Husk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grumpface) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2024-04-18 09:37 pm
grumpface) wrote in dreamcrystals2024-04-18 09:37 pm
2 Bottles of Wine | Passive Dream Recording
Sender: Husk
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Alcoholism, Gambling Addiction, Allusions to Torture, Soul Deals/Slavery, Hazbin Hotel Spoilers
It wasn't wise for an Overlord like yourself to have a casino in hell that was empty or sparse. Unfortunately for you, it had been getting less and less occupied, less busy throughout the last couple of months. The House was running low on funds. You filled what little activity you cared about by drinking. A lot. You were on your ninth bottle of whiskey for the day when HE came in.
The Radio Demon. The one who had arrived all those decades ago and had began to topple Overlord after Overlord seemingly overnight. You weren't in hell yet when it had happened, but it was impossible not to hear the stories.
He sat down at the poker table you were resting your head at. You shoved all the empty bottles off when he requested a game. Just a simple game. It was a little weird with you getting his attention. When you started dealing, the question of why The Radio Demon didn't just kill you and then broadcast your screams over the radio like he did with every other Overlord he went against.
It was also occupied with another thought. There was no doubt the Radio Demon had lots of money, and you hoped that playing against him would end your unlucky streak. His preference was 5-card draw. You don't usually play it, but you were desperate to win. You needed that rush you haven't had in so long, so you didn't argue.
You lost the hand. You had a pair of threes, he had a three of a kind of twos. You lost again. You had a straight, he had a full house. You lost a third time. You had four of a kind, he had a straight flush. Getting even more desperate, you pulled more and more money out of the funds of your casino. But you just kept on losing and he just kept on winning.
You began to suspect that he was somehow cheating. Usually, this would be the point where you'd retaliate against cheaters. You'd usually have them get taken to a private room in order to have a little talk using pain and violence before throwing them out.
But you were desperate for a win.
You began to cheat back. A quick false-shuffle here, dealing seconds and bottoms in order to get the cards you wanted. You didn't give yourself any royal flush. That's usually statistically impossible and therefore the Radio Demon would definitely notice.
And yet you still lost, somehow.
Your funds had fully emptied and the Radio Demon was about to leave. You stood up and slammed your hands on the table, demanding one more game. You weren't thinking clearly at the time. You bet your soul. If you won, you'd get the Radio Demon's soul AND all of his money. If you lost... then you were his. With a handshake and a display of green demonic energy, the Deal was sealed.
You were nervous, noticably pointing at the cards in his hand, doing all sorts of calculations about probability. And... you still lost.
It was like instinct. It felt as if your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You argued with him that he only owns your soul, not your power. And somehow, after a few minutes of semantics, he had agreed to the wording. You lost your soul to save your power.
And then you immediately bet your power.
And he did the unthinkable: He quit gambling. He was done. The cruelest thing possible happened to you. You had just lost everything except for your power.
It was hours later, you realized he hadn't been cheating at all.
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Alcoholism, Gambling Addiction, Allusions to Torture, Soul Deals/Slavery, Hazbin Hotel Spoilers
It wasn't wise for an Overlord like yourself to have a casino in hell that was empty or sparse. Unfortunately for you, it had been getting less and less occupied, less busy throughout the last couple of months. The House was running low on funds. You filled what little activity you cared about by drinking. A lot. You were on your ninth bottle of whiskey for the day when HE came in.
The Radio Demon. The one who had arrived all those decades ago and had began to topple Overlord after Overlord seemingly overnight. You weren't in hell yet when it had happened, but it was impossible not to hear the stories.
He sat down at the poker table you were resting your head at. You shoved all the empty bottles off when he requested a game. Just a simple game. It was a little weird with you getting his attention. When you started dealing, the question of why The Radio Demon didn't just kill you and then broadcast your screams over the radio like he did with every other Overlord he went against.
It was also occupied with another thought. There was no doubt the Radio Demon had lots of money, and you hoped that playing against him would end your unlucky streak. His preference was 5-card draw. You don't usually play it, but you were desperate to win. You needed that rush you haven't had in so long, so you didn't argue.
You lost the hand. You had a pair of threes, he had a three of a kind of twos. You lost again. You had a straight, he had a full house. You lost a third time. You had four of a kind, he had a straight flush. Getting even more desperate, you pulled more and more money out of the funds of your casino. But you just kept on losing and he just kept on winning.
You began to suspect that he was somehow cheating. Usually, this would be the point where you'd retaliate against cheaters. You'd usually have them get taken to a private room in order to have a little talk using pain and violence before throwing them out.
But you were desperate for a win.
