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Backspin - A ball rotating in the direction opposite to its travel.
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“So. You’re asexual, huh?”
The question caught Alastor off guard on a particularly slow day at the Hazbin Hotel. He was currently monitoring Niffty’s polishing progress on the hardwood floors, which would probably get done in the next five minutes at the break-neck speed she was going.
Angel was loitering around the foyer, as he normally did during the day time (or whatever you call it when Hell’s sky is a slightly paler shade of red), but Alastor could feel those invasive eyes ogling him from a distance. The overlord had chosen to ignore it as he had a schedule to keep, and breaking his stride just to inquire what was going on in that spiky white head would be somewhat counterproductive. Although, Angel’s question in and of itself was a bit bewildering, and if Alastor were to admit having at least one weakness, it would be his morbidly curious nature.
“A sexual what?” The red demon asked without taking his eyes off of Niffty and her neurotic cleaning techniques. “I’m certain I’m not any kind of sexual.”
He could hear the creak of Angel squirming around on a lounge chair that had once seen better days. “No, no, no - asexual; one word. Means you’re not really keen on bumpin’ uglies.”
A crude way of putting it. “Whatever you’re describing, it’s not exactly my idea of a Sunday afternoon stroll, no.”
A simple “hm” was all Alastor got in return. That seemed to be the end of the conversation, but he could practically hear those gears turning in Angel’s head. The lad never seemed like the type to just let things be.
Silence prevailed for another minute or two before the proverbial plane finally landed, when Alastor was then asked in the most unobtrusive voice a prostitute could muster…
“D’ja have a bad first time?”
Here we go.
“Frankly, my dear boy, I fail to see why you’re so inquisitive regarding what I do.”
“It’s more about what you don’t do, actually. Heh. Nice.” Angel congratulated himself on the turn of phrase with a quadruple finger snap, to which Alastor didn’t bat an eye. “Listen, I ain’t tryin’ to be a pill. Just curious is all!! I knew people like you existed, just never met anyone in person whose libido ran on empty, ‘specially not down here. ‘Course, now that I say it out loud, I guess aces are hard to come by in my line o’ work…”
“You’d be surprised by how diligently our proclivities, or lack thereof, follow us into the afterlife.”
“Oh, believe me, I ain’t no stranger to ‘proclivities’.” Angel gave the other demon a decidedly uncomfortable eyebrow waggle. “You can see a whole spectrum of it in my movies.”
“I believe this is the seventh time you have shared information with me that I hold very little interest in, which I will gladly take as my cue to bid thee adieu!” Alastor turned towards the main staircase with a twirl of his cane and set a brisk pace for somewhere that wasn’t near Angel. Too bad the spider had perfectly functional legs that could follow him wherever he went.
“Oh c’mon, big guy. I thought you liked makin’ small talk?”
“Depends on the present company.”
“Well put a bow on me and get ready for Christmas, ‘cuz I’m the best damn conversationalist in this entire hotel!” Angel snapped his bow tie for emphasis.
“That’s quite a debate...”
“Look,” the spider sighed. “What doesn’t get you off is your business, I respect that, but I ain’t gonna be all offended if you think sex is just gross or somethin’.”
Alastor reached the third floor parlor room and paused at the door, noting that the stained glass embellishments were a bit foggy from Hell’s natural humidity. He would have to close the windows before Niffty made her way up here.
“While the methods of intercourse are less than desirable, it’s not so much the unsanitary aspect. Rather, it does nothing for me.” Alastor pushed his way through the swinging doors with one finger, Angel hot on his heels.
The parlor was complete with a decent sized wet bar, a variety of classically designed furniture, and a pool table with a mysteriously large gash down it’s center. All the pieces in this room were there, but the quality was not up to standard according to Charlie, at which Alastor agreed wholeheartedly. He’d already called in a favor for the pool table repair - a “billiard professional” who lost against him in a 3-1 game after a misplaced challenge. (Apparently Alastor had been drunkenly mistaken for some parrot demon named Rick.)
Not many hotel residents visited this space, if not because of its old fashioned charm then most certainly for the lack of beverages behind the bar. Charlie had protested the idea, reasoning that she wanted the only available alcohol to be in the hotel lobby with Husk, where it could be monitored in the event that someone were to attempt alcohol poisoning.
