I haven't much to say ahead of this update. Apologies ahead of time for the illustration in this blog post. There are just some things I shouldn't do ... like any of that drawing. LOL Enjoy the rest of the chapter, anyway, and treat the illustration like an eclipse--don't look directly at it.
The texts are good though. Look at those. In fact, look at them closely; I had a great deal of fun customizing them. 😈 (There's only one in this chapter but many more to come!)
Recommended Listening
Grace returned to the Hazbin Hotel, passing its residents at a full sprint and not stopping to acknowledge them although she could feel their stares tracking her from the front door all the way to the second story landing.
Nobody bothered to follow her even though she knew it had to be obvious to the non-psychopaths that she was distressed. While she was relieved for the solitude, she was hurt that none of them came to comfort her. Alastor not following her? No surprise there. But Charlie? Nothing but surprise. Oops! All surprise!
She slammed her bedroom door shut behind herself and stripped off her clothes as she hurried into the shower, leaving a trail of garments from the door to the bathroom.
Despite being one of the hotter days in Hell, there was no water scalding enough to wash away her shame and disgust.
The visit to Vee Tower couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours but it felt longer than her life and afterlife, combined. It was easily among the worst experiences she’d ever had. And in the end, adding Velvette’s string of abhorrent insults about Grace’s appearance to Angelic Steel injury, she had failed.
Grace Bedgood didn’t fail.
At least, she hadn’t in life. Hell, apparently, was another hateful story altogether.
She slumped to the tiled floor of her shower, the blistering water pelting her atop her head. There would be no recovering from this. Grace had no idea where she could go from here.
She curled up and sobbed.
Once she’d exhausted her tears, Grace turned off the shower and stepped out; the mirror across from the shower had completely fogged over. It didn’t really matter; Grace didn’t need to see her reflection to know what a mess she was. She wrapped herself in a plush towel and grabbed her hairbrush from the top drawer of the vanity before stepping out of the bathroom.
The imposing shadow waiting for her in the corner of her bedroom prompted her to yelp and lose her grip on the brush. Her gaze darted to the bedroom door. It was closed and locked, just as she’d left it.
“What in the goddamned, deep, double-fried fuck, old man?” Grace cried, white-knuckling the towel closed over her cleavage. “Did you die before the advent of knocking?”
He smiled.
Of course he smiled.
He only ever smiled.
Nothing affected him.
Must be nice. Asshole!
“You seemed upset,” Alastor replied simply, “so I thought I'd check in on you.”
Grace scowled, knotting the towel at her breasts before stooping to pick the hairbrush up off the carpet.
“How was your visit to Vee Tower, Little Fawn?”
“Okay, you know what?” She straightened, brandishing her hairbrush as if it were a weapon. “First off, fuck you!”
Alastor’s ears went back, flattening down against his head.
“I told you, don’t call me that!” Grace yelled. Maybe if someone downstairs heard, they’d come to her rescue. “Secondly: you were concerned I was upset or your great-depression-era-ass wanted intel and couldn't wait five goddamn minutes?”
He stared at her in smiling, airplane-eared silence.
Grace considered her options, toying with the idea of dropping her towel just to see what would happen. Arouse him, distract him, scare him off? All of those would be better than the present situation.
He asked, “What happened?”
“What have I ever done to you to deserve this?” Tears fell again; how she had any moisture left in her body after how much she’d already cried that day, she would never know. How could he watch her weep and maintain that smile as if he enjoyed her pain? “How could you ask me to go there? To associate with any of them? Valentino is revolting, Velvette is the world's biggest bitch, and the less said about Vox, the better!”
Alastor leaned forward, his ears flipping upright. Practically salivating, he pressed, “Say more about Vox.”
Grace plopped on her bed, taking the brush to her hair. Clearly the ghoul had no intent of leaving until he got his update. “He made me prove my loyalty to the Vees,” she whispered, watching the cornflower blue strands as they snaked through the brush bristles. “Do you know how much Angelic Steel stings?”
