Work Text:
When later asked at gunpoint by an angry tiny demon, he would say the whole thing is really Angel’s fault.
Not that that’s much of a surprise: it could be argued most problems in the hotel tend to be Angel’s fault. Angel’s the one who thought it would be a great idea to put whipped cream in Pentious’ hat when he was sleeping. Angel’s the one who swapped the apple juice and whiskey, leading to a really drunk Charlie (how the girl didn’t notice is beyond Husk) and a really angry Vaggie. Angel’s the one who shined a bright light in the fucking Radio Demon’s face to see if he would freeze like a deer (he did, and then he nearly devoured Angel.)
Angel’s the one who put a fucking cucumber in a bar cabinet so he could watch Husk’s reaction when he noticed it.
Fuck, Husk has even heard Niffty muttering before about how maybe the bug problem in the hotel is Angel’s fault, because he’s a spider demon. And honestly Husk wouldn’t put it past the kid.
Angel’s a shit stirrer. That’s just a part of who he is. It was like that when Husk first met Angel Dust and it’s like that now that Husk knows the guy. Before he used to try to get a rise out of people by being overly sexual, leaning in to the role he’s forced to play, and Husk used to think it was all just an act.
But the thing is, as over the top as Angel’s persona can be, it’s not all a complete lie. It’s more like some of his traits got dialed up to a hundred and everything has been infused with sex.
And one such trait that’s become evident to everyone in the hotel is that Angel is a little shit.
Part of Husk wonders if Angel was the youngest child in his past life, because holy shit.
Anyways, for as tall as the porn star is, Angel is a little shit. And oftentimes Husk can brush it off, because (even though he would never admit it) there is something endearing about it. It’s fun to have someone to rib with, and they tend to meet on the same level.
But still, that doesn’t mean the overgrown spider can’t take things too far sometimes.
Like last week, when the dumbass had decided in Husk’s absence to man the bar.
“What the fuck is that?”
Husk had just gotten back from an errand Alastor sent him on, only to find a certain white-and-pink spider making a mess in his bar.
The cabinets were all open, things strewn across the counter, and the demon himself had all six arms out with the lower four holding various things while the upper two were making a drink.
Okay, drink is not the right word.
A monstrosity.
“Huh?” The long-legged being said as he looked up at Husk, continuing to make whatever the fuck that was supposed to be.
Husk is still just staring at the bartending atrocity in the spider’s hands.
“Oh? This? Ya want some?”
Fuck no.
The words weren't coming out though, and Husk was just left standing there like an Alastor-in-the-headlights. Because what the actual fuck? He couldn’t even process exactly what was in Angel’s hands, all he knew was that it was wrong.
“Husky? You okay?”
No. No he fucking isn’t.
“What the fuck is that ?” Husk repeats, spitting out the last word like it’s that vile concoction in Angel’s hand.
“A drink? Ya know Whisker’s you aint the only one who knows howta use the bar-”
“Clearly I am. Because that is not a drink.”
Then the motherfucker takes a sip of the abomination.
“Nope. Pretty sure this is a drink.”
What the–
“Clean up my bar or get the fuck out.”
At least the committer of bar crimes had the decency to actually clean up.
He was back the next day.
That shouldn’t be much of a surprise. After Husk Angel is probably the person that spends the most time at the bar, and unlike Husk he doesn’t have the excuse of working there.
What was a surprise though was that instead of ordering his normal fruity, pink cocktail he ordered a-
“A what?”
Surely Husk heard him wrong.
…nope, he had not.
“I’m not making you that.”
The fucker actually had the audacity to look confused and disappointed.
“What? Why not?”
Is this guy for real?
“Because there is no way I’m gonna make a drink with coconut, whiskey, and a Bloody Mary! That’s not even a thing!”
“It is! Cause I’m askin’ for it ain’t I?”
Jesus fuck.
“Look, if you aint gonna make it can you let me in so I can?”
What?
“What? No!”
“Why not?!”
“Cause you’ll make a mess!”
“I’ll clean it up!”
That’s not even the main problem though.
“Well I don’t wanna have to watch someone use my bar to commit bar crimes!”
There’s a pause.
“ Bar crimes?”
Uh, yeah?
“Yeah. Like war crimes? But for a bar?”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“How would you know? Are you a bartender?” This asshole better not have ever been.
“Well, no-”
“Then, there.”
Point proven.
But then the twink kept talking.