Not being one to drink, Alastor often came to this room when he desired some peace and quiet, or to play a show tune on the old gramophone in the corner, then memorize it so he himself could play it back later. It was likely his feet instinctively led him here because of the growing unrest he’d been feeling via his fellow demon’s endless prying.
“Ahh, I get it.” Angel’s eyes swept the unfamiliar room and spotted the worn down pool table. With child-like glee, he hopped over and started rummaging the pockets for solids and stripes. “Since you don’t get anythin’ out of sex, like when you make one of your shady ass deals, then fuck fucking! Makes sense, I guess.”
Alastor watched passively as Angel was able to retrieve all fifteen balls with the help of his six appendages, plus one heavily oxidized cue ball, and laid them out in the appropriate triangular formation on the table. “I simply have better things to do with my time. Sexual acts, to me, are no different than any other hobby. You either have one, or you don’t.”
“No carnal urges, then?”
The dials in Alastor’s eyes made a brief appearance as he mused over the question. “I believe you and I have different definitions of carnal.”
Angel looked around for a cue stick, and judging by his pinched brow he was having no luck in his search. “And I guess helpin’ our lil’ princess run a shitty demon rehabilitation center that’s doomed to fail counts as a hobby for ya?”
“Hmm…” Alastor’s sardonic smirk was missed by the currently prostrating spider demon, who thought looking underneath the pool table required an ass-up approach. Angel nearly hit his head on the wooden edge when there was a sharp clack next to his face, courtesy of Alastor who had discovered the missing cue stick jammed into the adjacent wall. “I could’ve sworn you were there earlier when I broadcasted my honest intentions with this project to the entire staff…”
“Okay, okay, fair enough. Don’t start warmin’ up your windpipes again.” Angel straightened his astonishingly flexible spine and took the stick. Using the cube of chalk on the table, he primed the end of his stick until a tiny pile of blue dust started forming on the floor.
Alastor stared as if he were watching someone trying to tie their shoelaces for the fifth time in a row.
“I don’t know what this does, but it sure makes me feel like I know what I’m doin’.” Angel tossed the chalk and walked to the other end of the pool table to line up his opening shot.
As expected, the cue ball snagged on the ruined billiard cloth and made a less than impressive break in the pyramid of balls. He shrugged, seemingly satisfied that anything happened at all, and proceeded to look for a singular target.
Alastor didn’t have any intention of joining in, and it didn’t seem like Angel cared if he did or not. Now, the question was if he should just leave the other demon to his solitary game, or lurk towards his favorite nook in the room and immerse himself in some culture.
If he were completely honest with himself, the sound of billiard balls cracking against each other brought on a feeling of nostalgia, back to his childhood when he’d watch a group of gentlemen playing pool in the smoke saturated atmosphere of a local dive bar. His seldom lucid father would be drinking himself silly, while mother worked late nights at the hospital.
Being saddled with his biological disaster of a dad wasn’t his idea of a good time either, but as beer number four made its way into the man’s system and took what remained of his consciousness, young Alastor would wander over and learn how to play pool with the adults. He’d gotten quite good at it too, and suddenly Friday nights at “The Old Crow” were becoming something he actually looked forward to.
It was a damn shame when father found out. Alastor became one more person his mother had to patch up after a tiring twelve hour shift. The resigned exhaustion in her smile that still held enough room to comfort her only child would often hurt more than the bruises.
He could barely recall how she sounded anymore, but the words were clear as a bell…
“You gonna be a great man one day. I’ll make sure of it, baby.”
Ah, memories. Such bothersome things.
“Soooo, sex aside - and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever uttered those words in all my life...”
Alastor was briefly horrified to hear Angel’s voice coming out of his mother’s mouth, only to snap back to reality at the crack of another pool ball collision.
“Have ya ever been in love before? Like in all those schmoopy rom-coms on the Hellmark channel?”
Despite his depressing trip down memory lane, Alastor was not one to let his absence of mind show. He leaned back against the bar top and mock swooned, effectively distracting Angel from his next shot.
“Ahh~ love. Such a painfully mortal concept. That bubbling feeling of compulsory infatuation, leaving one in a twitterpated stupor for another creature that may or may not return your partiality with the same feverous ardor.”
