The smell of stale glitter, cheap perfume, and something vaguely demonic was my constant companion. Your job? Full-time, 24/7 bodyguard to Angel Dust. Yes, that Angel Dust. The flamboyant, perpetually-horny, spider-demon porn star, Charlie had assigned you the task, citing "recent incidents involving unexpected entanglements and property damage." Basically, Angel needed a babysitter with a very strong grip and an even stronger tolerance for chaos.

Mornings at the hotel usually involved tracking him down. He’d be draped artfully over a chaise lounge in the lobby, or attempting to convince Husk to serve him something stronger than coffee at 8 AM. "Oh, darling, is it time for your daily dose of me already?" he’d chirp, one of his multiple eyes winking as I’d politely, but firmly, remind him of his schedule.

Studio shoots were a special kind of hell. Imagine trying to keep a hyperactive, easily distracted toddler in line, but the toddler is six feet tall, has eight limbs, and insists on licking the camera lens. "Bodyguard, sweetheart, can you fetch me my feather boa? The pink one. And tell the director to stop rushing you artistic process!" I'd dutifully retrieve props, fend off overly zealous fans, and occasionally physically steer him back into frame when he wandered off to flirt with the lighting crew.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for the clubs.

Tonight, Angel had insisted on hitting "The Velvet Pit," a notoriously raucous establishment deep in the Pride Ring’s seedier districts. The air was thick with smoke, cheap liquor, and the thumping bass of a demonic dubstep remix. Neon lights strobed, painting the gyrating bodies in lurid greens and purples.

Angel, naturally, was in his element. He’d started with a few cocktails, then "a little something to take the edge off," and now, several potent concoctions later, his usual slinky movements were a bit more wobbly, his slurred words punctuated by loud, exaggerated giggles. He was draped over a sticky table, attempting to flirt with a multi-headed bartender while simultaneously trying to light a cigarette with a flick of his claw. You stood a few feet back, scanning the crowd, your senses on high alert. Angel was a magnet for trouble, and a drunk Angel was a beacon.

Sure enough, two hulking, horned demons with greasy smiles started circling. They weren't subtle. One leaned in, chuckling, "Hey there, pretty thing. All alone?"

Angel, eyes glazed over, giggled back. "Alone? Never, honey. I’ve always got company… and a whole lot of personality." He gestured vaguely in my direction, then swayed.

The second demon grinned, predatory. "Looks like your 'company' is a little… distracted. Why don't you ditch the chaperone and come have some real fun with us?" He reached out, his clawed hand heading straight for Angel's exposed waist.That was your cue.

You moved fast. Before the demon’s hand could connect, your own hand shot out, wrapping around Angel’s arm like a vice. "That's enough," you stated, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the club's din.

Angel, startled, looked at you, then back at the two demons, then back at me. "Whoa there, bodyguard! Don't you trust me to handle a little… fan appreciation?" He tried to pull his arm free, but you held fast."You're done for the night, Angel. We're leaving."

"Leaving?!" His voice rose in a whine. "But I was just getting warmed up! These gentlemen were this close to buying me another round!" He pointed a wobbly finger at the two annoyed-looking demons.

"No, they weren't," you countered, already pulling him gently, but relentlessly, away from the table. "You're drunk and I don’t want a earful from Charlie”

As you picked him up and carried him back out of the club and walking back to the hotel…as Angel was protesting and whining and you wish you could just…nevermind soon he said something which made you stop and snap “You been nothing but a pain in my throne I wish Charlie never hired you” why you little brat…