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Price of Freedom	By : Venka Category: +G through L > Hazbin Hotel Views: 85 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any rights to Hazbin Hotel or its characters, settings, and storyline. All rights to the original series and its intellectual property belong to VivziePop and its respective owners.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
I do not own the rights to the Hazbin Hotel story, but I am genuinely captivated by the narrative presented thus far.
Chapter 1
The front door to the Hazbin Hotel creaked softly as it swung open, admitting him into the dimly lit parlor area. At this early hour, most establishments would have long been closed and secured. However, thanks to the enchantments woven by Lucifer into the very fabric of the building, entry was restricted after closing time to those the hotel recognized as its own.
Angel wearily shut the door behind him, his steps heavy as he crossed the threshold into the parlor. The room was cast in shadows, with only the dying embers of the hearth providing a faint glow. It was evident that everyone had retired for the night. Husk, typically remained stationed at the bar until Angel's return. Though he wouldn't always offer a stiff drink, he did have some tallent at brewing warm milk or preparing hot chocolate, which did offer some comfort. With the bar closed, his absence only suggested he had decided to get some sleep like everyone else.
Glancing at the clock hanging by the bar, Angel noted that it was well past three in the morning. It seemed that every time he ventured back to the studio, Valentino orchestrated scenarios to exacerbate his work life. Today's film session involved him portraying a character indebted to an organized crime syndicate, a narrative that uncomfortably mirrored his past. Enduring a grueling 18-hour shoot with scant breaks, Angel found himself immersed in scenes that dredged up memories he desperately wished to leave behind.
What troubled him more was the resemblance of these recent film roles to his former life in his father's crime family. It was a chapter he yearned to close, yet its specter loomed, haunting him relentlessly. Almost as though this was a punishment... a perpetual taunt for a life he had never asked for or desired.
As the Porn Star stood in the parlor burdained by exhaustion, the mere thought of climbing the stairs to his second-floor room felt like an insurmountable task. Despite the temptation of the elevator's swift ascent, he hesitated. While this building was newly built, the elevator would still generate a noticable racket, potentially disturbing the tranquility of the other people who resided on the second floor. Instead, he gravitated towards the inviting embrace of the vintage couches and armchairs encircling the fireplace, seeking solace and respite from the day's toils.
With his latest film undergoing editing, he found himself blessed with a temporary reprieve from the relentless demands of the studio. A rare opportunity to replenish his depleted energy reserves. Yet, even in this moment of respite, he couldn't escape the persistent reminder of his contractual entanglement with Val. Absent-mindedly, he massaged his wrist, where the spectral grip of their soul-binding pact seemed to linger like a phantom ache, an ever-present reminder of his subservience.
Although the terms of the agreement ostensibly restricted Valentino's dominion to the confines of the studio. The sanctuary of the hotel offered only partial respite from his oppressive influence. The looming specter of the contract bestowed the Moth with the power to dictate Angel's schedule at the studio's whim. Subjecting the spider to grueling sixteen-hour marathons or prolonged eighteen-hour shifts at a moment's notice, wielding his authority with impunity. This realization struck him with a chilling sense of vulnerability; there was little preventing Valentino from wielding his influence to hold him hostage for days, or even weeks on end. Particularly when the Overlord decided to utilize one of his "Special Rooms".
As Angel began to close his eyes, seeking whatever respite he could from the day's weariness, the silence was broken by a soft meow, causing him to startle momentarily. His body tensed instinctively, primed to respond to any potential threat lurking in the shadows. Yet, as he quickly discerned the source of the sound, his guard gradually eased, replaced by a sense of relief upon realizing it was just Charlie's cat, Keekee.
"Hey there," Angel greeted with a weary tone, the weight of exhaustion evident in his voice. With graceful poise, the one-eyed feline leaped onto the couch beside him, her fur brushing lightly against him as she nestled into his slender frame, emitting a gentle purr that resonated throughout the room. Angel extended his hand to stroke her fur, finding solace in the rhythmic vibrations beneath his touch, a momentary distraction from the turmoil of the day.
