin’ serious? So that freak ain’t just an ugly, repressed has-been, but he’s also fuckin’ broken? Damn, of course everyone hates the old coot. I thought he just acted like a prude ‘cuz he’s been around since the fuckin’ stone age!”

“No wonder Val was willing to cough up so much for any kinda info on him; I thought maybe it was because the guy was so kinky under that stupid vest that killing or eating Sinners was how he got his rocks off! I mean, no real skin offa’ my back; dude’s breath was so bad I was debatin’ whether the kilo of coke was worth dealing with it on my dick!”

“Shut the fuck UP!” Angel roared, suddenly towering over the laughing group. “He ain’t done shit to any of you, and he’s a whole fuck ton more respectful than any of the fuckers Val has me work on, even with his perfectly valid feelin’s ‘bout sex! He might not be the nicest guy, but at least he’s got some fucking class. It ain’t his fault he don’t like what I do, and he’s always been at least respectful of who I am. I’d ratha’ put onna show fer him than a whole fuck ton of other people, bad tipper or not!”

There was a beat of silence in the room as everyone left in the room stared at the infuriated spider, six fists clenched and shaking with rage. Alastor wasn’t quite sure what to think; he had seen Angel Dust annoyed countless times, frequently frustrated, and angry on the rare occasion when the carefree, air-headed slut facade slipped. This, however, was pure, unadulterated outrage. This was indignancy, this was insult, this was wrath that sprang up with the white-hot intensity of passionate fury of a truly incensed, morally offended soul who was ready at any moment to spring at the throat of any who dared to give further insult with sharp claws and teeth, and an even sharper tongue. The entire room seemed to pause, the biological instinct, even dead as they were, that all beings possessed when in the presence of a predatory animal, to freeze for a moment and assess the threat. 

The moment was broken by a snort, then all of Valentino’s escorts began snickering and cackling. 

“Holy shit, you’re fuckin’ gone for that goddamn losssser, ain’t ya, Angie? You’ve alwayssss had shit taste, but this one takessss the cake!” Crystal managed between her laughter, looking both patronizing and incredulous. “You had to fall for one a’ the only guyssss down here you can’t win over by hopping on their cock! Ha!”

“Poor baby,” Dex cooed, the pouty moue of his expression undermined by his shaking shoulders. “I bet Emma could hook you up with some of Vel’s love potion; she keeps a few vials in case of emergencies!”

“Yeah, hit ‘em with one a’ these, and that frigid bitch’ll thaw right out!” Emma dug around in her purse and brought out a decorated glass vial, holding it out in her hand. “I can’t believe I’m giving the Angel Dust some advice; I always thought you could charm anyone! So, the thing is, you’re gonna wanna drop that in something sweet, preferably fruity, since, as I’m sure you know, Val’s shit is always cherry-flavored for some reason-”

As the vile woman continued to babble on about all the various methods she had perfected for steam-rolling over her victims’ autonomy and invading their personhood on the most vile, base, horrific level, Alastor wished he was anywhere but here. Curse his insatiable desire to ingratiate himself for his future benefit; he should have told Charlie to send in Husk. Sex was abhorrent to him as a concept even when it was hypothetically between two willing and consenting participants; the idea of forcing it upon an unwilling or unaware party made something inside of him curdle and rot. The woman had begun detailing some of the so-called benefits to the potion, speaking from obvious experience with a lack of shame.

It was everything that Alastor despised about the sex industry; the utter disregard for the conscience behind the body, the character ignored in favor of brief titillation, stimulation, and gratification. It was the idea that something so disgustingly intimate could be bought and sold to the highest bidder; that was what made him uncomfortable. That discomfort hovered around most of his (blessedly rare) interactions with Valentino, who seemed completely at peace with the idea that sex could be forced upon anyone, given enough money, power, or cunning. It seemed that no one else was particularly disturbed by it; at Overlord meetings, Carmilla and Zestial curled their lips just as he did at Valentino’s methods, but never seemed to feel it was their place to intercede. Even those with power in Hell seemed to merely accept that this was the way it worked here, and if one didn’t like it, then tough tiddleywinks.  

