Splitting at the Seams (RadioApple)

Part 18 (2/2)

Man, Husk hated this.

He really, really, really hated this.

For one, the place stank. Like, really stank. Not even just of lust, though you had better bet there was plenty of that, but it was like the entire contents of a perfume store had been dumped in and left to seep into the walls and furniture for decades. The couch they left him to sit on after he'd inquired to see a casting director was even sticky, as if it had indeed been perfumed to death, and he kept shifting in gross discomfort, hoping and praying to god it WAS perfume and not the more likely option.

Man, it stank.

Man, he hated everyone here.

Man.

He really missed Angel.

Having been terminally irritated by the guy their first few interactions, Husk had come to realize just how lucky the hotel really was in who they'd taken off Valentino's hands, because for all his faults and admitted initial problems with noticing and respecting boundaries, Angel was at heart a nice dude. Some of the people in here, however? Husk had never even heard some of these slurs before - and he'd spent a good part of his adulthood holed up in army barracks! It made him want to stick his head between the couch cushions and yell, or better yet, fling one at their heads to shut them up.

Combined with the smells and the speaker above blasting a strange modern remix of elevator music, the overstimulatory hell was nearly enough to make him reconsider his plan to just bust in with two submachine guns and start blasting.

Just then, finally, the heart-shaped door ahead slipped open. To his surprise, out walked a cat demon like himself. She was tall and lithe, tuxedo coloured, donning a brown leather trenchcoat over a bright red lingerie set and equally garish 6-inch heels. A headset mic was level with her mouth, a clipboard in her hands. She looked up at him and arched a pierced brow.

"Are you the one? You're lucky I had a space free today, good heavens. Well, come in."

Husk inhaled slowly as he stood up, relaxing forcibly and putting a casual smirk onto his face. He could do this. For Angel's sake, he was gonna act like he'd never acted before.

...man, it really freaking stunk in here.

---

Lucifer was sooooooo sick and tired of politics.

It was less boring than his meetings with the Sins back down under had been, both for topic and sheer internal stress level of being back up in the place that featured in all of his nightmares, but less boring didn't mean more fun! He was happy for Charlie at least, his princess still giddily sat by Pentious and holding his hand beneath the table, nodding intently to everything Sera said.

It was mentally diminishing to hear Sera's lengthy, speech-style way of speaking, especially as she tended to refuse to allow anyone else space to speak their thoughts. Not that Lucifer would try. At least Adam was stuck on the other side of the table from him and told to be quiet, a small mercy.

Still, something tugged at the edge of his mental periphery. It wasn't anything like it was in Hell, he wasn't at one with the realm here as he was there, in fact it was quite the opposite, there was an inherent feeling of 'wrongness' in his body the longer he sat, like his very being rejected the surroundings. And yet, in equal measure his being picked up on 'something'. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Someone was watching them.

And that someone was definitely approaching.

It felt like his death knell was ringing as Lucifer turned slowly in his chair, glaring at the door they'd come through. The warning pulse of threat, threat, threat beat in his skull like a headache, everything in his being warning him of who was about to come through that door.