“But it’s a bar? It’s personal taste! If I say I want a coconut-and-whiskey-Bloody-Mary then–”
“Then I won’t –”
“You will be serving this good fellow, won’t you Husker?”
Good grief. When did Alastor appear? Husk usually has a pretty good sense for when the demon is around, it comes with the territory of knowing (and not fucking dying from) the Radio Demon for a couple decades.
Then again, the concept of Angel’s next cursed creation probably overtakes any safety instincts Husk has. Who cares about dying when the sacredness of a bar is being threatened?
…Husk apparently, because with Alastor there he does end up making Angel the abhorrent creation.
Angel doesn’t even like coconut.
The next five days all go the same, and Husk is at his wit’s end. At this point he’s sure Angel has gotten a copy of the Moscow Conventions of Baring, because Husk is sure his Russian ancestors are rolling in their graves (or maybe they’re just down here and rolling around in Hell somewhere.)
Vodka should never be used the way Angel has been asking it to be used.
It’s this that gets Husk thinking though, because he may be third-generation Russian on his ma’s side, but Angel is Italian. How much, Husk isn’t entirely sure, but he’s certainly more Italian than Husk is Russian.
For as much as he talks Angel’s past life is rarely discussed, but Husk has the privilege of working with people from all cultures and walks of life in Vegas, plus actually knowing Italian.
He also has brain cells. And Angel was around in the 40s, has a New York accent, and was likely involved in organized crime. The last one is really a guess but Angel is a spider demon, and most demons in hell with that form tend to have been part of a crime family. Plus he knows his way around a gun far too well for someone who’s supposedly only been a porn star in hell the past seven decades.
Also, while he doesn’t like to stereotype, drunk or tired Angel can get aggressively Italian. When he’s dead on his feet the gesticulating tends to increase tenfold, which Husk didn’t even think was possible and seriously is a safety hazard. Plus there’s often Italian mutterings or even an Italian accent that slips through on certain words.
And, again, Husk has met people from all different backgrounds. He’s met drunk people from all different backgrounds. And drunk people’s mutterings tend to get very specific and personal quickly.
Including another, albeit much smaller, black spider demon ranting in Italian about his boyfriend putting ice in his wine, leading to an even longer rant about how people don’t know how to make food anymore.
So, it's safe to say Husk has at least an idea of what stuff might offend a person of an Italian background.
Now, normally Husk wouldn’t be the type of person to purposefully needle others. He saves the shit-stirring for people like Angel and Alastor. After all, why put energy into being a bitch when you can be one without trying? And Husk is very good at doing it without trying.
But Angel is the same fucker who’s been ordering and paying for increasingly vile concoctions with a smirk on his face.
So it’s safe to say this is fair game. After all, you shouldn’t start shit you can’t finish.
Truthfully Husk isn’t even completely sure if this will work. While “ruining” Italian food may offend some people, it’s possible Angel is removed enough from the culture that he doesn’t fall into that category.
But there’s a chance, and Husk has to take it.
Leading him to standing over a boiling pot with a box of spaghetti, waiting for the diva to enter the kitchen. It’s been about ten minutes, and Husk is about to call it quits when he hears footsteps.
Finally!
…Oh, it’s just Vaggie.
She at first seems to just ignore Husk, grabbing some fruit from the fridge and pouring some apple juice for her girlfriend. And Husk is fine with that, but apparently him just standing over a boiling pot of water for several minutes can be cause for concern.
“Husk? What are you doing?”
Husk is about to answer, but then he hears footsteps. Footsteps made by someone wearing hard boots.
His time has come!
“Shh!” He says to Vaggie, which probably isn’t the best idea because she’s about to respond again and Husk can’t have her ruin this. Not when he has an experiment to test.
“Just watch,” he adds on quietly, and the spear-wielder seems to get his point because she just looks at Husk thoughtfully but doesn’t do anything more.
And right in time, because the spider has arrived.
Just as Husk thought, Angel makes a beeline for the cat.
“Hey Husky, whatcha makin’?”
“Pasta, you want some?”
There’s a flicker of eagerness in the pornstar’s multicolored eyes that gives Husk hope, although it’s quickly covered by a look of indifference.
“Sure, if you’re making food anyways.”
Good.
Husk takes a bunch of pasta from the box, holds it over the pot, and snaps it in half.
And with that snap, Husk can see a piece of Angel’s sanity die as well.
He’ll give the guy credit, he does cover it up pretty quickly
“Uh… actually I’m good. Had a big lunch. Youguyshavefunbye!”
