Abaddon has a kid

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #827/666 - Darth Stolas Edition
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>Somehow, for some reason, Abaddon has a kid
>he... she... it. is like a walking blast shadow
>friendly, but hard to notice
>they inadvertently give everyone the creeps, and yet, nobody tries to push them away
>they seem to like the darkness, and flee from too much light
>almost everyone in Hell had encountered the kid at one point - few know who he is
>in the darkness, their eyes glow brightly

>the only thing Charlie recognizes that it is a relative
>at first, the others think she had gone crazy - she finally snapped, and is talking to a non-existent kid
>but, as their eyes adjust... they notice it...
>almost immediately, everyone starts freaking out, telling her to get away from IT
>the thing that should not exist, the absence of a child, fixed into the form of an existent one

>then slowly, they come around to it
>it's an... almost comforting feeling, knowing that it is only IT that watches them from the darkness
>they're a good kid
>their father holds nothing for the world but contempt, and nothing for its inhabitants but pity

>it, on the other hand, is still young - the world still fascinates it, and it accepts it all with all its horror and glory
>like a thief in the night, he wanders around, meeting people everywhere
>implings play with him, and their parents think they've just came up with an imaginary friend...
>...until they see the shadow for themselves

>Levianon had seen the child a couple of times, standing on the mast and watching St. Elmo's fire on stormy days
>Satanon would often spot it from the corner of his eyes - but he's too afraid to approach it, and it knows better than to intrude upon someone so unhappy
>Asmodanon knows of him, but only vaguely - his father had told him about the "dancing shadow", and how he should not be afraid of it, but shouldn't follow it, either

>they say it likes to go where it's absence is most palpable - childless couples, mothers who recently lost their children, old parents who lost theirs to war or other
-
>Angel Dust has a breakdown
>One of Val's thugs got the drop on him earlier in the day
>Gave him a quick set of knuckles to the gut that made him remember a few much, much worse beatings he'd taken in the past
>Uttered a few choice words about where exactly he sat in the hierarchy, and who he owed his loyalty to
>Made it clear that there would be consequences for upsetting the order

>He lies in bed, sobbing to himself
>Curled up into a ball, trying to find a way to wrap his many arms around his body in such a way that will make him feel protected against the torture he knows is coming
>It doesn't work
>He can't shield himself no matter how hard he tries
>He knows that every spot his hands can't cover is going to be a receiver for cigar burns and box cutters and other horrible, horrible "games" from Valentino's more "eclectic" clientele

>Cherri's not around
>He's still too withdrawn to reach out to someone like Charlie or Vaggie in such a vulnerable moment as this
>This is one of those moments when he would ordinarily reach for a needle or a vial
>Even the bottle couldn't help him here, he was too accustomed to it
>He needs something that can entirely shut down every last portion of his mind capable of appreciating just how fk-awful his eternal fate is
>But he's supposed to be sober now
>There's no gear in the Happy Hotel
>Just him and his endless misery

>He feels the distinct absence of a small hand on his head
>The child of Abaddon is not-sitting next to him, not-stroking his hair

>It doesn't properly understand what Angel is experiencing
>It doesn't yet understand Existence in general
>But it recognizes despair
>It is well acquainted with that
>It was born from that well of darkness
>It doesn't Exist, it doesn't know how to heal what is hurting this Thing-That-Exists, but it knows it can sit here and be with them until they feel better
>It hopes that will help
-
>visiting the memorial always leaves Tom drained
>he doesn't show it, but if you've known him long enough, you'd notice subtle... stiltedness his movement gains

>no one has known him for long enough
>few sinners make it past ten years
>let alone a hundred
>Katie's the one who brought him here - she usually does
>wordlessly, she'd let the man pay his respects, on half knee before the monument they've made with his former brothers-in-arms...
>...before they, too, joined those that it represents

>on their way back to the car, the two walked together
>one would notice the constant space between the two, but could ultimately dismiss it as just antipathy keeping them apart...
>...then, from the corner of their eyes, would catch a glimpse of the shadow of a child, walking between them and hanging off their conveniently lowered arms, like children do

>it doesn't understand grief yet
>but it has seen sorrow
>felt it in their father's eyes, cast upon the distant lights Above
>the man gave everything for his country
>his life, his innocence...
>the woman sacrificed everything for success
>her integrity, her happiness...
>all that's left is pain

>but, with it dangling between them, they feel a certain...
>...elation, that only parents could feel - despite them never becoming one
>they sip small and cautious from this well of joy, uncertain of it's origin - though their life my be misery, at least there's still others who are happy

>if his sacrifice could assure that, it would've been at least a little bit worth it
>if her work mattered enough that it could give people joy, though she was pushed aside, it was worth it

>it doesn't understand their grief yet - the loss of comrades, the loss of companionship, and the loss of success -, but it doesn't mind
>sorrow is sorrow, and they've felt enough

>they're holding hands, by the time they reach her car
>a symbol of companionship, though romance barely simmers in their sin-encrusted hearts