Vintage Memories

Chapter Twenty-Four "An Act of Faith"

The confrontive overlord stood in a comfortless hush, his firm hand still plastered to the shocked Angel's shoulder. After the boldness that drove his initial approach faded, Alastor found himself just as much at an utter loss for words as the stripper he sprang upon. His face burned in mortification for the environment he followed the spider into, quite horror-struck at the lewd, oversexed conduct and performances, and the ungentlemanly, rowdy patrons.

Husker's caustic adjuration, 'grow a pair', had encouraged the Radio Demon to do just that. And thus, the suspicious overlord promptly dispatched one of his many shadow walkers to find and trail the ghosting spider. It clued the overlord on just where to manifest so he may finally get his chance to collar Angel into finally speaking with him.

One could only imagine his flustering aghast when he inadvertently reincarnated in the back of a randy strip club, cringing at the booming pop-y music that racked his eardrums, and momentarily blinded by the flashing strobe lights. That trickster phantom was more than likely tittering knavishly to itself for the situation it led its master into. Once his eyes had adjusted, they instantly plastered to the spider on stage as he provocatively snaked around the pole. As if divine power had stricken him with paralysis, he was firmly locked on the dancer's skillful performance. Angel's dancing teetered on ethereal; his talent definitely hard to ignore, which overpowered his instinctual urge to turn away and spare his eyes of the profane display. It was certainly impressive, the spider's athletic prowess and flexibility.

The embers of compulsory intoxication ignited into a blaze when Angel had locked eyes with him, sending a startling jolt through his spine. Upon the direct eye contact, Alastor expected him to acknowledge his presence with an abrupt, shamefaced cease of his act. What he wasn't anticipating:

Angel's losing himself in his performance that much more, the effort in his sensual writhing and dancing increasing tenfold, as if he was dancing solely for him. Angel had appeared to be enjoying himself after that, feigning an array of sexually suggestive poses. He—though he would willingly accept his second demise before admitting it—just for a second pictured himself underneath the dancer as he bobbed up and down atop the stage. As if the very notion had burned him, he was quick to retract and exile that scandalous thought to the darkest depths of his psyche.

"A-Al..." Angel nervously squeaked, "what the hell are ya' doin' here?" Alastor's thoughts remained stagnant, nothing but sweeping radio static erupted from his silent state. His eyes glanced down Angel's exposed profile, down to the wades of cash that still peeked from his skirt.

Frothing rage bubbled in his chest at each and every demon male who had dared to reach up their ravenous hands at the performer. Their stuffing of the money in his clothing was nothing more than a façade for them to garner a touch of a mere syllable of Angel's tantalizing body. A bloody instinct within him commanded him to tear apart each and every sinner within the club. A fitting punishment for their transgressions. Again, Alastor banished those ideas deep down, and held his composure well.

"What am I doing here? What in the nine circles are you doing here?!" Heterochromatic eyes slanted at Alastor's demanding inquiry.

"My job..." Angel teetered back on his stool to lean against the bar's edge, sipping his drink. His cheeks sweltered, cursing himself now for allowing that fantasy to propel him through his dance so flagrantly. After the fleeting second his drink bought him, he set it back down, "now ya' didn't answer my question." Skill on level with an actor, he casted aside those feelings of embarrassment, dressing up his vampish, flirtatious act, "why are you here? This ain't 'xactly your kinda' hangout..." Angel's grin almost seemed triumphant, "don't tell me this body finally won ya' over?" Alastor's felt his face grow hot, impressions of what he witnessed flashing through his mind like an unceasing movie reel. He wouldn't forget them for quite awhile.