And he’s out. Husk has never seen Angel leave a room so fast.
“Holy shit.”
Oh, right, Vaggie’s here.
“What the fuck was that?” She asks, with a glimmer of mirth in her eye, “I’ve never seen him that disturbed before. Not even with Niffty.”
Husk just smirks and shrugs, “He’s Italian."
Confusion crosses Vaggie’s face before the realization sets in and she starts laughing, “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit.” Husk responds.
“You thinking about making any more Italian meals? I’m sure some others would love to help.”
“Actually I was.”
Two days later they make spaghetti again as a group meal.
Husk is in the kitchen with Vaggie, Charlie, and Alastor. Niffty having been unable to make food that night because of another bug infestation.
He hears the distinctive sound of Angel’s boots again.
“Hey Charlie?” Vaggie says, holding out a handful of uncooked pasta, “Can you wash this for me?”
“Oh? Uh… does it need to be washed?”
“Chemicals.” The girlfriend responds, and Charlie (in her usual trustful nature) has no reason to doubt the statement, so she takes a strainer and puts the pasta in it right at Angel enters the room.
“Hey guys-” Charlie is moving towards the sink “-heard ya were makin’ food-” the water is on “-and thought maybe I’d–”
The pasta is under the water.
And Angel has gone silent.
“...Charlie, what are you doing?” He finally asks, voice quieter than Husk has really ever heard it, like he’s unable to comprehend an unspeakable horror occurring in front of him. Good, now he knows how it feels.
“Washing the pasta! To get rid of the chemicals!”
More silence.
“...what chemicals?”
Alastor, being the shit stirrer he is, seems to instantly pick up on what’s going on.
“Why, the pasta chemicals of course! Don’t tell me you’ve never made pasta properly before!”
“That’s not how pasta is made.” The spider is quick to respond.
“Well, clearly you’ve never done it right.”
The tall demon’s white face glows pink for a second, and his mouth opens, before he seems to catch himself and shuts up, glow dimming.
Holy shit. Does this fucker actually have self control?
He pivots around back to the door, “Okay, have fun with that. I’m gonna go to my room!”
“Okay!” Charlie says, still holding the pasta over the sink, “Group dinner at six!”
“Yeah… I don’t know if I can make it.”
No, this fucker isn’t getting out of shit.
“It’s a mandatory group dinner. You’ll be there.” Vaggie responds in her usual gruffness. Which he’s sure sounded to Angel just like she didn’t want him skipping out on any hotel activities.
There’s a flicker of something in Angel’s eyes (fear?) and then he quickly exits the kitchen for the second time in three days.
“Well… that was entertaining.” Alastor says after a beat of silence.
And Husk hates to agree with the bastard but yes, yes it was.
“Uh… Vaggie do you think this is clean enough?”
“Yeah hon, that’s great.”
Dinner at six comes, and with it comes another opportunity to torture Angel.
Everyone’s seated, then Vaggie take a bottle of ketchup and nonchalantly puts it on her pasta.
“Vaggie, what are you doing?” Charlie asks her girlfriend.
“Putting sauce on my pasta?” she responds, as if she’s confused as to what else she could be doing.
“That’s not sauce.” A voice comes from across of Husk, Angel speaking to a tone much deeper than the rest are used to hearing. Like he's unable to even hold up his facade in the face of such terror.
“Oh yeah,” Vaggie says, as if she’s just now noticing, “Well we were out of sauce so I figured it’s about the same. Both have tomato right?”
Angel’s eye twitches.
“Why didn’t you get sauce when you were out?”
“Why would I get sauce when we have ketchup?”
Vaggie has upgraded to making all eight of Angel’s eyes twitch.
“Can I have ssssome too?” Pentious asks from his seat on the table, seemingly oblivious to the torture at play.
“Sure,” Vaggie says as she reaches over the table to hand him the bottle.
“When you’re done with that could you pass it to me? The butcher’s shop was unfortunately short on blood today so I’m lacking my condiment of choice.”
Yeah… Husk’s known Alastor long enough to know that he’s not even lying.
Somewhere during that Angel must have left, because his chair is now empty.
Well… that worked well.
The next morning isn't even planned, nor does Husk see the inciting incident itself, but rather the aftermath.
Husk is getting up at his normal time of ten, because unlike some crazy people like Charlie, Angel, and Niffty (who he doubts even sleeps) he doesn’t wake up at any insanely early time before nine.
