Chapter Text
The old, rugged appearance of the hotel is far gone by this point. Where once there were weak walls, unmatched banners, insects all over the floor and dodgy lighting. Now, post-Angel invasion, the hotel is reborn: palace-like staircases, fresh marble walls, extravagant neon signs all across the exterior, hellishly beautiful banners and newly imported paintings from Heaven.
It’s not like it’s been easy work for the hotelgoers; reconstruction past the building itself had taken nearly a whole week of constant work. Luckily enough, Husk and Nifty are stronger than they look, able to carry through large paintings and furniture with little effort. Alastor, though, has been less than helpful the past few weeks. After the battle, he’s mostly stayed in the ruins of his old radio tower for the whole day, only usually coming out when summoned or forced. In fact, most of the Hazbin regulars haven’t even seen him eat since the invasion.
Every day Charlie wonders about him. Is he depressed? Is he just sentimental? Could he even be planning something? Why would he be planning something though? After all, he’s changed since the first time Charlie made a deal with him; he has consistently defended Charlie’s hotel and ideas from attacks from all angles. It seems strange to be so judgemental and suspicious for no reason other than his past, but then again, it’s not like their first meeting set Charlie up with high expectations…
— —
Draped in a long flowing red cloak, a white-skinned, red-cheeked woman made her way along the cramped streets of hell. Above her, the nonexistent sky somehow poured with blood rain, battering against the skins of both her cloak and the demons scrambling beside her. It was so bad that even the normal gangsters and puppy-mask-wearing demons had retreated back indoors, probably keeping to their clubs and motels.
She ducked inside of a tight, narrow alleyway, the close-in sounds of a probable murder hitting her ears from but a building aside. Her thick red hoof-like boots clacked against the hellish pavement as she neared a small vent-like door dug into the ground. Upon crouching down beside it, the demon traced her hand across the red dust-ridden surface of the door, spotting the same symbol on it as the pendant in her pocket had.
The demon reached into her pocket and took out the pendant, at first mumbling nervously to herself, before she steadied herself with a few breaths and stopped; finally, she began to speak. “Tempus spectaculi, spectaculi semper crescentis. Tempus spectaculi, spectaculi semper crescentis; Spectaculum nunc incipit!”
Suddenly both the pendant and the door began to glow bright red; distant sounds of radios crackling crept ever closer. The pendant soon dissipated into a faint red dust as the door itself began to split open with red energy. The radio crackling quickly grew louder and louder; the demon covered her ears to attempt to block out the noise, but it was already too late; the noise was in her head. Eventually the door finally finished dissipating, and everything went silent and still, even the blood rain itself parting around the entrance as if guided by an unknown source.
The woman looked nervous, if not straight-up terrified. Her cloak physically ripped itself from around her body as she edged closer to the entrance to the demon's hideout, the only clothes left being a casual but smart-looking red jacket and straight skinny white jeans. The blonde-haired woman hesitantly began to climb down a ladder into the hideout, her boots creating a cycling echo of loud footsteps as the wooden ladder strained underneath their force.
The descent seemed to last forever. Every footstep not feeling as if it was taking her further downwards but rather just trapping her in an endless, repetitive cycle. Though determined, she continued, step after step after step. Each one yet again not leading to a single development in her quest, beginning to make her question if she was indeed in the right place or if she’d been tricked.
However, soon enough her head hit something; on what had to be cycle number 69 of scaling down the ladder endlessly, she appeared to’ve accidentally knocked into some box. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be some kind of square box TV, its antennae crossed in the middle to create an X. Cursing under her mumbled breaths, the woman hung off of the ladder with only one hand keeping her steady whilst she leaned closer to the box. She took one final, winced breath before ramming her fist through the TV screen, whimpering slightly as the glass shards dug into her skin whilst she forced herself to dig further in. Finally she found the end of the small tunnel, her hand pressing firmly against a big plastic button and causing a mechanical whirring sound beneath her.
“Eek!” The woman squeaked as the metal ladder suddenly began to fold in, flying downwards.
The wind blew her thin black hairbands off, causing her blonde hair to fly everywhere; her clothes became slightly inflated with air as she rushed downwards. For once she didn’t feel like she was repeating; instead, finally actually flying downwards, the metal area around her disappeared faster than her eyes could process. Before long the ladder stopped descending, the woman’s boots clanking against the now wooden floor with a loud, echoey thud as she faced down what looked to be quite the extravagant hideout.