“Uhh, yeah,” Angel blinked, diverting his focus back on the eight ball he was determined to land in a corner pocket. “So you have been in love then?”
“Heavens, no!” The overlord laughed. “Even less time for that, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, I hear ya.” Angel snorted, having incidentally managed to land the striped fourteen ball into a side pocket. “I dunno why people gotta attach love to sex all the time. Just ‘cuz I’m some guy’s pillow princess for a night doesn’t mean I wanna live happily ever after with’em like some Disney ass bitch.”
“Indeed,” Alastor replied, not relating to the other’s plight in the slightest.
“I ain’t got the energy to fuck and date. Besides, love is just a feelin’, and feelin’s are fleetin’; they never last. If you’re gonna love somebody, it has to be a choice, otherwise you’ll fly the coop once ya find out they ain’t a perfect prince charmin’ after all.”
Alastor never thought Angel was stupid by any means, but that piece of advice was a decidedly profound thing for him to say so suddenly. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Er, actually no.” He could tell he’d struck a nerve, and Angel didn’t have as tight a grip on his poker face as he’d like to think. “My ma used to tell us that, growin’ up.”
“Oh? She sounds like a sensible woman.”
Angel directed an uncharacteristically soft smile at the pool table, his hands going limp as he pondered. “You know, I think she’d like you, Al. You two would probably get along...if she were here, that is.”
There were only two possibilities in that loaded statement, and at the risk of pissing the spider off, Alastor made a guess as to which scenario Angel was implying.
“Took the one-way ticket north, I presume?”
Angel shrugged, unperturbed. “S’for the best.”
“I see.”
Alastor liked to think that his own sweet mother met the same glorified fate, but considering she had eventually murdered her abusive husband and was hauled off to a mental institution for the remainder of her days, he didn’t have much hope for that outcome. Sure, her daring act saved Alastor’s life, and in the end he’d been granted a freedom his younger self had never known, but the laws in heaven were pretty clear cut. One could even say they were set in stone.
At least Alastor had become the great man she always said he’d be. It wasn’t her fault that he’d picked up some destructive tendencies along the way. If anything, she’d taught him how to deal with his problems once and for all. Like mother, like son, in this case.
“Whatta ‘bout you?” Angel had changed his stance and gotten back into the game. “Any family outta town?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t exactly the model son at the end of my life. I doubt my own family would want anything to do with me, much less in death.”
There were plenty of sinners in Hell that had no clue where their family went after passing on. Some didn’t bother following up, too embedded in their new lifestyle to care about previous relations, while others would search high and low to see if anyone else in their screwed up brood had gotten what they deserved.
Angel could tell that this was definitely not one of those situations, and responded in kind. “Sorry to hear that.”
“As you said – it’s for the best.”
They shared a companionable moment of silence, acknowledging the old ache of loved ones lost, and allowing themselves to soak in the empathy for one another’s troubled past.
It was plain for anyone to see that Alastor and Angel were complete opposites (Charlie had so poetically described them as the sun and moon), but afterlife regret was a brand that had been seared into the backs of all denizens of Hell, in one form or another, and they were no different. What a comfort to know that the Hazbin Hotel could bring that common ground to the forefront in an unexpectedly amicable way.
It felt like the right time to let sleeping hellhounds lie, so Angel continued his game in reticence. He had still only managed to get one ball in the hole, which would make for an obscure sex joke if he weren’t so fixated on winning against himself. It was rather endearing to watch the boy try his damnedest at pool, and Alastor had to actively push down that visceral satisfaction from watching others struggle. However, he wasn’t a complete sadist, and being a pro at the sport himself it was also a somewhat painful experience for him as well.
Alastor sighed and set his cane against a bar stool in order to remove his pin striped coat. The humidity up here had gotten worse. “My dear, I’ve been watching you try to sink that eight ball for the better part of twenty minutes, and I don’t think I can stand idle any longer.”
Angel glanced up at the overlord and narrowed his eyes in what could only be described as casual scrutiny. “Am I so shit at this that you’re gonna straight up pack me in ice?”