So, part of Husk is still waking up when he leaves his door only for Angel to storm past him and lock himself in his own room.
Was Angel… crying?
Husk isn’t sure, but then he hears a scream, something break, and Italian screaming.
When Husk does go downstairs he is greeted to the sight of Niffty eating leftover spaghetti drowned in maple syrup.
Yeah… Husk is sure this is why Alastor keeps Niffty around. Because the stuff her twisted mind can come up with without trying beats anything most people can think up when trying their hardest.
Two more days pass, and Husk can tell Angel is at his last fucking straw. When the spider was leaving for work it was in the form of storming off while muttering Italian loudly under his breath. Followed by a Sir Pentious slithering from the direction Angel came from with a glass of wine in his hand full of ice.
Wow, guess that one black spider demon at the bar had a point.
When Angel does come back to the hotel from work, Charlie mentions that they’re ordering pizza, and Husk can briefly see an expression of terror cross Angel’s face, which is only relieved when Charlie confirms that she’ll order regular cheese pizza.
…and then immediately after Angel leaves Alastor comes in asking for a pizza with pineapple. Angel’s saving grace here is that Charlie is the one who orders the pizza, so a cheese pizza is ordered. And a pepperoni one. And a sausage one.
…and a Hawaiian one, which in Hell has pineapple and Hawaiians in it, Alastor’s favorite.
When the pizza arrives Angel’s waiting at the door, and grabs the pizza from the delivery imp before Charlie can even tip the fellow, slamming the door on their face. The boxes are on the table in the lounge in record time, and then they’re being forced open.
“The fuck is this?”
Well, guess he found Alastor’s pizza.
“There’s a cheese one for you Angel!” Charlie says as she reenters the front door after paying the imp that barely avoided Angel’s wrath.
Alastor’s pizza box is flung onto the couch in his search, stopping when he finally gets to the box containing his precious pizza. Then his body that must have been put through a taffy puller collapses in on itself in relief.
“Grazie a dio.” (Thank god.)
Husk almost feels bad about what he plans to do next. Almost.
“Can I have some?” Husk asks, motioning to the pizza box Angel has open in front of him, trying to be as nonchalant and uninterested as possible, which isn’t hard for someone who was once an overlord of gambling. He has a knack for bluffing.
It says something about their terrorizing of him that Angel looks hesitant, before grabbing a slice and putting it on a plate to hand to Husk. Like Angel doesn’t even want to risk Husk touching the whole pizza.
…Which is honestly a good call on the tall demon’s part because once Husk has it in his hand he grabs the bottle of ketchup he had hidden in his pocket.
He can see the second Angel notices it, because his face completely crumbles. A part of his soul has died.
“No…”
“Yes,” Husk says, and then he squirts the ketchup onto his slice while maintaining eye contact with Angel the whole time.
The five stages of grief flash across Angel’s face, before his eyes start glowing.
“Why would you do that?!”
“What?” Husk asks, “I like ketchup.”
“On your pizza?” Any facade Angel had previously had of indifference and sexiness is gone, replaced instead with anguish. His accent is getting stronger with each word, and he’s become similar to one of Cherri Bomb’s explosives, one spark and then…
“What’s it matter? It’s personal taste.” Husk says, throwing Angel’s words from a week ago back in his face.
The fuse has been lit. Husk can hear a clicking spider sound coming from Angel (which Husk will have to bring up next time Angel comments on Husk’s purring.)
“Personal?! Personal preference?! YOU KILLED THE PIZZA!”
“Angel–” Charlie starts, before being immediately cut off.
“BASTARDO! MA CHE CAZZO! MA COME TI PERMETTI?! E PENSARE CHE VOLEVO FARE SESSO CON TE! COME PUOI FARE UNA COSA DEL GENERE ALLA PIZZA?! È SACRA!” (BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU?! AND TO THINK THAT I WANTED TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU! HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO PIZZA? ITS SACRED!)
Husk is undeterred with the Italian yelling. Afterall, the way Husk learned most of the language is by listening to people yelling in Italian. And he ignores the sex comment, because this is Angel after all.
“La pizza è sacra? E il mio bar non lo è?” ( Pizza is sacred? And my bar isn’t? )
There’s shock on Angel’s face, which is replaced quickly with outrage. The pizza box is being held against his chest as he goes up to Husk who is still behind the bar.
