SpiderMoth Lives!

Critic

Angel, Alastor, Charlie and Nifty peered out of a secret window.

    "Damn," Angel mumbled. "That indeed," Alastor said right after. Charlie began to nibble on her nails --bad habit of hers-- and Nifty fiddled with her dress. "This won't be good. What should we do?" She asks. Right then, however, Charlie grips Nifty's arm and shakes. "What can we do?" She wailed. "That's Ol' Metal-Belly!" Charlie pulled the poor little bug close and hissed, "The Ol' Metal-Belly!" Releasing Nifty, Charlie begins to tug back and forth on her collar to fan herself. "We're not gonna make it." She cries. Angel rolls his eyes and scoffs at her antics, waving a dismissive hand her way. "Oh, calm your tits, bitch, we'll be fine." He gave the small crowd a suave grin, adding, "So long as I'm on the wheel, shit will be smooth!" Charlie didn't seem so convinced. "I... I don't know, Chef Angel..." She mumbles, "Maybe Chef Alastor --Al, could you maybe whip up some of that jambalaya you like to make?" Offended, Angel slapped his hand against his chest, gasping in the most dramatic of ways possible. "But --You-- That --He --How fucking dare you?!" He crosses his arms as he settles into a pout, rapidly tapping his foot against the ground. "What, are yah tryna say something? Hm? What, you think my food isn't good enough --my cooking ain't good enough to yah?!" In a moment of pettiness, Angel adds, "Or are yah just kissing up to your ass of a karen-cut, strawberry shortcake short ass fucking asshole of a fiance?" Charlie makes a deadpan face at Angel. "Angel, it's really not like that. I just know that Alastor has a little more..." She gestures with her hands as she tries to find the right words. "I dunno, pizzaz?" Somehow, Angel makes his following gasp even more dramatic than before. "Are you saying that bastard's more charming than me?! What the fuck, Charlie, I thought we were fucking friends? I thought we were fucking pals, fucking bloody buddies?" "Bloody Buddies" was a little nickname given to them by Criminy as a reference to their love of horror movies. Especially the slasher ones. But no matter, for that was simply not where Charlie was coming from! She sighs and rubs her temples. "Angel, I..." She looks to Alastor with pleading eyes. "Al, you understand what I'm saying, right? Right?" She asks. Alastor looks into the wonderfully dark eyes of his beloved, and nods, his rather permanent grin widening further. "Yes, my love, I certainly do --do you know how?" He cups her cheek. "I know because I know you, and you mostly know me, and we mutually know each other, and are connected, and so I understand that Chef Angel simply would not be most fit for handling such an imperative moment for the Fake "A-S-S" Italian Cuisine franchise because..." Mockingly, Alastor glances to his friend as well as boss as he finishes his rant. "Well, because he is an oaf, of course, and a woefully pitiful excuse for a fella, and on behalf of Charlie and I, I apologize for your existence." Alastar grins triumphantly at Angel, who glowers at him. Charlie buries her reddening face in her hands. "That's not at all what I was getting at, Alastor!" Angel clicks his tongue. "Alastor, yah dumbfuck, the money I give your directionally dyslexic ass is literally paying your fucking bills. I can fire your ass you know --'cause yah can't cook, yah teeth still looks like fuckin casu marzu, you can afford showers but you still smell like pigsfeet and fucking kombucha --" Angel's short rant is cut short by Alastor. "Actually, my good friend, I do not particularly favor kombucha, I am a Courvoisier man --I thought you would know this." Angel glares at Alastor. "You are a fucking ungrateful bastard. You got cleaning duty, yah bitch." Nifty, who had decisively took the backseat to this conversation for a while, glanced back and forth between the Chef and Sous Chef. She blinked curiously at the two men, innocently saying, "You two are the strangest of friends. You're so mean to each other." Charlie groans and mushes her face. "None of you get what I'm trying to say." She articulates her initial reason that has been rather prolonged at this point. "I'm just saying that --Yes, you have the best and most crafted skills and knowledge, buuuuuttt Al just has a more..." She gestures with her hands again. "Sensitive side... So, he has a better filter than you." Angel huffs. "What?! No he fucking doesn't, he literally says the same dumb shit that I say!" A curt silence comes, and Angel clears his throat. "Um, in a more old-timey, radio-y smart guy kinda way. But still! Basically saying the same shit!" Charlie purses her lips. "Maybe he does, but at least he knows how to "dress it up" more, you know? So, he won't just flat out call an angry customer a "bitch", and if he's gonna say anything rude he just... makes it sound better?" Charlie really needs to work on defining her points better. Angel makes a challenging face at her and quirks a brow. "So, what the fuck are you actually trying to say?"