When Alastor remained speechless, she cast a glance his way. He stared, his ears flat against his head again.
She lifted her left arm, revealing the freshly scabbed line that ran from the inside of her elbow down to her wrist.
Alastor’s eyebrows shot up. “Vox has Angelic Steel?”
“Yes, Alastor! That's the important thing here!”
His eyes narrowed, ears remaining against his head. Though he was smiling, he looked infuriated. “Does anybody else know about your little talent?”
“What little talent?” Grace snapped. “For being Hell’s biggest dipshit? Having a knack for embarrassing myself? Oh, yes, I can assure you everyone here is quite familiar with those!”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he growled through a clenched-toothed smile. “Has anyone else seen you heal another sinner’s Angelic Steel wound?”
“No.”
“Didn’t I tell you to stop lying to me, Grace?”
She smacked the back of the brush down against the top of her thigh hard enough to smart and leave a mark. “Well, then, I guess we’re even on disrespecting each other now, aren’t we, you pompous piece of shit?”
In a heartbeat, Alastor changed. His red sclera went black and the cute little black crescent horns atop his head grew into a spectacularly wide rack of antlers. He surged toward her with a warning: “Keep provoking me, my dear, and see what that gets you.”
“Vox,” Grace blurted, shrinking in her spot as she stared, wide-eyed, up at Alastor. “He was watching when I helped the other sinner that got mugged when I did. Him and that sinner, they’re the only ones who’ve seen what I can do.”
Judging by his expression, Grace had a feeling Alastor was going to make it his personal mission to remove one if not both of those witnesses. And when it came to Vox, that was fine by her.
“What happened to you yesterday?” Angel Dust asked, settling beside Grace on one of the plush couches in the common area of the hotel.
Alastor had been furious knowing others knew of her so-called talent. Maybe he thought he’d hid the anger behind his smile but his eyes had given him away.
She figured it would be prudent to keep her visit to Vee Tower largely under wraps for similar reasons. But knowing Angel, he wouldn’t let this slide without a good answer, so Grace chose her reply carefully.
“First time I’ve gone out by myself in weeks and … I had a run-in with the Vees.”
Angel Dust opened his mouth to comment but Grace cut him off: “I’m so sorry you’re owned by Valentino. Holy fucking shit, that’s awful. He’s a monster!”
Truth be told, Grace liked Vox less.
Alastor strolled by the common area just then—he would likely be keeping an extra close eye on Grace in the aftermath of his ill-conceived plot to send her to Vee Tower. She held her tongue while watching him pass.
“Oh, no, no!” Angel Dust gasped. “Don’t even think about it, Gracie!”
Grace blinked, forcing herself to address Angel. “Excuse me?”
Angel hissed, “I saw the way you looked at him.”
“I was literally just watching him walk by!” she yelped. “I didn’t look at him any sort of way!”
“And I’m sure you think your cute little voice wasn’t cuter, higher, and squeakier than usual when you said that.”
She dropped her voice to the lowest register she could muster and spoke through clenched teeth, “My voice is totally normal. I’m totally normal. Everything is normal!” Except those last three words had much too much ardor to be ‘normal.’
“Grace …” Angel Dust settled one of his right hands on Grace’s knee, his voice softening. “The Radio Demon … he’s sadistic. He’s a monster no better than Valentino.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking is going on with me, but it’s totally off-base—”
“Listen: You deserve nothing but wonderful things,” said Angel, undeterred, “and he will bring you nothing but misery.”
The fuck does he think he’s seeing here? Why does he think I’m any sort of way that I’m not? I literally just watched Alastor pass the same exact way I’d watch Vaggie or Niffty.
Grace covered Angel’s hand with her own, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s sweet that you’re looking out for me. But I swear on my own damn grave that I’m not thinking of anything with Al.” She caught herself using his nickname and blurted, “—astor.”
