Rabbit Blood

Chapter 32 - Return To Hades

"That was fucking crazy," Ginerva gasped, half a mile later.

Leslie nodded. "Agreed." She was impressed with herself for running so long with barely a sweat broken; the morning jogs were paying off.

They scurried along and finally burst into Hades, only five minutes late, but Rapier wasn't happy. He had them working immediately, smacking them with a dish cloth as they carried their first orders from the kitchen. Working on autopilot, and ignoring her ringing ears, Leslie remembered what she'd seen of the demon called Vox. His blue to Alastor's red, his taste for electronica and broken beats... no wonder they came to blows so quickly. They did have something in common, she thought, in the way of a sly, sadistic grin. Maybe it was just an overlord thing.

She caught glimpses of Channel 666 between tables, actually showing the progression of the fight, and Leslie did some busywork by the bar in order to spectate. They continued their musical battle as the sun dipped, and then a tentacle snaked out and grabbed Vox around his middle. Suspended in the air, arms pinned, he scowled and made his screen flash white. With a surge of blue lightning, he shocked the tentacle, the cameraman was knocked over-

BANG!

Every electronic item in the restaurant surged and blew out, startling the patrons. Ginerva dropped a glass and Douglas, sleeping at the bar, jolted awake.

"The fuck is going on?" said Rapier, storming into view with his cup of joe. He slammed the mug down on the pool table. "One of you bastards fucking with my equipment? I'll take that one-arm bandit away, I swear to God."

"It was that prick Vox," said the barman, gently shooing Leslie. "He had a tantrum again."

Rapier wrung his hands as a few kitchen staff members emerged, complaining that the griddle had died. He demanded they finish off any half-cooked meals some other way, then snapped his fingers at Leslie. "Hello? Earth to Lesbo?"

"Yes?"

"You're gonna bust your ass getting this stuff to the customers before it gets cold. Got it?"

She sighed and nodded. On her way to the kitchen, she saw Ginerva grab Rapier's coffee mug and spit in it, which she often did when his back was turned. They carried on as normal. Robbed of the usual musical and televisual ambiance, the customers grew bored and sullen. One of them decided to entertain himself by tripping Leslie, then, pretending to help her up, placed his hand way too far up her leg. Disgusted, she reflexively elbowed his ribs.

"Ow! You fucking bitch!"

"It was an accident!" she called, but too late; he was flagging down Rapier. Her boss, already stressed, gave her a verbal lashing that only increased her anger. When he yelled, the blood rushed into his porous face, giving the impression of pasta sauce stuck under the skin. Across the room, Ginerva gave Leslie a conflicted expression: sympathetic, but also 'don't quit on the spot and leave me on my own'. For her sake, Leslie sucked it up.

Imagine quitting on the spot, though! she thought. You could throw your uniform at his stupid head, tell him to fuck off... It sure was tempting, but no, she couldn't. She'd wait until Friday night to quit, after she was paid, so Rapier wouldn't decide to hold onto it.

o - o - o - o - o

After work, Leslie shut herself in her room and knocked the inside of the door. She wanted to ask how the fight came out, and Alastor consented to let her in. He lounged on the smaller couch to the left of the office, bouncing his leg to music from the record player (Louis Armstrong, only a smidge louder than normal). An unpleasant scent met Leslie's nose.