"I thought you'd be upstairs. Guess you got bored with everyone sleeping, though I can't say I'm the most entertaining company either," he remarked softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing the chill of the room to seep into his bones, a stark reminder of the exhaustion that enveloped him. Mentally reassuring himself that just an hour of rest would suffice before he journeyed up to his own room, he surrendered to the soothing presence of Keekee's purrs, allowing them to gradually lull him into a tranquil slumber, a brief respite from the chaos of the world outside.
Angel blinked groggily as he was shaken from his sleep, taking in Husk's concerned face hovering over him. Soft morning light filtered through the windows, casting a calm glow over the hotel's parlor..
"I came down to get some coffee going and found you crashed out here," Husk said, his voice gentle, laced with worry rather than reproach. "What time did you get back?"
Angel stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his body from past few hours spent curled on the antique couch. "Sometime after three," he replied. "Val had me working for eighteen hours yesterday."
"And you didn't just stay there?" Husk's concern was evident as he eyed Angel with a mix of empathy and frustration.
Angel gave a weary shrug. "I lived at the studio before the hotel, but being as far away from Val as possible is better. Got a few days off, so I figured I'd take the chance."
"Eighteen hours isn't just 'hard work,'" Husk replied, worry edging his tone. "He's been working you harder than ever lately, and we've all noticed."
"Yeah, well," Angel brushed off Husk's concern with a tired smile, though the effort of doing so was evident in his voice. "Val's always been a hardass. Ain't like I have a say in what he puts me through."
Husk's brow furrowed, his concern deepening. "You've mentioned the stunts he pulls, even things like waterboarding. That's not just cruelty, Angel—it's torture. You know damn well that's not 'just business.' He gets off on breaking you down, keeping you under his thumb. You need to tell Charlie."
Angel's gaze hardened. "Why don't you tell her about your deal with Smiles, then?"
Husk met his eyes without flinching. "I don't like being on Al's leash any more than you like being under Val. But Alastor doesn't cross the line into sadism like Valentino does. I'll admit I wasn't exactly good to the souls I dealt with, but I didn't take pleasure in pushing them to the brink like that. What's to stop Val from taking things a step further, to where he just… erases you?"
"He keeps me around 'cause I'm the top performer. I make him money," Angel recited, echoing Val's words in a way that sounded hollow, lacking any conviction.
"Yeah, for now," Husk countered, his tone grave. "You're his golden goose now, but that won't last. Fame and performance fade—it's inevitable. Even the top performers have a burnout or a final act." Husk shook his head, his voice softening with the weight of his experience. "That was the story in Vegas when I was alive."
"Since I'm awake…" Angel muttered, sidestepping Husk's warnings, "I'll be heading to my room." As he stood, a wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to stumble. Husk caught him, his grip both firm and gentle.
"Careful," Husk murmured, his worry deeper than ever. "This is spiraling, Angel. If he's draining you like this, just imagine what he'll try next. You need support. Maybe Charlie, or all of us, could tip the scales in your favor."
"Against what?" Angel's voice was heavy, resigned. "Everything that goes on is in that damn studio. Val twists it to seem consensual—I signed the contract. There's no loophole, no technicality for Charlie to use. It's all by the book."
"Or so he's made you believe," Husk replied, a sharpness in his tone. "Charlie's got her own power here, and Lucifer… he's not one to be messed with. They might not be able to break Val's hold, but they'd definitely give him something to think twice about. And lets not forget Alastor, he may not be a friend to you or even me. But he knows how soul deals function. He would be able to sense weaknesses before he even sees the contract. Plus, you've stood up to him before; that takes guts. Valentino might've overlooked a few clauses in that contract that could work in your favor."
Angel sighed, a flicker of contemplation crossing his face. "Maybe…I've got freedom outside the studio, since Val only owns me when I'm at the studio grounds. If he controls me there, maybe it's a start if I can make my own choices elsewhere."
Husk nodded approvingly. "That's something to work with, at least. Anyway, I'm heading back to bed. You should get some more rest too. Cherri's keeping an eye on your pig, so don't worry about him." As Husk turned to leave, Angel gave a slight nod, feeling a glimmer of hope, however small, creeping into the weight of his thoughts.
The dimly lit room, a sanctuary within the aging tenement building, seemed frozen in time, illuminated only by the soft glow of a single cigarette. Its ember danced against the weathered walls, casting fleeting shadows that whispered tales of long-forgotten souls. Down the hall, the uproarious laughter of his companions reverberated, a stark contrast to the solemnity of his solitude. They were engrossed in their game of poker, oblivious to the world beyond their cards.