The walls were near entirely constructed with old-timey radios, and the floors were made up of an old, dusty wood texture you’d expect from a noir film. The centre of the room featured card dealing tables seemingly just for one guy, a few microphones on makeshift stands and framed pictures of many demons with X’s drawn through them. The woman gulped a bit as she took it in; her hands attempted to re-straighten her hair underneath the blue lights above her.
The moment she was close to even somewhat getting her hair normal again, she felt a certain chill behind her, an unexplainable sort of feeling, the sort of feeling that would only happen when something dark was about to happen, though. The woman turned around 360 degrees trying to find the source of the feeling; however, her eyes could see very little that she hadn’t before.
Creak!
A single rubber duck was pushed off of a shelf by an invisible force, the woman immediately turning to try to see the source of the disturbance, but like before, she saw nothing. The ground rumbled a little, making her almost trip over and take cover beneath a chair; the rubber duck stared out from its knocked-over position as if whimpering in suffering. The woman crawled towards the duck and went to touch it but felt a sharp prick in her hand, immediately retracting her hand and observing the cursed item. It had a fucking spike in it, an abnormally large pin stabbed right through its arse straight out of its heart.
“Enjoying the scenery, my dear old chum?” A loud voice sounded out from behind her, the woman so surprised that she banged her head on the chair she’d been hiding under and flopped onto the floor.
The woman rubbed her head and turned around to look up at the figure; they were dressed in a long flowing pinstripe shirt with white accents with a pinkish-red bob featuring black tips at its ends, a row of sharp dagger-like yellow teeth inside of their mouth, if you could call it that, red eyes that shine amongst their beige-coloured skin and finally long black dress pants across their stick-like legs.
Black river-like energy crept around the woman and forced her to her feet, the black tentacles straightening her hair and clothes whilst creating headbands out of nowhere to return her to her normal form. Before long the room is entirely cleaned up, the chair put back into its place, and the duck placed back onto its shelf. The demon looking down at her from above had a permanent grin on their face, their eyes sparkling with a charismatic glee at the woman’s appearance, just inviting her in for some purpose.
“You certainly took quite a fall, my gal.” The demon patted the woman on the back, their microphone swinging from left to right as they practically danced into the centre of the room. “Welcome to my humble abode; it’s not quite ready for show, but I assure you, you have the official backstage pass.” The microphone glowed a slight emerald red as two chairs suddenly flowed forwards, one scooping up the woman and forcing her to sit down opposite the other demon.
“Well, uh, yea, you know, a bit of a puzzle to get here and all that.” The woman chuckled nervously, trying to be conversational.
“Oh, certainly.” The other demon agreed, snapping his fingers, causing a teapot and two teacups to suddenly materialise out of thin air and begin pouring. One cup floated over to the woman and the other to the demon in front of her. “So what brings a Morningstar here, hm?” The other demon's eyes glinted with a determined look, his eyes inviting and almost greedy.
Charlie chuckled nervously again, already regretting her decision but forcing a smile regardless. “Well, I have a little idea; I guess you could call it a…startup.” Charlie blurted out attempting to sound professional but ended up just sounding as awkward as ever.
The other demon almost scowled for a few seconds before quickly refocusing his mind, his eyes glinting with forced interest at the woman’s idea. “Oh, please do go on.” The demon cackled a little, his voice singed with fierce sarcasm buried under Himalayas of charismatic bravado.
Charlie ignored the demon's obvious sarcasm and dismissal; she was used to it at this point. “Well, I have this great idea; it’s really good, and, well, you know, I kinda want to, like, start a hotel…” Charlie immediately began fumbling over her words.
The other demon just sighed and rolled his eyes a little before chuckling, trying everything to keep his composure. “Oh come now, don’t be so queer, just…” The demon suddenly got uncomfortably close, his ears turning into devil horns and his teeth sharpening like pickaxes. “Tell..Me……” His whole body suddenly turned green like a lightning bolt just hit him, his eyes hungry, greedy, wanting to hear the words he’d been waiting this whole time for.
Charlie gulped, sure she knew this guy couldn’t actually hurt her, but still he was so... persuasive. “A hotel – a happy hotel!” Charlie blurted out, trying to just be normal and failing epically.
“Yes, yes, go on. What kind of hotel?” The demon took a temporary break from staring into Charlie’s eyes to take another sip of his tea, Charlie just leaning back in her chair like a deer in headlights.
