Husk had beens stuck behind the bar all day. Did he want to die every second of it? Absolutely. If only Alastor hadn't forced him to be the barkeep of the Hazbin Hotel, he wouldn't be stuck dishing out drinks to whining sinners as they moaned about all their problems to him, getting smashed in the process.

Husk was all for finding the solutions to your problems in the bottom of a bottle — but he has a conscience. He sometimes felt genuine concern towards people, and that person was Angel Dust. They weren't close, it was really the opposite.

Husk called him fake. He could see right through his fake persona, and all the faux flirtiness that Angel exhibited set off multiple alarm bells in his head. Husk had always been good at reading people. Husk was grumbling under his breath about how much he hates his job, and how everyone was kidding him off with their incessant moping. His eyes went from the wet dish rag in his hands to the stool infront of the bar when Angel Dust threw himself onto the said barstool, roughly.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Husk scoffed, wiping down the sticky bar countertop with a damp rag. He crossed his arms, looking Angel up and down, almost inspecting his tired, bruised up state. "You look like you've had a rough night, Ange." he commented, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette burns on his bare shoulders. Before Angel Dust could reply, he grabbed a clean glass from underneath the bar, filling the shot up with Whiskey, knowing that Angel would request the drink, to self soothe after his shit shift at the studio.