Drawing deeply from the cigarette, he let the tendrils of smoke curl around him like comforting arms before he releasing them into the stillness of the room. It hung there, suspended in the air, a silent witness to his contemplation. With measured steps, he approached the window, a portal to the outside world. Parting the heavy curtain, he welcomed the crimson hues of Hell's dawn as they filtered into the room, casting an ethereal glow upon his features.
His gaze drifted beyond the confines of his makeshift haven, drawn inexorably to a distant building on the horizon—the Hazbin Hotel. Though its appearance had changed since it was rebuilt, its significance remained unchanged—that place, the Princess's Hotel had thwarted an Extermination, a feat that has never been known to happne in Hell's tumultuous history.
Fingers clenching slightly, he retrieved his Hellphone and played back the message that had arrived weeks earlier, its contents etched into his memory like a scar upon his soul.
"Hey, it's Anthony," the voice echoed through the room, a bittersweet reminder of bonds long frayed. "You've probably caught wind of the hotel's commercial and the impending Extermination. So, I'll get straight to it…an Overlord had managed to slay one of the Exorcists earlier in the year. This means that there is a way to fight back against Heaven's "Unbeatable" army. Charlie's gone out for reinforcements, Vaggie's gone to learn how that Exorcist was taken down. Everyone else is reinforcing the hotel to prepare for the attack since this will be the first place Adam's forces will strike." There was a pause then a sigh.
"I get it. We're not exactly on speaking terms since I left the family," Anthony's voice wavered.. "I can't say how things will go, but if the hotel falls... you and Pops... just look after yourselves."
Arackniss had listened to the report repeatedly, yet its intricacies eluded him like shadows dancing in the periphery of his vision. Anthony's message had been deliberately ambiguous, refraining from a direct plea for aid from the Ragno Family. Instead, it placed the weight of decision squarely upon his brother's shoulders. Why bother transmitting such cryptic information, knowing full well that their family's support was a distant hope at best?
Reflecting on the disastrous interview that had unfolded months prior, Arackniss found himself submerged in a whirlpool of memories and speculation. Anthony, his elusive and irritatingly hairbrained brother, had sought refuge in a peculiar establishment overseen by none other than Lucifer's own daughter. This hotel, with its grandiose facade and lofty promises, purportedly aimed to guide sinners toward redemption—a noble ambition, if one could suspend disbelief and embrace the narrative spun by the misguided Hellborn Princess.
A recently released commercial for the Hotel served as tangible proof that Anthony was associated with thiscurious venture. Yet, it remained frustratingly vague regarding his true beliefs and intentions. Did Anthony genuinely embrace the mission of redemption, or was his involvement merely a facade for some other scheme? The uncertainty gnawed at Arackniss, fueling his curiosity and prompting him to ponder his brother's choices on a number of moments in the last six months.
The revelation of Anthony's association with both the Princess of Hell and the notorious Radio Demon was like a spark igniting a powder keg within the Ragno family circles. It was not merely a matter of curiosity; it was a seismic event that reverberated through their underworld network. The younger of the Ragno brothers possessed an uncanny ability to attract people to him—a double-edged sword that had served them well in their previous exploits when they were alive. However, in this instance, it presented both unique opertunity and unknown danger. As Arackniss pondered the implications of Anthony's entanglement with such formidable figures, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this story than met the eye.
While the dark-furred spider couldn't offer much insight into the Princess aside from her evident incompetence, there were plenty of chilling tales surrounding the Radio Demon that even hardened individuals like Don Henroin found unsettling. Although the hotel itself didn't pose a direct threat to the Ragno Family's enterprises, the Radio Demon's involvement lent it an air of concern. Alastor wasn't an Overlord to involve himself in matters on a mere whim; if he was involved, it meant there was something he felt could be gained.
While the Hellborn Princess might exude a childlike naivety, even she couldn't be oblivious to the fact that Alastor's intentions might not align with her own. Likewise, despite Anthony's outward appearance of simplicity, he did possessed a cunning intellect and perceptions that belied his demeanor. He had to be aware of the risks of associating with Overlords like Alastor or relying on the Princess's goodwill could bite him if he acted unwisely.