“Il bar? tutto questo è per le tue stupide regole del bar?” ( The bar?! Is this because of your stupid bar rules?)
“Le mie regole sono stupide ma il tuo cibo non lo è, vero?” ( So my rules are stupid but your food isn’t, right? )
“È pizza! È pasta! Non puoi mettere il ketchup sulla pizza o sulla pasta! Non si fa così!” (It’s pizza! It’s pasta! You can’t put ketchup on pizza or pasta! That’s not how it’s done!)
Jesus, the kid is actually sounding like his age for once. Like someone who’s been in existence for over a hundred years. Which is honestly hilarious after Angel has made fun of Husk being old for so long.
“Così come non si può mettere il cocco in un Bloody Mary!” (Just like how putting coconut in a Bloody Mary isn’t how it’s done!)
“ E va bene, cazzo. Adesso basta però… per favore” (Fine, dammit. But now stop… please.)
“Puoi dirlo in inglese così ti capiscono anche gli altri?” ( Could you say that in English so everyone else can hear? ) Because they have an audience now, everyone else having the entered the lounge at some time during Angel’s breakdown.
“ Stronzo.” ( Asshole.)
“In inglese, Angel” ( In English Angel. )
“Fuck. Fine. ”
“What were you saying now?”
“...I said you were right. Now stop, please.”
“Maybe…if you cut down on the pranks?” Vaggie adds in, soaking up the victory that is breaking Angel Dust.
“But…”
“We could start having pasta with ketchup for dinner every night!”
“No! No! Fine. But I need to show you guys how to properly make this shit. Because what the actual fuck. You are so lucky my family aint here cause they’d put a hit out on you.”
“Uh… sorry? What’s going on?” Charlie asks, standing next to Sir Pentious and Niffty who all look confused. (Well… Pentious and Charlie look confused, Niffty just has her normal blank stare.)
“What do you mean?” Angel asks, clearly thinking everyone was in on it. And Husk hates to be the bearer of bad news but…
“They didn’t do anything on purpose.”
“What? But–”
Then the spider stops as realization hits him, and the despair that had disappeared quickly reappears.
“ Santo cielo, siete senza speranza.” (Holy shit, you guys are hopeless.)
“Yeah… sorry.” Husk adds, because now that their battle is over Husk is starting to feel a bit of sympathy for the guy. At least he and Vaggie (and Alastor?) were doing this shit on purpose.
“Please tell me you don’t…” Angel starts, trailing off as he motions to the ketchup covered slice on Husk’s plate.
“No, not unless you actually drink pickles, vodka, and soda.” Husk responds mercifully, because while he would have eaten a ketchup covered piece of pizza for the bit, he wouldn’t do it recreationally. He’s not Sir Pentious, who seems to accidentally piss off Italian people in his free time.
That seems to placate the spider a bit, “No. No, I don’t.”
Thank God, because otherwise Husk may have had to resort to extreme measures.
But, ruined pizza slice on his plate, Husk is hungry.
“I think I’m gonna eat now.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Angel adds, seeming to have forgotten what started this all to begin with, and then he goes to the couch with the pizza box still held tightly to his chest.
The other three boxes have all been opened at this point now, with Charlie and Niffty eating the pepperoni while Vaggie and Sir Pentious are eating the sausage.
And in his own chair is Alastor, who’s eating his Hawaiian-and-Pineapple pizza leisurely.
“Hey kid, do you think I could have a new slice?” He asks, because he really doesn’t want to have to resort to eating the slice he has. And most of the other pizzas are almost devoured so it’s not even an option–
“Oh, sure. I think Al has a slice or two left over.”
…okay, maybe he deserved that.
He takes a bite of the pizza slice tainted by his own choices, and Angel gives a wince next to him. Like it’s physically paining him to see Husk do that, which… fair.
He gets two bites in and is trying to tell himself it isn’t that bad when a slice of cheese pizza is added to his plate, although when he looks back over to the other demon Angel is looking in the complete opposite direction while eating his own.
…this is nice.
And the niceness is immediately ruined by a furry, black projectile smashing through the window.
“FERMO! HAI GIÀ COMMESSO TROPPI REATI CONTRO L’ITALIA!” ( STOP! YOU’VE ALREADY COMMITTED TOO MANY CRIMES AGAINST ITALY!)
Is that… crying-over-ice-in-wine-bar-guy?
“Niss?!” Angel says, launching up from his seat.
“Tony?!” The smaller spider responds.
Then… “What the fuck did you do?”