You began to cheat back. A quick false-shuffle here, dealing seconds and bottoms in order to get the cards you wanted. You didn't give yourself any royal flush. That's usually statistically impossible and therefore the Radio Demon would definitely notice.
And yet you still lost, somehow.
Your funds had fully emptied and the Radio Demon was about to leave. You stood up and slammed your hands on the table, demanding one more game. You weren't thinking clearly at the time. You bet your soul. If you won, you'd get the Radio Demon's soul AND all of his money. If you lost... then you were his. With a handshake and a display of green demonic energy, the Deal was sealed.
You were nervous, noticably pointing at the cards in his hand, doing all sorts of calculations about probability. And... you still lost.
It was like instinct. It felt as if your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You argued with him that he only owns your soul, not your power. And somehow, after a few minutes of semantics, he had agreed to the wording. You lost your soul to save your power.
And then you immediately bet your power.
And he did the unthinkable: He quit gambling. He was done. The cruelest thing possible happened to you. You had just lost everything except for your power.
It was hours later, you realized he hadn't been cheating at all.
no subject
I swear, this is why I can't leave you to your own devices.
[Walking over with a picnic basket, complete with cheesy red-and-white checkerboard cloth. Going to pull out a pair of nice big containers of jambalaya -- a hearty serving for each of them -- along with some fresh cornbread.]
no subject
He idly and slowly starts eating the jambalaya, his head propped up in one hand.]
...So that was that dream bullshit you were tellin' me about? So nice to be reminded of one of my greatest fuckin' failures.
no subject
Of course, I've always tried avoiding sleep as much as possible. Being too exhausted to dream when I do sleep likely helps.
[Only the healthiest habits at this bar.]
no subject
Ain't there a way to completely stop it? It'd help us both.
no subject
Though it could be worse: The inverse power -- nightmare energy -- is incredibly potent, intoxicatingly so.
no subject
Nightmare energy, huh...? I'd ask if you were addicted to it, but I'm also willin' to bet that the answer ain't yes.
[Husk crosses his arms, sitting up a little straighter.]
I've been doin' my damnedest to refrain from usin' any of that bullshit dreamotion, just like I do with my demon powers. Looks like I won't use none of that nightmare shit, too. I'm already on too many fuckin' leashes as it is. Don't need a fourth one.
no subject
no subject
[Husk idly takes another bite of the jambalaya.]
...I know you likely won't answer this boss, but... Since the whole me losin' my Overlord status was shown to who the fuck knows... Why the fuck do you keep me alive like this? Even with all that power I had- have, you probably coulda taken me down easily.
no subject
[He flicks a finger to summon over a couple of glasses and a bottle of whiskey.]
I take my time looking into the strengths and weaknesses of my opponents when I can. It was how I realized that, really, all that had to be done was to leave you to your own devices. Sooner or later you'd hit a losing streak and self-destruct. I found you more tolerable than most so I decided to step in.
[He pours himself a generous amount before tossing it back in one gulp, refilling the glass.]
no subject
...
He stifles a yawn before pouring himself a drink of his own and taking a small sip.]
Guess I've always been my own worst enemy, besides you. I always seem to end up at rock bottom because of it.
[Husk peeks over to where Alastor is.]
...So what have your dream broadcasts been so far?
no subject
[In any case, it should say a lot that Alastor found someone who seemed to make it a personal hobby to try and get under his skin tolerable.]
An average day in my afterlife before my little hiatus, the extermination, a twisted version of Reverein where our neighbors were not nearly so forgiving of losing control as they are, and most recently what I was like when I first arrived and was making overlords "disappear".
[Alastor takes a calm bite of his jambalaya.]
For the most part, it's the same as back in Hell: I exhaust myself to avoid sleeping until I don't have the energy to stay awake anymore. Being that exhausted means I don't dream on a regular basis. And with a bright smile on your face and a jaunty attitude, no one is any the wiser.
[He puts down his fork to trace his own lips with the tip of a claw.]
The most valuable tool in my arsenal.
no subject
Hmm... I don't think I'm about to push myself to stay awake that long. Seems like too much effort.
[Husk pauses to take a few more bites of jambalaya and maybe sneak in a bite of the nearby shitty bar food that Alastor hadn't thrown away yet.]
...I don't think I ever really asked you. How drug-trippy does this fuckin' place end up usually? And how often? It'd be good to know exactly when to stay indoors to not have to face any of the really weird bullshit.
no subject
I suppose it depends on your definition of "drug-trippy". Sometimes the entire town will be pulled into a dreamscape, our forms, powers, and sometimes even personalities shifting to match. Then there are other days when everything is normal but the weather forcast includes raining starfish. There's no warning leading up to either situation.