This recent battle at the hotel had captured the attention of the rest of the family, who had watched the events unfold through one of Vox's voyeurism drones. Arackniss found himself impressed by Anthony's transformation—he was no longer a sex crazed, drug-addled youth in a grown demon's body. This version of Anthony displayed a newfound maturity, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to the fight in a way he never had before. It puzzled the dark furred spider: why would Anthony risk his existence fighting alongside strangers he had only known for a few months, especially when he would prefer to run away rather then fully commit to his own family's business activities?
After the battle supposedly ended, Arackniss had stepped outside to get confirmation, which came through news anchors Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench. The extermination had been thwarted—the Princess had successfully repelled Heaven's attack, with Lucifer joining the fray late, and Adam meeting his demise at the hands of the hotel's cyclopic maid. Anthony had emerged among the survivors, the only known casualties included the Radio Demon, and that Victorian snake demon who liked to see himself as something special. While Arackniss doubted Alastor was truly dead, his cowardly retreat revealed his willingness to prioritize self-preservation, a trait that was common among loose cannon. Similarly, the Snake Demon's attempt to eliminate Adam ended in a fool's death at the hands of the Exorcist Leader.
The building had undergone a remarkable transformation since then, evolving from the tattered, condemned structure of its past into the expansive and majestic edifice it stood as today. Its former halls echoed with the whispers of its former decrepitude were now drowned out by the bustling activity of its vibrant new life. Yet, amidst all that had happened, Niss couldn't shake the nagging uncertainty surrounding his younger brother's involvement with the hotel.
It was clear to the Underboss of the Ragno family that Anthony's motives didn't align with any lofty ideals of redemption. His brother's track record of indulging in scandalous dealings with the Overlord Valentino spoke volumes about his priorities. The ongoing celestial conflict between Heaven and Hell only served to solidify Niss's skepticism. In a world where redemption seemed like a distant dream, what would Anthony hope to gain by cozying up to the Princess, especially with Lucifer becoming a presence within the hotel's walls?
The fact that Anthony's loyalties and employment lay with Valentino, a figure with important associative ties to the Ragno Family, was a cause for concern in itself. But what troubled Niss even more was the suspicious convenience of Anthony's proximity to the likes of the Radio Demon, Princess Morningstar, and King Lucifer. It all seemed too neatly arranged, too strategically positioned to be mere coincidence.
While Pops and certain members of the family entertained paranoid suspicions of Anthony gathering forces in a plot against them, Niss couldn't bring himself to believe it. Perhaps, he mused, his brother was simply seeking to carve out his own niche in the intricate web of Hell's hierarchy and really didn't intend anything towards the family. The idea of Anthony actively conspiring against their family now of all times seemed far-fetched, after all, over seven decades had passed since the younger Ragno brothers arrival in Hell; if he had harbored any malicious intent, surely he would have acted upon it by now.
Angel's exhaustion hung on him like a heavy cloak as he pushed open the door to his hotel bedroom. Despite the shut-eye downstairs, the weight of his weariness still dragging at his limbs. Tired steps led him to the bathing room where he sought solace in the promise of hot water. With a twist of the tap, he let the steamy cascade fill the tub, its comforting warmth beckoning him.
From his dresser, he retrieved a set of loose fitting shorts and a top, discarding his clothing in a haphazard pile on the floor, a task he left for Niffty to tackle when she came to tidy the room. Despite the pull of fatigue on his weary body, the urgency to rid himself of any trace of Valentino persisted, driving him to the cleansing waters.
Surveying his nude reflection, Angel's gaze fell upon the myriad of bruises marring his flesh and darkening the pristine white filaments of his fur, souvenirs of Valentino's rough affections. While the Moth typically avoided leaving conspicuous marks, mindful of the challenges they posed for the makeup and editing teams, there were occasions where he reveled in the raw intensity of the moment, heedless of the consequences.
With a heavy sigh, the white-furred spider sank into the steaming bath, the heat seeping into his aching muscles and thawing the chill that clung to his flesh. The water, hotter than his usual preference but not scalding, provided a welcome respite as he scrubbed away the residue of sweat and desire that clung to his fur, though the memory of Valentino's touch lingered like an unwelcome ghost.
