Rabbit Blood

Chapter 35 - Truth Will Out

As weeks passed, Leslie grew busier; if she wasn't devising new choreography, she was clicking through VoxTube to find Chuck Berry singles, or whatever the fuck her students preferred. Then there was all the regular exercise she did, to keep up with the demands of the job. Yes, waitressing was physical, since she was on her feet all day, but it wasn't quite the same thing.

She had several groups throughout the week, and even the best of them could grow bored and sullen if she wasn't careful. It was hard to know what would work to keep them interested. Using their choice of music sometimes did the trick, but it also caused verbal disagreements. Sometimes she could entertain the group with a cool acrobatic trick, like an illusion turn, and promise (tongue in cheek) to eventually show them how it was done.

Vaggie and Charlie held weekly, casual check-ins to see how things were going. For his part, Alastor didn't ask, much less intrude much on the lessons, though he did have a security camera installed in the studio. "Since you still insist on using it," he said, "I should ensure nothing happens to my property."

Leslie gave him a flick on the arm. "I'm not your property."

"I meant the room."

"Oh." Asshole.

Speaking of Alastor, she anticipated him stretching out their encounters until the eve of the extermination, just as she'd feared. Three more months of pain, play and teasing. Even worse, Alastor argued for fewer meetings, to quell what he called 'the curse of familiarity'. She was no longer flustered enough for his liking - getting used to him, perhaps - and why should he partake at all if she wasn't flustered? Reluctantly, Leslie agreed to space things out, and spent most nights stewing in her frustrations, wishing that the Shadow Man would cut loose from Alastor, scoop her up and fuck her on the roof of the hotel.

o - o - o - o - o

Sunday, around noon, Leslie got a call from Angel Dust. He had a favor to ask.

"Can ya go ta my room an' feed Fat Nuggets?" he wheedled. "Filmin' is gonna take all night; director wants ta shoot it two diff'rent ways."

So he was working. "How do I get in your room?"

"Gimme Husk on the phone."

She obliged, going to the front desk and retrieving a copy of Angel's room key, then let herself in. Fat Nuggets emerged from under the bed with a squeak (he recognized her!), and after fussing him for a minute, Leslie scouted around, looking for pig food.

No such luck. She redialed.

"I can't find it," Leslie told Angel. "What does it look like?"

"Big bag, red an' white."

"Am I dumb? I don't see it anywhere."

There came a sigh from the other end. "Fuck's sake. Ya know what's really annoyin'? I've gotta bag of it here in the dressin' room. Sat here lookin' at it."

Leslie glanced at the pig. "Why don't I bring Fat Nuggets to you? Maybe Alastor could teleport me to-"

"What? No no no! Al can't know about my baby, he'll fuckin' make bacon outta him."

"Fine," Leslie sighed, "I'll get a cab. Text me the details." She hung up before he could object, and then she scooped Fat Nuggets up in her arms. "Time for a ride in Auntie Leslie's hoodie! Yes, handsome boy. We're going to see your daddy, yes we are!"

o - o - o - o - o

The Porn Studios building was no joke. It was almost forty floors high, abounding in hot pink wallpaper and sexually-explicit art prints. The building was cylindrical in shape with a hollow in the center, around which a singular corridor ran, from top to bottom. Eschewing the elevators, Leslie put Fat Nuggets down and they had a race to the eighth floor, along this corkscrew corridor. They weaved around demons going about their day, in both directions.