He didn’t get a response as Alastor moseyed over to where Angel was positioned and used his cane-turned-cue stick to line up a shot. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
In the next two minutes, every ball in sight had been sunk on the first try without so much as breaking a sweat, regardless of the table’s damaged surface. Angel marveled at what was so obviously a power move on Alastor’s part, but the spider was too awestruck to care. Never let it be said that the infamous Radio Demon didn’t have style in everything he did, because each turn was complimented by the numerous intricate poses he held while doing it. Behind the back, over the shoulder, upside-down (somehow) - Alastor was one smooth criminal, and he knew it. Angel ate that shit up, apparently.
“Wow… Not bad, tiger!”
“You will refrain from using that nickname ever again, thank you.” Alastor saved the eight ball for last, but in a show of good sportsmanship he decided to let Angel take a crack at it.
“So this whole time you were just watchin’ me yuck around while you had all this hidden talent?” Angel asked while taking up his cue stick once more and looking for a good angle.
“Well, I don’t like to brag...”
“Ha! If that ain’t the biggest goddamn lie of the century.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
The pair laughed good-naturedly, a pleasing change of pace.
With the ice officially broken, Alastor waltzed over to Angel and decided to teach him a classic technique, one that was easy for beginners to pick up on.
“For this first go-round, you are to face your opponent head on. Feet shoulder width apart. One eye down the line of your cue stick. Remember - don’t break your stance until the ball is rolling.”
“Ohh~ startin’ off with somethin’ more vanilla, eh?”
Alastor fit himself against Angel’s back and spoke in a hushed tone. “If you want to keep improving, you’ll need to master the basics first, darling.”
He couldn’t see his face, but the way Angel’s fur suddenly puffed up was in no way subtle. Alastor wasn’t sure what caused that reaction, but demons had a litany of peculiar bodily operatics that were simply a part of their design. To some it would be rude to call attention to it.
“Now...” Alastor could feel the rumble in his own chest at this proximity. “We’re going to use English for this particular shot.”
“...I thought that’s what we been doin’?”
“English is a term for hitting the cue ball anywhere but the middle. Since you’re wanting to get the eight ball in the far most corner pocket, you’ll want to aim for high English.”
“Sooooo hit it above the center?”
“Precisely!”
Angel took the shot as instructed, but his ball hit just shy of the hole. “Rats! Guess I screwed the pooch on that one.”
“Actually, now you’re closer to where you’ll want to hit it next.”
It was true, the cue ball had traveled forward as well, and now it was in a prime position to sink the eight. “Would’ja look at that! How’d it get over there?”
“That’s the power of high English,” Alastor answered, ever so slightly proud about his proven point.
“Alright, smuglord, nice trick. I’ll have’ta remember that. ‘Course, I guess it’d be easier if this pool table weren’t so fucked up.” Angel ran his gloved hand along the furled green fabric, grimacing when he saw the dust mark left on his fingertips.
Alastor, in a stunning act of altruism, provided a handkerchief out of his pants pocket for Angel to use, which was gratefully accepted. “Yes, the repairman should be here by tomorrow.”
“I mean, couldn’t ya just voodoo it back together?”
“...I have a distinct feeling you don’t know the slightest thing about voodoo magic.”
“Ya got me there!” Another quadruple finger snap. As ridiculous and ill-timed as Angel’s little gestures tended to be, Alastor had to admit they were starting to grow on him.
Angel wanted to try out one of the more difficult stances that Alastor had done earlier, where the cue stick was maneuvered close to his lower back and propped up between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. He used two right arms to launch his shot from behind, but the ball was merely grazed and twirled on its axis like a sad spin top.
“Man, how’d ya do that? I feel like all these extra arms ain’t doin’ me any fuckin’ favors.”
“Seeing as you only need two arms in total for this game, I do believe any more might be a bit overkill, yes. Here—”
Alastor leaned into Angel’s space and slid one arm around his back to move the cue stick, while simultaneously resting his hand on the spider’s other arm for some minute adjustments.
“Your grip is too tight. Loosen up, and let the weight of the stick guide your shot.”
“Uhh, o-okay.”
“Bring your arm in a bit closer, like this.” He cradled Angel’s wrist and brought him forward until they were nearly fluff to chest. At this reclined angle Alastor was almost eye level with the other demon, and it was interesting to note the rosy tint that started to gradually flare up all over Angel’s normally colorless hair.
Perhaps it was a trick of the light?
“When you hit it, don’t just stop there. Follow through with your stroke to increase the ball’s momentum.”