Wrapping his arms around himself, Angel's fingers brushed against something papery on the wrist of his second pair of arms. Peering through the white fur, he traced the line of a long, thin scar encircling his wrist—a permanent reminder of a past he longed to forget. This scar, mirrored on his other wrist, served as a grim testament to the cruelties of the world and the marks it left on his soul in his relentless pursuit of survival.
As Angel's thoughts drifted back to his recent conversation with Husk, he couldn't shake the truth that he was in far deeper waters than he dared to admit. Even if Charlie or anyone couldn't untangle him from his contract with Valentino, there were still voices in his corner willing to speak out for him. However, divulging the ceaseless torment inflicted upon him by the Overlord was a daunting prospect. Not everyone within the hotel comprehended the full extent of his suffering under Valentino's thumb. Cherri was a notable exception as she bore witness to part of the hell Valentino put her closest friend through, though she still remained oblivious to the full extent of the arrangement. Convincing her to refrain from launching a full scale assault on Valentino or the Vees as a whole required considerable effort, given their volatile nature. Individually, the Vees were dangerous and difficult to take down in a fight, but together, they still constituted a formidable force. The only weakness was each of them were loyal to themselves, not one another.
While irritated that she was unable to take direct action against Val or the Vees, Cherri had instead urged Angel to bury his troubles beneath the distractions of revelry, chaotic distruction, substances, and general hedonism. Yet, she stood ready to lend her support should he ever choose to confront Valentino head-on.
Husk, in stark contrast, respected Angel's silence regarding Valentino's actions. Accepting the Spider's reluctance to delve into the layers of torment that had been festering decades. Husk merely suggested seeking counsel from Charlie, but didn't presure him on it preserving the Spider's agency in the matter.
As for Alastor, the enigmatic Radio Demon maintained a deliberate distance from Angel and the other denizens of the hotel. Aside from their unconventional first encounter, where Angel had made a bold proposition, Alastor displayed minimal interest in him. Most likely concluding that the Porn Star had nothing that would be of benefit to his motives. Despite this apparent disinterest, Angel couldn't shake the feeling that Alastor harbored at least some interests, perhaps even suspicions of the soul contract the Spider held with Valentino. The Radio Demon's silence on the matter cast an unsettling shadow, prompting Angel to question whether Alastor was waiting for the perfect moment to intervene or simply observing and awaiting the unfolding drama.
The dynamics within the rest of hotel were as intricate as the threads of a spider's web. Niffty, with her whimsical demeanor, often appeared oblivious to the gravity of situations. Yet, there were subtle nuances in her behavior that hinted at a deeper understanding lurking beneath her eccentric facade.
Vaggie, however, wore her distrust like a cloak. While she begrudgingly tolerated Angel's presence, it was primarily due to Charlie's unwavering determination to redeem him. Learning of Vaggie's past as an Exorcist shed light on her profound mistrust of demons. She had been raised and trained to believe in the wholesale eradication of sinners. It wasn't until she was betrayed and left for dead by her former comrades that she began to question what she had been taught and the role she had been given. The internal struggle between her ingrained beliefs and newfound revelations weighed heavily on her. Angel couldn't help but wonder if Vaggie would have permitted Charlie to confront Valentino alone at the studio had she had actually known the depths of his depravity.
Charlie's motivations, meanwhile, were a labyrinth of complexity. Her genuine desire to redeem sinners stemmed from a place of sincerity, yet her sheltered upbringing often clouded her judgment. She often found herself struggling to comprehend the true essence of sinners and how to connect with them on a personal level to the point she often found herself overwhelmed by her own eagerness to fix others' problems. When she had arrived at the studio months ago, Angel had hurried to intercept her, fearing what Valentino's assumptions would be if he saw her. Even when he had been instructed to send her away, the sting of hurting her had lingered. While she had caused problems, she had only been trying to get him some time off from the studio. Angel couldn't help but wonder if his actions would have been different if he had placed his trust in her and let her in on what was actually happening. The consequences would certainly have been dire – provoking the wrath of Vox and Velvette and contradicting Charlie's fundamental principles. With the looming threat of the new extermination date drawing near, self-recrimination was not something she could afford to deal with.