Charlie gulped and tried to recollect herself. She’d come here for business; she came here knowing what she was getting into. She needed to get the happy hotel running, and this demon was her only chance; everyone else was either too small or just didn’t care. She could do this; she just had to be cool, calm and collected. She could win this guy over; she just had to try.
“Well, it’s a redemption hotel, a happy one, to rehabilitate sinners and bring them to heaven!” Charlie succinctly states, watching as the demon just looked over at her and grinned at her.
“How...fascinating.” The demon chuckled, getting up to his feet. “You certainly have ambition; I like that.” The demon chuckled more, circling around her like a wolf bearing down on its prey.
“Yes.” Charlie squeaked, her voice attempting to maintain its steadiness. “It’s going to be great; we’re going to stop the killings and solve the overpopulation problem, and everything’s gonna be great!” Charlie began working herself up, making the demon surrounding her look very pleased.
The demon leaned forward and grinned an almost sharklike grin, his eyes inviting and almost hypnotic in nature. “I love that idea; I think it’s fantastic! You sound like a very intelligent little princess, one worthy of a great deal.” The demon hummed, their every breath trickling through Charlie’s ears and dissipating through her skull.
“No, no. No deals.” Charlie immediately backs away, knowing what the radio demon was capable of.
“Oh, come on, Charles, Charlie, Miss Princess of Hell. You want your dreams to come true, don’t you? Imagine all the spirits we could send to heaven together. You need me, Miss Morningstar; you know you do.” The radio demon advanced further and further forward, soon enough cornering Charlie in a corner.
Charlie gulped; she knew that this was what the radio demon did, what he wanted. But simultaneously she couldn’t help but begin rationalising it; he could give her everything she needed; he was very powerful. His eyes gleamed with a practised and hungry look, his microphone practically twitching with anticipation. He had Charlie exactly where he wanted her.
“No deals.” Charlie attempted to be firm. “Just a mutually beneficial trade deal…” She tried to change the wording a bit, hoping she’d get anywhere, but the radio demon just chuckled a bit, suddenly sinking into the ground and reappearing in his chair.
“Of course, of course, just a trade deal. No need to own one's soul.” The demon chuckled. “Sure, why not, princess of hell? It’ll be fun, I’m sure you... We’ll succeed.” The demon leaned back on his chair, attempting to look casual.
“Nice that you could see it my way.” Charlie walked back over, chest heaving from the excitement rising in her chest second by second, ready to burst into song. “So what’s your name anyway?” Charlie feigned casual calmness.
The radio demon chuckled, teeth bared in a charming sort of way. “Alastor. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Alastor answered simply, cackling a little.
— —
The room around Charlie is fairly comfortable, her body sinking against her fluffy sheets and airy mattress. Her bed has an army of pillows behind her; some are heart-shaped, some are shaped like cute dragons and others are huge painting-like squares. The walls are all a fancy red with curtains everywhere and almost cushion-like corners; the floor is also red but uncarpeted, instead being made of just woolly fabrics.
Charlie’s pets, Razzle and Dazzle as well as KeeKee, are settled down in the left corner of the room, bundled up in probably more blankets than any pet really needs. Charlie chuckles a little looking over at them; even if she is tired, her pets always find a way of re-energising her. She watches as KeeKee stretches out her paws onto Dazzle's back, Dazzle squeaking a little and kicking KeeKee away, causing KeeKee to lie on her back and form an almost zigzag pattern on the little bed the pets are lying in.
It’s been a hard day, as it always is, not just keeping the hotel clean but also finishing off building up the last bathrooms. Nifty almost got flushed down a toilet, having to have Husk reach in and drag her out. Angel tried to steal the pharmaceutical cupboard's supply of paracetamol because he’s craving drugs again, and they all had to finish Sir Pentious’s obituary and makeshift gravesite in a remake of his own room. Oh, Lucifer, did Charlie cry? She cried so much they ran out of tissues, and Vaggie had to fly a whole town over just to get enough bags of them to stem the flow.
Before Charlie could start crying over the memory of Sir Pentious's death at the battle with the angels just two weeks ago, the bedroom door opened. The grand 11ft tall wooden doors with Charlie’s old shield at their centre pushed open, the pusher being soon revealed as Charlie’s girlfriend, Vaggie. She’s dressed in her usual bedroom attire, a grey crop top and poofy black shorts, and like always, has put her silver hair up into a bun.