He supposed he hadn’t been consciously equating Angel Dust with that aspect of the industry, but perhaps that was the reason he had felt no desire to associate with the spider despite his tenure at the Hotel being the longest, and undoubtedly Charlie’s star project. Many a time he had thought that if he put some effort into making Angel’s life a bit better, Charlie would be more than willing to repay him. However, something always convinced him that it wasn’t worth the effort; now he realizes that may have been his inner apprehension warning him to stay out of the spider’s way.

He hated acting weak, but it was indisputable that the sight of Angel holding on to the dusky red vial sent some sort of prey signal zinging through Alastor’s body. He could just imagine Angel flirting with Husk, slipping the liquid into one of Alastor's drinks when the bartender wasn’t looking; or perhaps Husk would help, eagerly jumping at the chance to get one over on his boss even if it meant helping his new fascination bed another…

Alastor’s imaginings were interrupted by a supersonic screech as Angel swelled in rage, hair bristling and teeth dripping, eyes glowing with toxic pink bioluminescence as he towered over Valentino’s group of workers. They didn’t look intimidated, exactly, but they did take a step back for each step Angel took forward, advancing on them as he pointed a steady, condemnatory finger straight at them.

“How dare you?” Angel hissed, voice as sharp and vicious as his bared teeth. “After the shit we put up with here, the shit I know each of you have been through, how dare-”

“Look, man, don’t be like that-” Dex tried, holding up his open hands with a little laugh. Angel stepped deliberately closer, making the group back up more until their backs hit the wall.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Angel growled, body extending and lengthening as his demonic form leaked out with his increasing rage. “I will fuckin’ be like that; I will be whatever the fuck I want, because this is my space, and I will not let that shit into my space.”

Three of Angel’s arms reached out, grabbing each of them and bodily lifting them up into the air. “There’s enough rape and hate in this goddamn cesspit, but I would neva’, eva’, EVA’ do any of that shit.”

“C’mon Angie,” Emma gasped out, her narrow throat bobbing as she tried to swallow around Angel’s fist. “We were just… Don't you wanna fix the prude?”

“THERE’S NOTHIN’ TO FIX!” It was an absolute howl that ripped from Angel’s throat with a ferocity that silenced the room and sent a shiver of something down Alastor’s back as he continued lurking in the shadows. “He don’t fuckin’ like sex! It ain’t a mystery, it ain’t a crime, and it ain’t a fucking problem! And it’s fuckin’ acephobic, ignorant, goddamn pieces of shits like you that give sex work a bad fuckin’ name! No wonder he don’t want nothin’ to do with me; just…dammit!” 

Angel flung the three other Sinners down, making them yelp and screech as they landed in a jumbled pile on the floor. Before they could even begin to regain their feet, Angel was grabbing his bag and halfway out the door. At the last moment, he turned for one last comment, eyes glinting with the hint of frustrated tears. “Just…leave Al and the rest of the hotel alone. They’re good people; they don’t deserve this shit.”

Angel left, his heels clicking loudly as he ran down the hallway, leaving the three behind in the vacated room. His final plea hit something within Alastor; there was something so broken about the words, about the way that he didn’t include himself in the request, as if he felt that he deserved the things that happened to him, that he wasn’t good. And what a fool, such a silly little spider, thinking that Alastor needed any form of defending or protecting. He supposed he should go and convey Charlie’s message, and perhaps check on him, the misguided, soft-hearted Nancy; it wouldn’t do if he were to permanently break-

“Ooh, just wait until we tell Mister V,” Crystal seethed, straightening her clothing as she unsteadily regained her balance. “He’s gonna make that stupid twink pay.”

“Won’t be so high and mighty once we tell bossman where Angie’s loyalties really are. Val’ll be real interested to hear how his favorite little plaything’s gone soft.”