Lucifer, the King of Hell, stood as a complex figure in Angel's perception. He hadn't had much interaction with the Fallen Seraphim since the King of Hell had taken residence. When Lucifer first visited the hotel, the former angel couldn't help but adopt a dismissive stance towards the notion of sinners finding redemption, coupled with a healthy dose of skepticism towards Charlie's lofty aspirations. Such an attitude was perhaps unsurprising, given Lucifer's initial intent to grant humanity free will—a noble gesture that tragically spiraled into chaos with the infiltration of evil upon Earth, birthing the domain of Hell.
Through countless millennia, Lucifer had stood witness to the procession of souls entering Hell, their essence often marred by moral corruption and cruelty. Heaven's actions did little prove they were open to accepting sinners who had managed to reform themselves; the dispatch of death squads to punish the damned seemed a veiled corruption beneath the façade of benevolence. Even Vaggie's firsthand account of their visit to Heaven only served to reinforce the notion of a celestial realm governed by a Machiavellian mentality, where the pursuit of their goals justified any means necessary.
While Angel conceded that his own understanding of Heaven, Hell, and Lucifer was far from absolute truth, it remained rooted in elements of reality. He could recall the childhood tales had painted Lucifer's rebellion as a quest for divine supremacy, an act of defiance that saw him clash with his own kin, including his brother Michael, before being cast down into the depths of Hell, bearing the burden of fatal hubris.
Curiously, echoes of this hubris resonated within humanity's own narrative, as demonstrated by Adam's claim that they should worship him, stemming from his status as progenitor of the human race. Was Lucifer's rebellion born from the act of granting humanity free will, or was it a response to Heaven's deafening silence in the face of his counsel?
Certainly, Lucifer harbored layers of complexity beyond what met the eye, and there were undoubtedly aspects of his past that he didn't desire Charlie to know. While his intentions seemed devoid of malice, there lingered a palpable fear that his daughter would recoil upon uncovering these hidden truths.
While Angel found genuine joy in witnessing Charlie's blossoming relationship with her father, Lucifer, he also couldn't help but experience occasional pangs of jealousy as he observed their heartfelt interactions. Reconciliation with his own family felt like an unattainable fantasy, a distant hope that seemed to slip further away. As the overlooked middle child in a family where respect had to be tirelessly earned rather than freely bestowed. Angel had often felt ensnared by the insermountable expectations his father would set for him and his siblings.
Despite the deep bonds and affection that had formed among the eclectic inhabitants of the hotel, Angel remained haunted by a persistent sense of alienation. While Charlie often touted them all as a surrogate family, Angel couldn't shake the gnawing fear that he was merely just an observer in this place he saw as home. It was a fear that whispered in the darkest corners of his mind, reminding him of the pain of rejection and abandonment he had endured before, and planting seeds of doubt about whether he truly belonged in this newfound haven of acceptance and understanding.
As Angel let the warm water swirl down the drain, he stepped out of the bathtub and enveloped himself in a plush towel, relishing the sensation of soft fabric against his skin. Swiftly, he donned his sleeping clothes, the familiar routine of dressing bringing a sense of normalcy to the early morning hours.
Beyond the confines of his room, the sounds of movement signaled the stirring of other residents within the hotel, each beginning their own day.
Exiting the bathing room, Angel traversed the space to reach his vanity table, a haven of personal indulgence amidst the practicalities of the setting. With a practiced hand, he retrieved a plastic bag concealed within a drawer, its contents promising temporary escape from the demands of reality.
Inside lay a white powder, its purity veiled by the translucent material. Carefully, he poured a delicate line onto the smooth surface of the vanity, the substance shimmering faintly in the soft glow of the room. With a sense of secrecy, he returned the bag to its hidden compartment, concealing his illicit indulgence from prying eyes.
Bringing a slender straw to one nostril, Angel inhaled deeply, the powder disappearing in a quick, controlled motion. As the drug coursed through his system, a wave of euphoria washed over him, the numbing effect a welcome respite from the weight of the world.
With each breath, a sigh of pleasure escaped him, mingling with the air of the room. The tranquil embrace of the drug enveloped him, cocooning him in a temporary haven of peace and serenity.