“Hey, Babe.” She says in her typical dry and raspy-sounding voice, walking into the room and flopping face-first onto the bed whilst the cavernous doors slam behind them.
“Hi, honey!” Charlie giggled loudly and near screeches, grabbing ahold of Vaggie and pulling her closer into a big hug.
Vaggie chuckles tiredly and just hugs Charlie back, Charlie squeezing Vaggie double whatever Vaggie gives to her. Soon enough Charlie drags Vaggie underneath the sheets, and they begin cuddling, Vaggie just groaning with tiredness the moment her head hits the pillows. Charlie willingly lets her go and just lies behind her, now feeling very happy with her girlfriend around.
“Soooooooooooooo… You seem more tired than usual; what kept ya so long?” Charlie brushes her hand through Vaggie's hair, her voice predictably both excitable and quiet at the same time.
“Ugh, Angel tried to eat half the medicine cabinet again. Dude seriously needs to get a grip.” Vaggie groans, her red eye clenching in both frustration and tiredness.
“Again? The last attempt was only, what, two hours ago?” Charlie wondered aloud, sighing with Vaggie in near unison.
“What’s even his deal? Like, I get he’s having withdrawals and whatever, but, like, paracetamol? Seriously? I could get higher off glue.” Vaggie complains before grabbing one of the nearby pillows and tossing it at a wall, the pillow dropping to the floor slowly in a folding-esque way.
Charlie sighs and pulls Vaggie closer, tired herself and just wanting to sleep. “We’ll worry about him tomorrow. Now, let’s sleep.” Charlie closes her eyes and curls up around the pillows, Vaggie quickly following suit, having the two soon end up forming a sort of crescent shape between the two. Charlie’s body sinks into her mattress as she eases into a happy sleep, Vaggie’s wings slowly unfurling as her and Charlie’s hands begin to interlock, and before long Vaggie’s wings curl around the two, enshrining them in a protective and intimate embrace between the two.
Angel Dust paces up and down, his stomach clenching and tensing up whilst his mind races faster than a cheetah on speed. His eyes twitch wildly, and his fingers, yes, even the ones on the third pair, dance over his skin hyperactively. For a few seconds he tries to just sit down on a chair, but he can’t; the moment his arse hits the seat, he immediately stands back up and begins pacing. His stomach lets out an almighty roar as Angel just crumples onto the floor, slamming one of his right fists onto the floor in misery.
His two thin straight legs curl up to his fluffed-out chest, the thigh-high boots rubbing against his waist fur uncomfortably, his short grey miniskirt failing to stop the chafing at all. His usually smart-looking pink blazer with white stripes is now ragged and pulled looking, his pink irised eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Just a few feet away lie the choker and pink gloves he’d usually wear, discarded more than half an hour ago due to his misery.
“God, I can’t fucking take this shit anymore!” Angel weeps and slams a fist onto the floor again, his cries loud enough to keep the whole bottom floor awake simultaneously.
Angel's hands begin instinctively scratching up and down his body, his nose intentionally sniffing, hoping that the beautiful white powder will just magically appear if he focuses far enough. Attempting to stop himself from giving himself a skin infection, he starts pacing again. All he can think about is all the lines he could’ve done by now if he were in a club and how many shots he could take if he were to let himself go for even one second. His black pupil eye squints and his light pupil dilates, his mind racing faster and faster by the second.
Before long, a stamping of tired and angry footsteps grabs Angel’s attention, temporarily distracting him from self-detonation. Before his eyes a familiar face entered the room from the hallways; the figure has dark taupe fur across the body with white fur on their face and cuff-like darker brown fur on their legs. They have two paw-like clawed hands and pure white feet, their legs covered by black trousers that end in suspenders surrounding their shoulders and stretching across their chests. The top hat on their head tilts forwards unbalanced, their eyes having dark circles around them for the third time this week being kept up by Angel’s breakdowns.
“Seriously, Angel, give it a rest!” The figure groans, stomping closer and grabbing hold of Angel's hands before they can do any more damage to himself or the figure's head.
Angel just squirms and sobs a little, his stomach growling again, his fingers trying to claw away at his fur. Angel’s legs kick out and his eyes bounce around like crazy, eventually leading to the figure just dropping him as he tries to scramble away. Angel just hugs onto a pillow from one of the seats, sobbing a little, having quite the hard time.
