The forest is quiet when I am alone.

It is the middle of the day. The sky is a lucid red, not a single cloud in sight. The city is too far to hear in this part of the woods. Sitting cross-legged on the shore of my little pond (I claimed it mine after the last time I came here, since nobody comes here except for me), I grab a rock and fiddle with it. After a moment, I throw it. The rock plunks into the water and creates a small ripple that calmly works its way from the inside of the pond to the shore where I sit. As the ripples fade, a small gray fish rises to the surface of the water and floats there for a minute. It takes me a bit of staring to realize that it is dead.

Moments like these are the ones that keep me sane. The quiet, peaceful seconds that fly by, like the creepy, fat bats in the sky or the slow smoke that billows from a burning building. They are slow, but in a strange way, they are calming.

"My love," a sugary-sweet voice says from very close behind me. It is Alastor. I jump a little bit, but, to my surprise, not very much. I must be getting used to the way everyone sneaks up on me.

I take a deep, irritated breath, my finger anxiously picking at my fishnet pants. "Hi, Alastor."

Leaning on his cane for assistance, he lowers himself to the ground and silently seats himself beside me, stretching his legs out to the edge of the water. I will never understand how he can be so utterly quiet and simple while moving. "How are you feeling this fine morning?" he asks with a sharp grin.

"As good as I can feel."

"And how good is that?"

"Not very good."

He hums my response away, then looks at the lake before us. I follow his gaze. He must be looking at the dead fish.

"I'm about to go find myself some lunch. Would you like to come with me, dear?"

I look at him, searching his eyes for some sort of emotion. Or some sort of anything, for that matter. All I can see is insanity.

"Why do you call me those things?"

"I have answered this, my love," he says, sounding slightly bothered.

"Yes, of course you have, but I'm asking again. You and Mimzy seem, I don't know, like, really solid, so isn't she supposed to be your love? Not me? I would hate to get in the way of you two," I say, but most of it is lies. I would love to get in the way of them, but Mimzy would kill me. Alastor is immensely attractive, in a sickening way. He is like a walking kink. I guess I like that about him. He looks like he would be remarkable in bed.

Just then, for only a split second, Angel's words form in my head: You need to get slutty.

Alastor sighs, and his grin fades as he processes my words, but not for long. It pulls back into its usual insane spot as he says, "Well, yes, I suppose Mimzy and I are quite solid. I'm not much of a man for cheating, but I like the way you look. And smell. Maybe, someday, we can work something out."

I shiver. The way I smell? That was a little bit out-of-bounds. "Of course we can. Whenever you would like," I say, grabbing his arm lightly as a sign of affection. I hate myself for acting like this, but I was a skank in real life, so what's to say I can't be one in Hell? Plus, I don't really have much of a choice. What I mean by that is that I have no choice but to try and fit in. It will help me survive. I don't want to stand out as prude or anything.

His grin widens some more. I didn't even think that it was possible, but I've been wrong about many things in my life. "Well, okay then. I must go," he says, standing. He holds a bony hand out before him, so I take it and use it to pull myself up. Keeping hold of me, Alastor rests his weird cane on his hip and reaches his unoccupied hand up to my jaw, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek. He then kisses me lightly, right above the cheekbone. His lips are soft as cotton, which is unexpected, considering how much he smiles. They must get chapped often. When he steps away, his eyes glisten lustfully scanning my face like a hungry wolf eyeing its next meal.

"Until we meet again, my love," he says before fading into the air. Literally. A shiver runs down my spine, but I can't tell if it's pleasant or discomforting. I bite the inside of my lip and try to ignore it.

ᯬ

Back at the hotel, the first thing I notice when I enter the foyer of Charlie's hotel is Vaggie, sitting alone at the bar, drinking what looks like whiskey. Husk is at the other end of the bar, cleaning up and such.

In my eyes, Vaggie and Husk are so much alike, with their bad moods and their anger issues, yet still so different.

Vaggie must be sitting alone for a reason, but nonetheless, I ignore whatever that reason may be and decide to join her. Sitting on the stool next to her, I tap on the bar counter and wait for Husk to come around.