Sinking onto the bed, he pulled back the covers with languid movements, the soft fabric welcoming him into its embrace. With eyelids growing heavy, Angel surrendered himself to the beckoning call of slumber, the cares of the world fading into the background as dreams began to weave their gentle tapestry.
"Did Angel come back from the studio at all?" Vaggie inquired, her eyes scanning the empty space at the table where Angel's presence was conspicuously absent.
"He returned rather late last night," Husk updated the group, his tone tinged with a hint of concern. "Or should I say, very early this morning. Found him catching some shut-eye in the parlor. He mentioned he got in sometime after three in the morning."
"Three in the morning?" Charlie's brows furrowed in concern. "That sounds excessive."
"Angel once mentioned to me that he had to work for sixteen hours on a whim," Niffty chimed in, her hands deftly loading her plate with buttermilk biscuits and scrambled eggs.
"Sixteen hours?" Vaggie's eyes widened in disbelief. "What could possibly require him for that long?"
"Filming is a lot more complex than that cunt Velvette makes it appear," Cherri interjected with a smirk as she helped herself to the morning spread. "Angie once told me they did multiple takes of the same scene over an eight-hour period. It's all about getting the angles and scene transitions just right for editing."
"And what exactly does he do, again?" Lucifer inquired, settling into his seat at the table with a characteristic air of authority. "He's some sort of performer, correct?"
"Yeah," Charlie replied hesitantly, her gaze flickering briefly with uncertainty. "He's an actor at the adult film studio on the East Side of town."
"I see," Lucifer said, his voice measured as he carefully considered his words. "Wouldn't that profession be rather...?" He paused, searching for a tactful way to express his concerns without disparaging one of Charlie's guests, yet still hinting at its incongruence with the concept of redemption.
"It is," Charlie sighed, weariness evident in her expression as she spoke. "Trust me, Dad, I've tried to reason with Angel's boss to allow him some time off a few months ago. With the Extermination approaching, his job commitments were hindering his participation in the redemption activities I had planned. After being there, I got the feeling there's something incredibly toxic about that place..."
"Well, thats taking it lightly," Cherri commented with an ammused snort, though her tone dripped with disdain. "Toxic doesn't even begin to cover the absolute fuck hole that place is. With Angie...there have been moments where he's so overwhelmed by it all. The fuckhead gets into these states where he's just completely lost, it's really depressing to see."
"What kind of states?" Charlie asked, her concern evident.
"Oh, it's just bleak," Cherri replied, her voice sounding dismissive like it wasn't a big deal, though there was still an undercurrent of concern as well. "When things are calm, he keeps it bottled up and visits the aquarium downtown. I don't get the appeal of staring at fish, but if it helps him cope I'm not one to judge that. On rough days, though, he withdraws, like he's in a daze. He's physically present but mentally elsewhere. Still, he does come out of it when he hears music from this singer from Club Incognito, Luke Strike I think he's called. His music just seems like a lifeline for Angie, mostly covers, old classics, or really sentimental shit. That stuff ain't my thing, besides, Angie's singing voice is fucking way better."
"What about the really rough times?" Husk asked.
"Oh those times," Cherri said, her teeth gritting in disgust towards anything that would put Angel in such moods. "The bitch turns into a fucking mess, it's painful to watch. It's like he's just coming down from a really bad drug high, and all you have is the crash and burn."
"Months back, I think I witnessed one of those moments," Charlie reflected, her voice tinged with concern as she recounted the memory. "Angel had just returned from the studio. Husk then pointed out that Angel was putting on an act. And then, in a sudden and startling turn, Angel began to spiral into a hostile tantrum. I'd never seen him like that before, and the crazed sound of his laughter..."
"Trust me, that wasn't laughter," Husk interjected, his tone grave with a weight of understanding borne from experience. "I've learned to distinguish between genuine laughter and angry noises that sound like laughter but are really used to mask something deeper. Although... I do regret labeling it as an act. That entire persona was a facade... I wasn't wrong about that part. What I misunderstood were his motives. When you had me tail him after he stormed out, he confessed that it wasn't a means of seeking attention; it was hiding behind a mask."
"A mask?" Vaggie queried, her brow furrowed in confusion, trying to grasp the intricacies of Angel's inner turmoil.