Angel’s eyes became comically wide, followed by an audible swallow that seemed to echo through the room. “Momentum. Got it.”
“Now, when you’re ready, take a deep breath in and let it out very slowly. This is something hunters do when they take their shot. It helps keep your aim steady when you pull the trigger.”
Alastor hadn’t intended for his radio voice to cut out there, but like any true professional he continued with his lesson, still blissfully unaware of whatever struggle his student was currently going through. A small nod from Angel was the only indication of understanding before he inhaled, Alastor mirroring the movement as if to guide him.
The smell of saltwater taffy and something altogether musky - gunpowder, perhaps - caused the red demon to hold his breath for longer than he’d meant to. Angel seemed to sense this, and made eye contact with him in that one suspended moment.
Minutes could have gone by and neither of them would have noticed the decelerated passage of time. Lungs frozen, Alastor waited for… he didn’t know what, but it felt like something should be happening right now. From the stupefied look on Angel’s face his judgment was most likely not wrong.
Those bright pink eyes bore into him like a petrified animal, but there was no fear there; just anticipation. They flickered down to Alastor’s close-mouthed smile, and then back up as if the spell might break. Because that’s what this was, right? Some kind of spell. Certainly not one of any demon in this hotel, but there was a force here; an imperceptible tourniquet of the mind that didn’t allow rationality or cognizance to bleed through, as long as they continued to hold each other’s gaze. And Alastor was sure that if it weren’t for his body’s distress signal telling him to function properly, the supposed trance he and Angel Dust were in could have turned into something more… dangerous.
They exhaled at the same time; warm air against their lips...
What were to happen if--
Crack!
The word “flinch” was not in Alastor’s vocabulary. That being said, it took every ounce of control not to blink when the cue ball had struck its intended target, sinking its black counterpart into a corner pocket.
Angel reacted with no small amount of excitement and moved out from under Alastor’s hold to investigate his handiwork, eyes as large as the moon itself. “Holy shit. I did it!”
Don’t hesitate.
“Well done, Angel!” Alastor clapped, shaking off any residual paralysis. “I dare say that was quite impressive for a first try.”
“I’ve always been a fast learner,” Angel purred, pushing his hair back in a theatrical fashion.
“So it seems!”
“You’re, uh… tips were pretty helpful.”
Angel’s poorly hidden bashfulness was not lost on Alastor, and it was difficult to keep his smile from faltering in the face of it. “You are most welcome! I have plenty more where that came from.”
That didn’t come out right.
Whether Angel noticed or not was undetermined, as the spider seemed to be chewing his lips in his own realm of thoughts. The atmosphere felt charged in a way that beckoned their attention towards whatever just happened, but neither of them really knew where to begin, or whether they even wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Angel was already opening his mouth to say something, so a change of subject was out of the question now.
“Al…” He started off, voice smaller than it had ever been. “Did yo--”
Before another word could be said, there was a commotion from outside the door that drew their attention towards a shadowy figure behind the stained-glass. It seemed like Niffty had reached the third floor and was furiously wiping down every surface along the wall, like a super-powered, gravity-defying Roomba. Her normally expressive eyes had narrowed into slits, piercing through the colored panes in an angry red glow.
The image nearly gave Angel a heart attack. He muttered a curse under his breath and released the grip he had on Alastor’s arm, which the overlord hadn’t recoiled from, oddly enough.
“Christ on a stick, is she always gonna be like that?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, like…” Angel clawed at the air as if he were grasping for the proper words to describe his vitriol for their pint-sized house maid, “...fuckin’ psycho?”
Silence.
“She means well.”
“Uh huh,” Angel deadpanned, opting not to inquire further. He yawned, stretching the four limbs at his disposal, and used an extra hand to flick the cue ball into a side pocket. “Welp, this has been fun, Al, but I gotta get a nap in before my shift starts. Rain check on the lessons?”
Alastor wouldn’t lie. He’d been extremely curious of what Angel Dust was about to say before they were interrupted, but if this was the limit of his persistence for tonight, then there was no harm in leaving it be and agreeing to another rendezvous. “I might have some time on my hands.”
Angel’s smile was genuine. “Sounds like a date, hotshot.”
“……………….A date?”