“It hurts so bad; my brain is so fast, and I’m so twitchy and I-“
“Seriously, Angel, shut your yapper a second.” The figure's voice is dry and growly, their tone somehow both annoyed and deadpan at the same time.
“But Husk—“
Husk groans, facepalming and slowly drooping down to Angel’s level. “Ya just having withdrawals, kid, that’s it. Comes with the territory.”
Angel just huffs and bites a chunk off of the pillow he’s holding, proceeding to then throw it straight at Husk’s patient face. “Everyone keeps tell’n me that!” The fluff from the thrown pillow erupts like Angel’s short burst of energy and anger, spreading out all over the floor. “I…I mean I’m sorry, guy.” Angel hangs his head in shame a little, changing mood from mood yet again.
Husk just facepalms again, sure he’s glad his friend is actually trying for once, but clearly the effort of doing so is killing him or, at the very least, leaving both of them with a massive headache. Deciding to take executive action, Husk just quickly digs into his pockets to find a pack of cigarettes and tosses one to Angel. “Smoke, now.” Husk’s voice leaves no room for argument or questioning.
Angel hesitates; he stares down at the cigarette like what it is, a vice. He considers tossing it away, crushing it, or even maybe just throwing it back at Husk. But he can’t; he sits there paralysed with fear. What if he smokes this and fails redemption? What if Charlie gets angry and disappointed? He just couldn’t; whether it was training or instinct, he just couldn’t smoke it.
“I can’t, Huskers. I just... can’t.” However, Angel's eyes don’t avert for a single second, both his yellow and black eyes staring at it with hunger, almost lust.
Husk just shrugs, lighting one for himself and stowing the pack back away. He stares off into a corner of the room and just puffs; again and again he puffs. Angel's eyes become drawn to the hauntingly sweet aromas of the grey smoke, his eyes watching it plume in and out and flow in waves. Angel looks down at his own cigarette again and just whines a little, his stomach clenching a bit from the withdrawals again.
“I... Isn’t there any other way of..deal’n with it?” Angel croaks desperately, getting onto his knees again as his arms tremble.
Angel just shakes his head and roars, his voice tearing painfully as he throws the cigarette away. His vocal cords feel as if they rip from his soul actively, their invisible guts spreading all over the floor. His sobs and tears hit the floor like rainwater, while Husk from the chair just groaned before taking another drag from his cigarette. He slowly gets up from his chair and slinks over to where Angel’s sitting, placing a hand on his shoulder and trying to force a tired smile.
“How about we try a distraction, ey, ol’ bud?” Husk forces a chuckle out of himself.
“What kinda distraction? A bit o’ anal, maybe jockey play or. Ooh OOH, I know this one, uhhhhhh, puppy play? I think I have a mask that’s just your size a-“
Husk just groans, slapping Angel around the face to shut him up before grumpily walking off. He gestures a little with a quick wave of his hand, making sure Angel is following before heading into a hallway. “I meant a less energy-intensive distraction. I dunno, you mentioned food at some point. Ya like food? I dunno. How about you just cook yaself someth'n real nice, and I’ll watch to make sure ya don’t kill yourself?”
Angel looks at him as if he just suggested something stupid and impossible, his eyes squinting a little. Husk just shrugs, looking at Angel as if he were being impossibly difficult, and just scoffs. Angel groans and looks around for anything to change the topic before just sighing. He looks inwards a little and actually thinks for a second. For just a second his mind clears enough for him to actually think this through; he hasn’t ever cooked anything for ages. He hasn’t done anything but club and have sex for years?
“I mean, like... I dunno.” Angel sighs, still walking alongside Husk to the kitchens.
“Not like you to be indecisive.” Husk states matter-of-factly. “Makes me think you do, really, wanna do it.” Husk adds onto the end, knowing the word real has a certain effect on Angel ever since they first became friends on that street corner that day.
Angel sighs, looking over at Husk almost scornfully for a few seconds before turning away, knowing the guy is right. “Fine... Maybe I would enjoy it.” Angel grumbles, already feeling better even just by thinking about anything other than drugs or alcohol.
Soon enough the two enter the kitchens, sneaking in a little so as not to wake anyone else up. Husk immediately heads over to the cooler, picking up a beer bottle, before uncapping it on a side's edge and immediately beginning to down it while leaning on a unit. Angel, though tentatively, approaches the fridge, the tall black and white striped object humming an almost intimidating sound.