“He’ll be stuck in the snuff room for a fuckin’ month, I’d bet you anything-”

“I’ll take that bet, my corrupt companion,” Alastor cut in smoothly, appearing behind the trio. The three jumped at the loud crackle of radio static, turning slowly to see the Radio Demon’s menacing grin glowing behind them. They stumbled back, pushing into each other as Alastor began to tower over them, slowly lifted by multiple wriggling tentacles of dark magic. 

Crystal and Emma had pushed Dex in front of them, cowering. The muscled steer flailed a bit before rolling his shoulders and puffing up his chest. He glared at Alastor with false bravado, barely hiding the waver in his voice.  

“L-Look, man, you’re not supposed to be back here. You should just go-”

“Well, I could very well say the same to you,” Alastor mused, swooping down into Dex’s face. The corners of his mouth had begun to curl up even more unnaturally than normal, lips thinning as his teeth bared, black drool beginning to drip from the sharp points. Darkness began creeping up the walls, dimming the lights and sending shadows dancing over pale and terrified faces. “But while I do believe my presence has done very little harm, I highly doubt anyone in Hell has ever benefitted from anything any of you have ever done with your insignificant existences. And based on how you’ve upset my dear friend, I do believe you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

“Ha…dear friend? Right,” Emma huffed disbelievingly, still nervous but emboldened enough from behind Dex to mutter to Crystal. “Guess Angel already banged the old geezer after all.”

Multiple shadow tentacles shot out to wrap around all three Sinners, making them scream in terror. Alastor sighed in disappointment, spinning his microphone before disappearing it. “I suppose I can’t blame you for thinking that, despite literally all logical evidence to the contrary and being told by the man himself. None of you would ever inspire any kind of admiration or respect in others; I doubt anyone has ever come to your defense since there is so little of worth to defend.”

Emma and Dex were too busy pleading and struggling to respond, but Crystal was able to spit out a disbelieving laugh. “Ha, and you think Angel Dust is worth something?”

The room completely darkened until the only source of illumination was the dull golden glow from Alastor’s mouth and the toxic red gleam of his now elongated pupils. The three fools finally seemed to get the message, falling silent and staring up with wide eyes filled with dread. Alastor stared down at them with a complex and confusing storm of emotions tumbling inside him. 

This whole evening had been filled with feelings, actually, and Alastor was rather sick of it. He was usually so adept at identifying situations, plastering on a smile and manipulating anyone and everyone as needed with little regard for his own personal feelings. He was never one to let sentimentality or fondness get in the way of things. However, hearing Angel so vehemently authenticate the veracity of his preferences and boundaries, and seeing the visceral reaction in person, so real, so instinctual…

So few souls in Hell held anything of true value, and for those that did, he usually knew how to capitalize on it. Husk, with his hilarious lack of self-worth, self-punishing despite his intelligence and skills, he kept close as both a tool and for the suicidal fool’s own safety. Niffty, incredibly powerful and assured, but neurotic to the point of self-destruction, needed tasks and direction to occupy her manic mind. Rosie, commanding and capable, but machinating and obsessed with control, needed her ego soothed and for all the hoops to be jumped through before she could be worked with.

Charlie, Vaggi, Vox, Carmilla…everyone he met fit within set parameters, and he thought Angel Dust was the same. Until tonight, that was. He had spent the night consistently surprised by Angel’s professionalism and ability. Despite Angel’s repeated insistence that he had more than earned his popularity and awards, Alastor (and he suspected the majority of the hotel staff) hadn’t fully understood what exactly it took to be the premier sex symbol in all of Hell. He had been moderately impressed with the artistry involved in burlesque simply by seeing the dancers of the troupe perform their routines, adverse to the genre though he was. However, when Angel took the stage, it was an entirely new level of skill and brilliance. There was genuine accomplishment behind his performance, a level of grace to his movements, talent to his voice, and genius behind his words. Alastor had always been drawn to capacity and ability, and Angel demonstrated that he had it in spades.  

