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intrigue

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Alastor

I avoid Angel for the rest of the week, ignoring his occasional (and much lesser in force) fits of anger or sadness that I hear through the thin walls. It's usually directed towards Valentino. But a week and a half after my impromptu visit that disrupted his shower, I hear something I never would have imagined him doing. 

He was walking down the hall, and he was singing. 

"There's another rush of poison flowing into my veins, givin' me a dose of pleasure that resides by the pain. 

I'm addicted, I'm dependent. 

Lookin' awesome, feeling helpless. 

And I know I'm raisin' Cain by every highway in Hell, maybe things won't be so terrible inside this hotel."

The singing stops, so I assume he's done with his little solo. I search for a good song to play in return, but something stops me. 

He belongs to someone else. 

So? I can take him easily- interpret that as you will.  

What are you doing, thinking like that?! He isn't ours, and besides, this brand of thinking is DANGEROUS! 

It isn't nineteen-thirty anymore. No one is going to kill him for being gay like they did Ben. 

Do NOT say his name. How can you? You don't even mourn him anymore. 

He was a good person, I was... not. I didn't deserve him. He's in heaven, I'm in Hell, and I quite like it here, so mind your business. 

Angel's shower starts. I find myself wondering what shampoo he uses, if he uses it for his entire body, or different kinds for his head and body...

STOP IT!

I rub my forehead. 

He's broken! Unfixable! And belongs to another OVERLORD! Give it up, Anthony. 

I flinch, the use of my old name jolting me back to reality. 

Right. Broken. Someone else's. Okay. You're right. 

I lay down to sleep, switching to full mechanical mode and powering down my central systems to ensure I don't get any dreams. 

Forget him. Go fall for someone else. 

Forget him. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I wake up later than usual. I might need a recharge soon. See, when I'm in mechanical mode, the system relies on a monthly charging. Not more than thirty minutes once every five-odd weeks, but it gets a bit dangerous should I go more than 7 weeks without re-juicing myself. I get weak, sluggish, unaware of reality. It gets hard to switch back to non-mechanical, and I get stuck in this state. My mind wanders, and though I still have my power, it's a great deal more unstable, and bigger or smaller than needed reactions are caused. When I'm quite low, it borders on dangerous should my mind wander or slip while casting something. 

I get up, changing my usual suitcoat for one with a reversed color pattern- black with red pinstripes. Admiring myself in the mirror, I wink to myself. "Looking fresh, Al," I remark jovially. My reflection tips his staff to me, bowing slightly.

My smile widens and I walk out the door, my slender fingers curling around my mic staff and vanishing it, putting it back into the pocket of space I pull it out of when needed.  

I go down to the kitchen where Angel is making something. Pancakes, I think. I see him, and the dream flashes back to mind. I color and go to leave, but he calls out, "Hey, Al! Can I getcha anything? Why don't you stay anyway- I need to talk to you."

My grin wavers. He what? 

"Sit, sit," he waves me to a stool by the island in the middle of the room. I walk over slowly and sit down, trying to arrange my limbs gracefully. 

"So what can I getcha?" he asks, in an unusually sunny mood. 

"If you could retrieve a glass of lait au chocolat- I mean chocolate milk..." I correct, reddening. He smiles, flashing a gold tooth at me. "Sure thing, sugar," he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton, pouring the rich, brown milk into a tall glass. My mouth waters. Not much human food sparks my interest anymore, but chocolate milk is among the few I will never say no to. 

He hands it to me, gloved hand brushing my fingers. I nearly drop the glass but pass it off as the glass being cold. 

What is wrong with me today???

"So what is it you need to tell me?" I ask, careful to keep my usual radio-announcer voice up. He colors, then sits down next to me, drawing shapes on the marble countertop of the kitchen island. 

"So about last week," he begins. "I didn't mean to be so sharp. I realize you were just tryin to comfort me, but I was in a pissy and irritable mood. So... I'm sorry for overreacting," he says, letting out a long breath. "Damn, why do apologies have to be so difficult?!"

Seeing him so flustered entertains me. A genuine smile replaces the huge fake one. "Quite alright," I say cordially. 

He smiles, relieved. "Good. Anything else I can do for you?" he offers, standing. I stand with him. "Not right now, my lo- friend. I have... matters to attend to. Have a jolly day!" I call out over my shoulder, heading out of the kitchen. 

And left in the kitchen is a blushing, confused spider demon, a whole lot of things left unsaid, and a glass of chocolate milk, untouched.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I head to the strip club owned by Valentino, hoping to get some information. His filming studio stands across the street, tall and proud. It's around 12 P.M., as stated by the clock in the square. The streets buzz with activity. I change my form with a snap, turning into a average-sized satyr-esque man with deer hooves and legs instead of a goat's. Sneaking in, I catch the start of the 12:15 show. 

Looking around for Valentino, I see him in a box high above everyone else, surrounded by barely-dressed demons draped all over him. The lights dim, and Valentino grins in anticipation. A young-ish girl with a large amount of blue-purple hair nestled atop her head steps out, almost shyly. But she looks up, perhaps at Valentino, and some sort of silent exchange occurs. 

She nods, and starts dancing, climbing the pole with well-practiced pulls. Looking back up at Valentino, I see him smoking a cigarette, blowing red smoke out towards the dancer. It curls around her and she seems invigorated by it. Wait. Red? I've never seen a cigarette with red smoke before... Maybe they're custom made? 

Maybe he's drugging them with whatever's in that smoke. The girl with the blue-violet hair seemed to be quite affected by it, and the demons in his box sit sprawled across him, all in various stages of oblivion. As he blows a red cloud over them, two sit up and begin to kiss. The others start caressing him again. So it's possibly some sort of libido-booster? Or just energizes? A combination of that and possibly something else to make them suggestible? 

As I watch, he whispers something in a poison-green-haired girl's ear. She shakes her head in obvious disagreement, crossing her arms and leaning away, but then he blows some more smoke onto her and slowly, she relaxes and starts kissing him, her earlier vehemence suddenly forgotten.

Disgusted, I turn away. I may have killed people, but that? That is far more evil than death. Everyone deserves freedom in that aspect. So. Stay away from his cigarettes. I make a mental note to tell Angel, but realize I can't without seeming suspicious. 

I'll just have to save it for later when he trusts me more. 

Having seen enough, I turn and walk out the doors, leaving behind a scene of poison and coercion and lust that I could do well to never see again. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•