The flooring is all a fairly standard red and blue chequered pattern, whilst red wood and grey tiled units stretch in rows like a maze, appliances line areas loosely and sinks can be found pretty much at the end of every row of units. The cooler is a sort of black and red box with claw-like stripes beaming out from its side, casting a faint glow over the rest of the room. Meanwhile, the oven is a red box with black dinosaur patterns, ones that look way too cartoony not to be Charlie’s idea, with eight stoves instead of just four, making it obvious that it’s built to serve wayyyy more demons than the hotel has at the moment.
Angel sighs and tries to think, can he even remember how to cook? It’s been so long. What even... Is it his favourite food? Uhhh, pizza. Satan only knows how much of that he’s eaten post-work, especially from that one place that does really good Italian junk food next to the BDSM club. No, no, that’s not it. Was it Cake? No, he only eats that off sorry asses at work; it has to be something. He has to like something; he just has to, think…
…
…
That’s it, Lasagna! He always used to love lasagna; before he arrived, he’d eat it like... Twice a week!
Angel quickly begins to dig through the fridge, finding everything from salads to salads to salads to salads to salads to... More salads…Fuck. No wonder why no one ever ate from the hotel kitchens; clearly Charlie had her hands all over it. Sighing a little, Angel just starts digging through all the other cupboards for something, finding health bars, protein shakes, fruit, and basically every power snack physically possible until finally…
“Got one!” Angel roars in victory as he rips out a single tiny plastic container of frozen lasagna. The use-by date may be a year out of date, but they're in hell; there’s no way he’s gonna die from out-of-date lasagna.
Husk, onto beer bottle number two already, looks over and tilts his head, eyeing the tiny package with disdain. “Angel... Do we need to have a talk about treating yourself well again?”
Angel just scoffs and crosses his arms, his eyes looking less than ecstatic himself. “It’s not my fault Charlie’s a fuckin health nut.” Angel scoffs, pointing and gesturing all across the cupboards and fridge. “Like, seriously, the only thing in there are fucking salads!”
Husk chuckles a little, chugging about half a bottle of beer in just a few seconds before wiping his mouth clean. “Sounds like ya need to get a lil creative there.” Husk chuckles a little, reaching behind him only to make a grab for bottle number three of beer.
Angel just groans again and peels off the plastic film over the little lasagna meal for one. For a second he considers putting it in the oven for the aesthetic but ultimately just puts it in the dark blue glowing microwave and sighs. He looks around, trying to keep his mind occupied, his hands starting to twitch again already. Suddenly, even before the microwave beeps, he spies it. Right in the corner of the room, hidden behind some blankets, was a hidden box.
Angel rushes over to the box and digs it out, quickly opening it up. It’s filled with bars of chocolate, sweets, treats and all sorts of snacks perfect for diet skipping or desperate times like these. “He he alright!” Angel chuckles, quickly dragging the box forwards just in time for the microwave to go off and start beeping.
Husk only sort of side-eyes him from his chair, already nearly falling off of the poor wooden contraption as he chugs the sixth bottle in thirty minutes. Angel eagerly digs into the microwave to receive his Italian surprise, the first one he’s been excited about for ages. Before long he doesn’t even bother with a fork, just digging into the container and digging lasagna out with his fingers, imagining the container suddenly shifting into the shape of a hairy arsehole, making him only lust further.
Before long he’s already started on the box of snacks, completely forgetting himself. It’s like drugs but less painful and leading to only half the orgasms! In mere minutes Angel’s mind is completely purged of drugs and alcohol and consumed only by the lust of consumption. Before long he doesn’t even feel taste; he doesn’t even consciously shovel the food in; he just goes entirely on a lustful rampage through the snack box.
Husk’s already drunk himself to sleep; parts of Angel feel sick, but others don’t. Bar by bar and sweet by sweet, he further indulges, his mind purged of all thoughts and his taste buds completely numbed into nonexistence. He feels so good. He feels so fulfilled. He can’t stop himself; why sniff when he could distract himself with food? All of it’s so good; sure, he can’t taste it, but he can imagine it. At least until:
Until…
Until…
“Ughhhhhh.” Angel dust finally falls over to sleep. His mind drifting into a deep food coma as his head lurches forward, his head pile-driving right into the centre of the box as he sleeps. Finally not shaking, nor having a headache. But he's sure to probably have a stomach ache when he wakes up, that’s for sure. But hey, at least he can have non-drug-fuelled dreams for once, if he dreams at all.