Angel cocked his eyebrow.
Grace forced a smile, which probably did nothing but reinforce Angel’s absurd ideas.
“There’s no happy ending there,” he said, as if she didn’t already know.
“Fine by me,” Grace mustered, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “There’s no happy ending here, either.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
An image downloaded and opened on Grace’s phone.
Angel Dust watched Grace’s expression as the image opened. “What’s the matter?”
“Your boss just sent me a dick pic.”
“So … What do you think of it?”
“I think … I wish I hadn’t gotten it.” She choked on her own bile. “No. Thanks.”
That night, long after everyone else went to sleep, Grace visited the hotel bar to purloin one of the bottles on the back wall, hoping for something that could fry enough braincells to make her forget pretty much everything from the last twenty-four hours. Especially that moth’s dick picture.
To her chagrin, it looked like Husk was attempting the same feat.
“Can’t sleep?” he said by way of greeting.
Grace shook her head, plopping down onto one of the barstools. “Gimme something that’ll make me forget.”
Husk’s gaze swept her slowly and he mumbled something under his breath but retrieved a bottle from beneath the bar, regardless of his disapproving look.
Grace opened and shut her mouth numerous times; there was something that had been on her mind a while now but she couldn’t decide the best way to broach the topic.
He set her drink down in front of her with a rather impatient, “What.”
Her gaze flickered up to his. “Mmm?”
“I can tell you want to say something. Spit it out already.”
Be cool be chill be casual you’re just asking a perfectly reasonable question. There’s nothing to read into and even if he does decide to read into it, that’s on him. Same as Angel Dust and his absolute insanity earlier today.
At long last, Grace asked, “What’s up with all of Alastor’s pet names?”
Husk raised an eyebrow in question, his wings twitching.
Dammit! She knew that look. It was the same stupid look Angel Dust gave her just because she watched Alastor walk by.
Nonetheless, she augmented in his silence, “‘Darling, my dear, sweetheart.’” Little Fawn, thankfully, caught in her throat. She thought if she actually said the words, she’d puke all over them.
“Ohhh.” Husk chuckled. “Don’t get offended—that’s because Al’s old. He’s from a different time when that sort of shit was acceptable. Just ignore it.”
Somehow, that succeeded in making her feel better and worse simultaneously. None of that means anything special, then. Good? Good. Except it kind of didn’t feel good to think it meant nothing special. “When was that shit ever acceptable?”
Husk shrugged. “Well, he died in the early nineteen thirties …”
He’s been in Hell over ninety years. Holy shit.
“What’s with all the sudden interest?”
Oh come on! Grace groaned inwardly. Et tu, Huske? “I’m just trying to arm myself against him. Look: I heard you and Angel talking one day … saying that he lured me here. Don’t you want to help give me a fighting chance against him?”
Husk clucked his tongue and shook his head. “What the Radio Demon wants, he’s gonna take.”
Grace slumped over the bar. “So you’re saying I’m screwed. There’s no point in even trying to fight?” … whatever this is?
He leaned on the bar, folding his arms in front of himself. “Let me just put it this way: nobody has risen to power as fast as Alastor did when he spawned in Hell … I’ve heard stories of the things he did when he was still new here, killing Hell’s greatest evils. About a decade and a half after he showed up, another sinner appeared—the closest thing Earth ever had to a demonic Overlord—and that monster clearly had the same aspirations in Hell.
“Not too long after his arrival, Alastor’s radio broadcast had a new scream with a distinctly German accent.”
Grace gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “You’re not saying Alastor did what I think you’re saying!”
“With the Radio Demon, it’s always been hard to tell fact from myth. But after that day …” Husk turned away with a smirk and small shrug. “… there has been no trace of der Führer.”
She took a pull from the drink Husk had made her.
So … maybe, then … Alastor isn’t all bad.
Stay sane, deer friends!
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