Rabbit Blood

Chapter 50 - The Nobility of Suffering

For several hours, the power was out in Pentagram City - and not because of an apoplectic TV overlord this time. In fact, both Vox and Valentino fell victim to the implosion, according to 666 News. Vox was photographed crawling from the scene as sparks flew from his busted face; and Valentino was trapped under a sea of rubble in one of the studio dungeons.

Leslie and Angel Dust watched the broadcast on her phone, in her bedroom, the moment power and wifi were restored.

"Good," Angel nodded, choking the phone. "I hope he fuckin' stays buried. Fuckin... fuckin' sick rapist, waste'a fuckin' skin." Then he sighed and let the phone rest on his knees. "He won't, though. They'll dig him up, an' he'll find some otha place ta film... an' the rest."

"Is it normal for basements to cave in like that?" Leslie wondered, sounding calmer than she felt. "During demolitions? I mean, the building kind of... went sideways."

"Uh, y'know, construction ain't really my area."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"But it is suspicious," Angel conceded, chewing his tongue. "Fuckin'... whoeva decides ta launch a territorial dispute with Val, they're askin' for trouble."

"You don't think it could be Cherri?" Leslie asked.

"Nah, her explosions don't look like that. An' I'd know, 'cause we blew up a club once before - didn't exactly deliva me from the wrath a'Pharoah, y'know?"

Seeing her friend so dejected, Leslie took his hand again; it seemed to help him a little. She wished there was something she could do for Angel. If she had any power... if the swell of anger she felt on his behalf could only manifest, she'd take Valentino and blow his atoms so far apart, they'd never reform.

And Alastor... maybe he would be next.

"Uh, Les?"

She realized she was crushing Angel's fingers and let go. "Shit, sorry! Sorry."

"I'd betta call her," Angel said of Cherri, and rotated his phone, "get her outta Val's way, jus' ta be safe. She can stay... maybe with you or Husk, someone with less connection. Then you can stay with me... or... I can stay... How's your collarbone, by the way? Feelin' a'right?"

She nodded, almost impatiently. "Tell me something happy," she said. "You and Husk... how is that going?"

Angel brightened somewhat. "Pretty good," he admitted. "Used ta be, he'd try an' rush inta physical shit, and we jus' wound up in a pity puddle, all that. Now, it's kinda..." He smiled, motioning with his fingers, "th'other way around. I think Huskie needs time ta settle, y'know? Realize I ain't goin' nowhere, an'... he can't disappoint me. Like eva. He don't know half the good things about him... way he tells stories, way he sings..."

"Husk sings?"

"Fuck yeah, he does!" Angel crossed his arms, gazing fondly at nothing. "Guy makes ya feel wisa an' more fulfilled jus' sittin' next ta him. He's lived. He's been so fuckin' much, an' he still is."

He and Leslie exchanged a look, and Leslie found herself telling a story of her own. One rainstormy evening when she was alive, she and Karl experimented with food, throwing leftover pork on a pizza to see what happened.

"Fuck me!" said Karl with his mouth full.

"You don't like it?"

"Nah babe, it's... weirdly good! Goddamn. I'd have this pizza's babies, tee-bee-aitch. You try it."

He was right. "Oh yeah. Must be the rosemary. Also, don't say tbh in real life."

"Irl?" Karl grinned. "I shouldn't say tbh irl?"