Rabbit Blood

Chapter 4 - Truth Is Not For The Sober

Tuesday night. Mr. Rapier let her off work at last, and Leslie looked forward to splashing onto her bed to sleep. Her thumbs ached from carrying heavy plates in each hand - tightly pinched, so the crockery wouldn't slip. She slunk through the hotel lobby, and was halfway up the stairs when Angel Dust whistled loudly to get her attention.

"Hey, Bunnyface? Wanna grab a drink?"

"I... what?"

The spider-demon took the steps two at a time in his impossible platform shoes. Perchance he was buzzed.

"Cherri canceled on me. C'mon, I don't wanna drink alone."

Leslie had no idea who Cherri was, and she'd had a long day and wanted her bed. On the other hand, it might be good to have Angel as a friend. Vaggie once told her that beneath his filthy exterior was a decent person wildly gesturing to get out.

"Er, sure, I'll keep you company. If you want. Where are we going?"

"Jus' through there. The old 'front desk'."

He slapped her on the shoulder as they retraced their steps, past the open door of a common room, where a handsome lady demon roasted rats in the fireplace.

"Don't mind me callin' ya Bunnyface, do ya?" Angel asked.

"I don't know. Fuck, why am I a rabbit anyway?" Leslie sighed, pulling her own ears. She missed her hair. She missed being able to (painlessly) tie up the weighted curtain around her face.

"Seems pretty random how demons turn out," said Angel Dust. "Sometimes it's ironic. D'ya like carrots?"

"Not really."

"I mean, why am I a spida? Fuck knows. Nobody needs this many arms, though I ain't complainin'. Plus I can sense storms comin' from miles off, got a poison bite... Hey, ya might get some powers in your demon form. Pretty sweet, eh?"

Leslie shrugged, unimpressed. "I'd rather be myself."

They reached the front desk, where numerous demons took some time to unwind. Some gathered to play poker, others sat at tables; yet more conversed beside a rusty old jukebox, and the sounds of carousing and clinking glass filled the empty spaces. It reminded her of work, only more civilized.

Angel grabbed them a couple of stools by the 'desk'. This whole area was at odds with the hotel's décor, seemingly ripped from another building: splintered half-walls, glowing green accents and a moose's skull looming above the bar itself. Husk was still working, a bottle of cheap booze in one oversized paw, and a filthy rag in the other.

"Whaddaya want?" Angel asked Leslie.

"Oh," she said, "I'm getting water. My purse got stolen last week."

"I remember," Husk nodded.

"Really? Aw, that's sad. Well, I'll cover ya for now, you'll be borin' othawise. Whaddaya really want?"

"I dunno. Gin and ginger ale?"

Husk raised an eyebrow, but capitulated. Leslie was relieved to have picked an easy drink, even more so when Angel ordered something complex, and Husk grumbled in Angrish like Joe Pesci.

"I'll pay you back on Friday," she told Angel. "So how's your week been?"

"Ah, well, y'know, pretty preoccupied. Valentino's plannin' some 360° bukakke scenes in a few days. He says VR headsets are the future'a porn."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah, excitin' times we're livin' in."

"Wait, that's where I recognize you!" Leslie said with a grin. "That's been driving me nuts. You were playing at the bar where I work! We have a TV that plays adult movies! Oh shit, sorry," she said, realizing how loudly she was speaking.