Alastor chastised himself for the blip of static that impeded his speech, but there was little he could do when his vocal chords felt like they were being pinched between a pair of pliers. Angel had propositioned him countless times before, but this was a level of commitment that was leaps and bounds ahead of what he’d ever thought would transpire between them. Had he been giving off a weird signal, or maybe something he said had been misinterpreted? Then again, drug trips were known to cause auditory hallucinations--
Angel muffled a laugh, clearly amused by the vacant look on Alastor’s face. “Easy there, I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”
Right.
“I mean, if you really don’t wanna waste your time teachin’ a hooker how to play pool though, that’s fine--.”
“No, no, I’ll be here!” Alastor said a little too hurriedly, willing his coat back on with a clap of his hands. “Tomorrow, same time, same place. Don’t be late.”
Angel grinned like the Cheshire cat himself, his gold tooth gleaming in the overhead lamp light. “I’ll hold ya to it, babe.” He then sashayed out the door with a flourish that only a porn star could muster, and looked back at Alastor one last time to deliver his special flying kiss reserved for pretty much everybody. “Ciao~!”
There he goes. Just like that.
The emphatic click of high heels trailed down the corridor until it could no longer carry sound, leaving Alastor to his own devices in the now empty parlor room.
…
He wasn’t sure what to make of all this dead air, so the Radio Demon did the only thing that could remedy such a pregnant pause.
You do something to me
Something that simply mystifies me
The gramophone crackled to life, playing a jazzy little number for Alastor to lounge to in peace. Before settling down to get comfortable, he had to make sure the pool table was prepared for the next day’s lesson. With a wave of his hand six shadow puppets emerged, one from each pocket, all holding about two or three of the colorful orbs.
Tell me, why should it be
You have the power to hypnotize me
Alastor’s little helpers made a perfect triangle at the far end of the table, but the rip had gotten worse after he and Angel had played, and now the balls wouldn’t hold their shape. They all stared as the green six ball slowly rolled out of line until it hit a wall. The shadows looked to their master for a reaction, which was reluctantly given in the form of Alastor using his ‘voodoo’ magic, as Angel had so eloquently put it, to sew up that ugly scar for good. Looks like his repairman friend would be off the hook this time.
Let me live ‘neath your spell
You do that voodoo that you do so well
Despite forfeiting the divine pleasure of not being able to exert his power over a lesser being, Alastor was much happier with the state of the parlor room now that its main attraction was operational. Residents might actually start coming in here now, which had its pros and cons in equal measure. More visitors meant less alone time, but at least it would be one more thing to keep the hapless sinners that infested this establishment distracted from their everyday vices. Not that he gave a damn about that anyway.
What was important was that Alastor could finally relax after the whirlwind of a day he’d been through. The paisley patterned armchair in his favorite nook was just as comfortable as the last time he’d sat in it, if only a tad dusty. At least it wasn’t a spring-loaded travesty like the couch Angel frequented in the lobby.
For you do something to me
That nobody else can do
While Alastor would love to rest and withdraw to the inner recesses of his mind palace, he knew there was no avoiding the compulsive itch to unpack his impromptu bonding experience with Hell’s biggest prostitute. It had started out so routine for them – a little banter here and there, Angel makes a distasteful comment about specific anatomical features, Alastor leaves. He assumed their relationship would remain as trite as that… until they got deep into mommy issues and that whole chemical reaction with the billiard lessons occurred. It had been awkward to say the least, and Alastor learned way more about the spider demon than he’d ever needed to know, or see for that matter.
Still, it was inexplicably comforting to know that someone else in this hotel shared his antipathy towards the idea of love. That was the one good thing he could cling to after all of that hullabaloo. Of the sinners here, he wouldn’t have expected such solidarity from Angel Dust, but then again perhaps it made the most sense. Ladies of the evening had little time for a relationship while turning tricks, and for Alastor…
Well, who had time for such frivolous things in this day and age?
Oh you do something to me
Managing a hotel and a radio tower was enough of an endeavor as it was.
That who do that you do
Not to mention the economy was in shambles! Although, that didn’t really have much to do with love.
That voodoo that you do
And business wasn’t exactly booming at the moment, hence his recent lamentations of boredom.
That nobody else can do
…
Perhaps he should do some studying up on the subject. Know your enemies, as they say.
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