"I've seen it before," Husk explained, his voice carrying the weight of years of observation and introspection. "More times than I can count. Wearing a mask is like donning a suit of armor, a shield against the harsh realities of the world. It's a way of presenting a version of yourself to the outside world, while hiding the scars and vulnerabilities that actually lie beneath. It's often a response to trauma or regrets, a way of escaping or self-preservation. I've never seen a mask quite like the one Angel uses. That's probably why I initially thought he was just attention-seeking. What I can honestly say though, he's been wearing this mask for a long time, and whatever caused it goes deeper than just Valentino. When I reached out to him, suggesting he might need a bartender to talk to, I was really hinting that he needed a father figure. I didn't want to get too personal, but it's clear now that his wounds run deep, and he needs more than just a sympathetic ear to heal."
"I see," Charlie said contemplatively, her mind swirling with newfound insights. "That does make some sense considering..."
"Oh, what are you talking about," Cherri interjected, her tone dismissive. "Wearing a mask, seriously? Sure, Angie can be a downer at times, but he's always good for a lot of shit when needed."
"Then tell me," Husk pressed, his voice cutting through Cherri's nonchalance. "Since you've known Angel longer than any of us, what exactly has Angel told you about the time he was alive?"
"Oh," Cherri hesitated, caught off guard by the directness of Husk's question. After a moment of thoughtful silence, she continued. "Well, uh... he doesn't talk about his past much. There have been times when we were out looking for a fun throwdown where he'd give me some advice on which areas of town to steer clear of. He'd mention they are run some really bad characters who had turf there, and they weren't guys to mess with."
"Alright then, given that he's known you for, let me assume, years now," Husk supplied, his tone calm yet pointed, as if peeling back layers of a complex puzzle. "If he trusts you enough to warn you about which areas of town are best left alone, he must have enough trust to talk to you about his past, right? Unless there's a reason he prefers not to talk about his human life. Is this because he actually doesn't like discussing his past, or is it because he doesn't feel he 'can' talk about it?"
"What are you implying?" Cherri retorted, her voice laced with defensiveness, her gaze narrowing as she tried to anticipate where Husk's line of questioning was leading.
"Then how about this," Husk continued, undeterred by Cherri's reaction. "How many people involved in adult entertainment are skilled in the use of a Thompson Machine gun?"
"Well, uh..." Cherri stumbled, her confidence faltering as she realized she hadn't considered such a question before. "It was something Angie was taught how to use."
"That sort of weapon is associated with both World Wars," Husk pointed out, his voice steady as he laid out his reasoning with a calm certainty. "Given that he's what... late twenties, maybe early thirties at oldest, he certainly would have been around for World War 2."
"Nah, Angie's never been through anything as hectic as that," Cherri replied hastily, her thoughts racing to process Husk's implications. "I've seen war vets from that time, and the guy was never that messed up."
"Then that means there are things Angel can't tell you," Husk concluded, his tone grave with concern. "I've been suspecting this for a while, but I believe Angel Dust may have a history of being involved in organized crime."
"What..." Cherri gasped, her single eye widening in shock. "But that... uh... why..."
"I didn't say he was involved because he wanted to be," Husk sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of his revelation. "There are certainly crime families that do raise their children, especially sons, to be involved in criminal activity. I've encountered my share of various mafia-types in my lifetime, from Italians to Russians to Chinese. A number of them can be reasonable, even good guys to have on friendly terms so don't assume they're all like the gun-toting monsters you see in films. Most of the time, they were just men of business who wanted to establish a standing in a place that already looked down on them. One of the major traits with these groups is oaths of secrecy. Oaths that can be punishable by death if broken."
"This doesn't explain why you felt Angel needed to a father figure," Lucifer pointed out, his voice calm yet curious, probing for deeper understanding. "If these organizations have oaths of secrecy, wouldn't they also have oaths of loyalty?"
"They do," Husk admitted, his tone somber, acknowledging Lucifer's point. "I suspect I know the Angel is related to, and I do hope I'm wrong on that. The mafia family I'm thinking of is a very rough group, not one you ever want to encounter. These kinda guys are the kind of Mafiaosi that would carry the label of monster. If he was tied up with them... then the best thing he's ever done is to have left them and never looked back."
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Price of Freedom