#rradio

The warehouse roared like a living thing. Money changed hands in frantic flashes under flickering industrial lights, bills snapped between greedy fingers while sweat, smoke, and cheap liquor hung thick in the air. The boxing ring itself was nothing more than a square of warped boards and fraying rope, raised just enough to keep the fighters on display like animals in a pit.

Ding ding ding! The bell had already rung for another round.

The crowd was already rabid by the time Husk staggered back into his stance. He spit out blood. The boxer's fists were wrapped tight in gauze darkened red with use, knuckles throbbing every time he flexed them. His breathing came rough through split lips, sweaty chest heaving, ribs on fire, but his eyes stayed sharp.

The last hit came like a train.

Fist met bone with a sickening crack, and the world inverted in a rush of noise and light. Husk went down hard, the boards shuddering under his weight as the bell chimed through the warehouse. Somewhere above him, the referee was shouting, hands were pulling, the crowd was either howling in triumph, booing or in fury, he couldn’t tell which.

It was over...

Rain slicked the alley in nervous little rivulets, neon bleeding down cracked brick and trash-strewn concrete. Husker lay half on the curb, half in the gutter, knuckles split, ribs barking every time he dragged a breath in. The taste of copper sat thick on his tongue. He’d lost the fight, clean, ugly, and expensive, and the betters had made damn sure he felt every dollar of it on his way out.

A boot nudged his side. Hard.

'Shouldn’t have taken the odds, bartender,' one voice sneered, then someone laughed.

Rough hands hauled him up before his vision fully cleared, pain flaring white-hot through his shoulders as he was dragged across the wet pavement. Husker barely managed a curse before a car door was yanked open and he was shoved inside, spine hitting leather, the breath knocked clean out of him. The door slammed. Locks clicked.

Silence swallowed him whole.

He is entirely unimpressed at his father being in the same vicinity as him . Honestly he's about to spread his wings and leave when — oh shit , that's a good pun .

He snorts . Covers his mouth to smother the noise threatening to leave him .

( DON'T . DON'T LAUGH . )

"Soooo welcome to the hotel, Emily! I'm so excited to have you here to finally show you around! Ahhh!" Charlie let out an excited little scream.

It was the first time she had had an angel here besides Vaggie. And her father. And technically the invading angel armor but they didn't count! Emily was an angel that resided currently in Heaven. So it was a bit different. And they had gotten along so well during Charlie's trip to Heaven.

Charlie swung open the doors to reveal the inside of the hotel to Emily, allowing her to go in first.

It was fancy inside, swanky even. And it was busy. There were lots of sinners milling about.

OVERLORDS ARE ANNOYING. Lucifer has known this for a while, but it has been proven to him time & time again in the past few weeks. The king of hell has been trying ( for Charlie's sake ) to be a more active participant when it comes to the politics of the Pride Ring. Against all odds, he's managed to swallow at least some of his pride, and step out into the world to meet with Hell's best & brightest! The overlords: the ones who have risen up to rule the realm in his absence.

They're, um... well, they're interesting. The majority of them do little to dissuade his belief that all sinners deserve to be here, that redemption isn't actually possible for the vast majority of them - not that he would ever tell Charlie that, of course. But they all seem to be genuinely terrible people, and Lucifer has been doing a very good job at stating civil. He can do the politics thing, when he has to! Flash a smile here, throw out a non-answer there. Building relations without building relationships.

As such, he isn't really looking forward to meeting this particular overlord. Lucifer stands at the doors of his gambling house, a hub of vice and sin --- ugh! --- and mentally steels himself for a moment, before throwing open the door. It's certainly a dramatic entrance: he walks in with his head held high, like he owns the place, and taps his cane onto the floor with enough force that the sound echoes across the entire room.

Alastor really didn't want to ask this but information was important. Even frivolous information such as this. And the other party involved certainly wasn't going to provide it easily.

The spider seemed much more likely to talk.

"Angel! Good, you're alone. I have a question for you."

Husker didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his hold firmed, one arm locked around Alex’s middle as he glanced pointedly at the telltale glint of metal tucked behind his back. His jaw set, expression hard but not unkind, voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry.

“Yeah, no can do, kid. Not when I see you carryin’ that knife around like it’s a bad idea waitin’ to happen.” He huffed a dry, humorless breath, eyes flicking briefly toward the street before settling back on him. “Last thing either of us needs is the cops gettin’ a whiff of whatever you think you’re about to do. Fight me all you want, I ain’t lettin’ you go just yet.”