"Hi Vaggie," I say quietly. "How are you?"

Vaggie says nothing. Her head is lowered, and her hair is covering one eye, like usual. She is staring down into her drink and chewing on her bottom lip. She must be sulking.

"Vaggie?"

"You don't remember, do you."

I frown and make a sound of confusion. Kind of like a short, fast, sharp breath. "Remember what?"

She looks up at me, her eyes narrow, her face twisted in a way that makes her look offended. I really don't know what I'm supposed to be remembering, so I stay silent and wait for her to explain more. She rolls her eye and takes a long sip of her drink. "It's fine. I don't blame you. You were wasted, and so was I. It didn't even mean anything. I probably wouldn't remember it either if..."

I blink. She looks at her drink again, but my gaze does not flicker. Waiting for her to finish her sentence, my fingers continue to tap on the polished counter.

"Never mind," she says.

"No, tell me. I wanna know."

"It's just that... ugh, I said never mind, Danielle. And will you stop that damned tapping?" she snaps. Her hair looks whiter than I have ever seen it underneath the pale overhead lights. She is pissed now, which is not at all what I wanted to happen. I must look as stricken as I feel because when she looks at me, her gaze visibly softens. "Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't be mad. It was nothing, and I really can't blame you for not remembering." Her thumb traces a smooth line other the polished edge of her whiskey glass. The spirits inside sit, motionless and sleek, ready to be consumed by someone who wanted their feelings to be masked by a thick layer of booze. Unable to look away, I watch as Vaggie lifts the glass with her thin, gloved fingers and brings it to her lips, letting the drink slip past them and into her mouth. Unconsciously, I rub my hands together in my lap. The gloves I had were bothering me, so I threw them in the woods while I was walking to a lake earlier. That is where they will stay.

On the other hand, the rest of the clothes that Angel gave me fit comfortably, and they suit the ratchet sense of style in this hell hole. (Literally. It is literally a hell hole.) So I kept them on. I'll have to wash them at some point.

"I'm sorry for not remembering. Did something happen the other night, when we all went to the bar together? Did something happen that night that I'm not remembering?" I ask, fishing for details. Vaggie shrugs. Before I can say anything else, Husk approaches us with another clear cup in his hand.

"For you?" he asks me. His eyebrows catch my attention briefly. They have a way of doing that.

"An old fashioned," I request with a polite smile. He turns around and begins to crush and mix things in my glass. I turn to face Vaggie again. "I was wasted that night. I really don't know what I'm supposed to be remembering, but it would be great if you would tell me."

Vaggie frowns a little bit and chews her lip some more. It must be a nervous tic. "We hooked up. It was nothing, really. I shouldn't have acted all worked up about it."

"Oh," I try to say, but it comes out as a weak breath. I really don't know what to say. Husk hands me my drink, gives Vaggie a look, then tells me that he'll put it on my tab. He walks away, leaving Vaggie and I alone in an awkward cloud of silence.

"Cool," I say after a few minutes. It sounds odd, but I really have no other words.

Vaggie gives me a look, but I can see a smile hidden in her cheeks. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. I'm glad we hooked up. I like you." I do like her. It's weird though, saying that I like her out loud. I'm not lesbian, but I think I might be bisexual. I had a girlfriend during this one weird gay phase I had in high school, and I have had some ambient lesbian thoughts, but I have never really considered it important to quality myself as "straight" or "bi" or "gay". Maybe I'm just really horny. I'm not sure.

Although she only has one eye, Vaggie's stare can be very unsettling. Maybe it's because she only has one eye. Or maybe it's just because the feeling of her looking at you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Maybe it's both.

"Do you."

"Yeah."

"Really."

"Yes!"

"For real?"

"Dear God Vaggie. Yes."

She nods a little bit, downs the rest of her drink, then sighs. "I like you too," she says.

"Really? I couldn't tell," I laugh as she punches me playfully (not lightly) on the arm. The smile that was hidden comes out now. She doesn't smile often, but when she does, I think she looks truly pretty.