It was galling to realize he had so severely underestimated someone in such close proximity to him. Hearing him so passionately defend Alastor’s autonomy, unnecessary as it was, had added a new level of esteem in Alastor’s opinion. It elevated Angel Dust to a position held by a select few in Hell; it labelled him as one of the rare souls with which Alastor felt he could associate. There were no friends in Hell, but there were allies and companions, and those that met his exacting standards were few and far between. 

Alastor, for all his independence, wilted without proper socialization; he yearned for genuine company without the need for manipulation or orchestration. It was why he tolerated Mimzy for as long as he had, clumsy and blatant though her motivations were. It was why he hadn’t devoured Husk once he won his soul, and why he tolerated Niffty’s lack of personal boundaries. All of them offered him something authentic and real; those qualities were beyond valuable to him. Angel Dust had demonstrated a depth of worth formerly unknown, and he was irrevocably drawn to it. 

Why had Angel hidden this from them all? Didn’t he know that Charlie would delight in praising him for his skill, or that Vaggi would stare in slack-jawed amazement at his acrobatics, or that Alastor would love to feature his voice on his broadcast? He could just picture it now, a collaboration the likes of which no one in Hell would have ever expected, two megastars in wildly different specialties, combining their talents for an incredible show-

He would have to address the issue with the spider himself, and Alastor had no idea how that discussion would go. Angel might be flattered, or he could laugh in Alastor’s face. It wasn’t like either of them had been particularly respectful towards each other…but now that he thought about it, Angel had been much more courteous towards Alastor than he had been in return, hadn’t he? While Angel delighted in flirting and shooting unwanted innuendos at people, it was rarely directed at Alastor, and only when Alastor began the conversation. It was much more common for Alastor to hurl dismissive or offensive comments the spider’s way, leading to Angel puffing up and hiding behind his porn star persona. 

Perhaps Alastor would have been privy to Angel's talents if he had been more receptive or less judgmental…and he had missed the opportunity! He would need to speak with Angel Dust and find out, to humble himself if need be so as to rectify his mistake, and oh, how he did so hate making mistakes. It was infuriating, really, irksome beyond measure…fortunately, Alastor had a few targets to take out his annoyance right in front of him.

The hallway was empty when he began, the sounds of terror and anguish echoing unheard from the dressing room as he vented his aggression before going out to search for Angel. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Angel’s hand was shaking as he angrily rubbed a makeup remover wipe across his face in the empty dressing room he had found. He had spent the last several minutes cursing Val as he changed. His rant went through the whole gambit, damning Valentino’s little spies for spoiling the evening, the moth for sending them in the first place, himself for losing it, for showing his hand, for letting them get to him at all. 

He had held high hopes for the night, and he tried to recapture the high he had felt right after leaving the stage. It had been going so well; Jeanie had nailed her routine after weeks of practice, Marc had made it through the entire performance without vomiting from nerves, and he’s pretty sure they collected more money in tips than their previous season’s last three shows combined. The troupe was only a few years old, and it had taken ages of sucking up to Val before he had gotten permission to perform on his days off following the busy season. It took even longer to find the right group of performers, skilled dancers who weren’t too afraid of Valentino, too starstruck by his reputation, or too skeevy to follow the rules. He had finally assembled the perfect team, and practices had been so promising; he had held such high hopes that this season would be the one to really make something new.

He should’ve known that Val would send some spies to keep an eye on his favorite investment, but he was having so much fun with it all. He had finally felt like he was in control of his own body, had carved out a hard-earned little spot of safety and security, but there was no such thing, not in Hell.

“Hell of an opening night,” he muttered to himself, staring in the mirror and taking in his tired appearance.

“I should say so!” A loud voice boomed cheerily from the doorway, and Angel jumped in surprise. He whirled around to find Alastor beaming cheerfully at him, both hands resting on his microphone staff.

“A-Alastor! Hey, Smiles, whatcha doin’ back here?” Angel tried to flash a smile, grabbing for his bag and placing it over his shoulder. “I thought you guys would have ducked out a while ago; things got a little chaotic, sorry about that-”

“Absolutely nothing to apologize for! The rest of the staff headed back to the hotel, but I was voted messenger and sent to convey the sentiments about the show. Quite a triumph, my fine fellow…I suppose I never asked, now that I think about it, but it is fellow, yes?”

Angel blinked at Alastor in surprise. The Overlord had never asked anything personal about him before, and upon close examination, the question appeared genuine. “Whatever floats your boat, Smiles. I tend to go he and him, but I get that it could be confusin’ with the cross-dressin’ and drag, so I ain’t too fussed about gender. It’s all a construct.”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed, tilting his head to consider Angel closely. Angel shifted on his feet; he was used to being stared at, but there was something unnerving about Alastor’s gaze and smile. It wasn’t the usual disgust or confusion, and it left Angel feeling wrongfooted, especially when Alastor made no move to leave and rejoin the rest of the staff.

“So, uh…did everyone like the show?” he eventually asked as the silence lingered for a beat too long. Alastor blinked as if the question had disrupted his train of thought, but his grin widened with genuine enthusiasm. “I hope it wasn’t too much for any of ya’, I know sex work ain’t exactly simpatico with the idea of redemption and all that-”

“Nonsense, my dear, you and the rest of your merry band of provocative pals were perfect professionals through it all, and I am sure I speak for everyone when I say it was thoroughly enjoyable. Definitely much more enjoyable than the group who rented the space before you.”

“Oh jeez, yeah,” Angel sighed, his mood souring again. “Sorry about that. If I had any idea they would be here I wouldn’t have invited you guys, I promise-”

“Oh, don’t spend another moment worrying about them, my dear, I’m sure that I won’t-”

“Uh, Al? Is that blood?” Angel noticed for the first time that Alastor’s teeth were tinted red and his face was slightly splattered as though he had gotten misted with arterial spray. Alastor laughed loudly, eyes crinkling in merriment. 

“Don’t you mind that, nothing for you to concern yourself with, especially after such a wonderful performance. Oh, where are my manners? It’s your opening night! Here, cher, for a job well done!” 

Alastor snapped once, and his shadow appeared, holding a bouquet of red and pink flowers. It zipped over to Angel, chittering as it gently placed the bouquet in Angel’s hands. Angel blinked as his vision was filled with the beautiful blooms, feeling the satiny petals brush against his cheek. 

“Oh gosh, thanks, Smiles,” Angel breathed, softly stroking some of the flowers with an enchanted look on his face. The shade slipped back behind his master with a faint chortle and faded into a regular shadow. Alastor was back to studying him with an indecipherable expression, but Angel was too charmed by the gift to worry about it. “I hoped you guys would like it; I was worried that it would make ya’ uncomfortable, but it means a lot to me that you all came out to support us, even if it ain’t that good for my redemption or whateva’.”

“Why, it was the absolute berries, my dear! Not all of it was exactly to my tastes, you understand, but I had no idea you were such a canary! Why have you never branched out into the music industry?”

“Ha!” Angel shook his head. “Like Val would ever let me leave the sex scene fer good. I make too much money in film for him to lemme switch; every once in a while he has me release a track or sing while performing, but you don’t wanna know what I had to do just to get permission for a six-week season for the troupe on my days off.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Alastor allowed, looking vaguely disgusted. He shook it off quickly, though, shooting a bright smile at Angel that immediately sent alarm bells ringing in his head. “So, Valentino doesn’t take advantage?”

Angel raised an eyebrow at Alastor, mildly amused when the deer sputtered. “Well, I mean, that is to say, I’m sure with the kind of being that miscreant is- but I was talking about your musical skills, not your carnal ones…not that I was thinking of you being skilled carnally; obviously you are, or you must be, I mean, I- oh applesauce-”

Angel’s giggles interrupted Alastor’s attempt at clarification. He had never seen the Overlord trip over his words, and the whole thing put a humorous spin on an already Twilight Zone night. “I get whatcha mean, Al. No, he ain’t ever really been interested in my singin’. I don’t get to do it as much as I’d like.”

“Pity,” Alastor tsked. “You are quite accomplished. Those songs were originals, were they not?”

“Uh, yeah. I ain’t too good with words, and Terry helped out with the melody, so-”

“They were splendid, my dear, quite masterful! You obviously know your onions; I was quite impressed.”

“Yeah?” Angel couldn’t help but swell with pride, feeling his spirits lift despite the sourness of before. “Thanks. I, uh, I worked hard on it, we all did.”

“And it quite shows, darling. I must say, I had never quite understood the appeal of your work, but tonight was illuminating in more ways than one. You were the bee’s knees, my dear, and I don’t say that to just anyone!” Alastor pushed the door open, offering his arm to Angel, who took it with no small amount of surprise. Alastor began escorting Angel towards the exit. “In fact, it made me wonder if you would ever consider collaborating; most of my guests tend not to be repeat customers, if you catch my drift, but I think an exception could be made for a performer of your caliber!”

“Uh, I don’t think Mista’ Valentino would be too happy about that, Smiles.”

“Nonsense, my dear, don’t you worry your silly little head about it.” Alastor noticed Angel’s frown, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he began to protest. Alastor steamrolled over him before he could speak. “If your other job weren’t an issue, would you be interested?”

“Well, shit, Smiles, a’ course I would be!” Angel laughed, but it had a sharp edge to it that Alastor didn’t like. “But it’s all moot, ain’t it? Val’s got me on a leash, even here, sendin’ people to watch me on my day off, since fuck knows I can’t ever be free…”

Angel’s voice trailed off bitterly, blinking rapidly as he fought to keep frustrated tears from falling. The corners of Alastor’s mouth tightened, though they never drooped. He slowed to a stop, gently tugging Angel to face him and catching his two lower hands in his own claws. In the dim lighting, Alastor’s eyes glowed with the faintest hint of red, and he spoke low even though they were alone in the corridor.

“Never say never, my dear. Before tonight, I would have said I would never be caught dead willingly attending a burlesque show and enjoying myself, and look at me! I mean, to be fair, I am technically dead, but-”

Angel huffed out a little laugh, and Alastor beamed with triumph, buoyed by the victory. “I digress. The point is that you are a treasure, my dear, and I have been kicking myself all night over the fact that I missed such a marvel when it was right under my nose this whole time.”

“Wha-really?” Angel looked gobsmacked, and Alastor squeezed the spider’s hands reassuringly. 

“Really,” he assured. “You’ve quite won me over tonight, mon Ange, and if it isn’t too late, I would like to get to know the real Angel since I’m starting to realize I know very little about him.”

“Ain’t much to know,” Angel prevaricated, tensing as some new voices echoed down the hall and a distant door slammed. Alastor didn’t flinch.

“Au contraire, my dear,” Alastor said, tucking Angel’s hand into the crook of his elbow and patting it. “I’m afraid that you’ve caught my attention fully now.”

“That feels like a threat,” Angel joked. Alastor smiled enigmatically, patting Angel’s hand comfortingly, and Angel shivered. He got the feeling that something had changed, but he was suddenly too tired to question it. 

It would be nice, he mused, to get to make something new and original. It had been so long since someone complimented him for something other than sex and seemed genuinely to mean it. Maybe it was foolish to trust another Overlord given his history, but Angel had never claimed to be smart. As he blindly followed Alastor’s lead towards the back exit and into the streets of Hell, he felt oddly protected. Whatever the future held, Angel resolved to face it with open arms. It’s not like he had anything to lose, after all. 

Art by Ghostii (Drag Angel)

Art by SprklingGanymede (Angry Angel)