Chapter Text
Alastor stepped up the rail of the balcony looking over the lobby of the hotel. The lobby was bustling with the bodies, sounds and commotion of the denizens of the pride ring. A veritable buffet of sinners was milling about, chatting with one another, waiting in line to check in at the front desk and lounging on the various seats available. Ever since the curtain call at which Vox almost condemned everyone to double hell and Sir Pentious was proven redeemed, the hotels standing had been reinvigorated. Most days it was not uncommon to enter the lounge, lobby or any of the public spaces to find new residents everywhere you looked. What was once a quiet and demure establishment, now brimmed with people and a lively atmosphere.
Within the swathes of the crowd Alastor picked out the face he was looking for most of all and grinned, Lucifer. Dodging in between the sinners with bags and boxes, Lucifer wore a look of uncertain excitement. He bumped into a particularly large sinner and cringed in on himself, checking his surroundings before disappearing in a puff of magical flame.
Alastor and his shadows grins quickly dropped from his face with a huff. ‘I suppose I can bother him later…’ He tutted before scanning the crowd again. Charlie and Vaggi were busy as usual helping guests but otherwise unavailable for conversation. Nifty swept through the lobby on top speeds, dusting sinners and sideboards alike while also juggling what seemed to be various empty glasses and bottles to bring back to the bar. Shifting his focus to the bar he saw Husk, Cherri and the spiders’ pig. Cherri was naturally, drinking and scrolling her phone while she laughed at whatever asinine thing the infernal lightbox was showing her. Meanwhile, Husker finished a large tray of cocktails ready to be distributed. Wiping his brow, he called over the bar to the overly pink, one-eyed maiden to get her assistance.
“Come on Cherri, I can’t mix, take orders, give out the drinks AND keep the bar clean and manned by myself! Take the damn tray and pass out the drinks will yer?” The doddery old cat grumbled as he grabbed a new rag to wipe down the bar with.
“Ugh, I told you earlier, I’m on a break! Just five minutes Husky! Fuck! Why did I even agree to work he-”
“You went on break 20 minutes ago! Look at this place it’s slammed. I’m slammed! Besides you know exactly why you started working here! We need the extra help, and you’ll need the company now that…Angel is... well, now that we’re short staffed.” Husk threw his rag towards the bar sink and started preparing the next round on his list turning his back to Cherri. The blonde sulked before her face softened a little and she tipped back the rest of her drink and slammed the glass down.
“Yeah, sorry. I forget sometimes. Ugh! My feet are killing me! Vaggi really should think about hiring more staff at some point.” Cherri stretches her limbs before picking up the drinks tray. “Hang in there man. I miss him too.” She gives Fat Nuggets a quick scritch between the horns, earning a soft oink, before heading into the crowd.
Alastor squints at the pig and then Husk and decides now would be the perfect time for a drink. Melting into his shadow realm, Al appears next to the bar just as quickly and takes the seat Cherri has just vacated.
“Good evening Husker! My my! How electrifying the air is tonight, so many compatriots here. Well, it makes you think, anything could happen tonight. Hmmm?” At the first sound of Al’s tinny static laced voice, Husks slumped posture shifted and his shoulders raised to his ears before he looked over his shoulder to acknowledge his appearance. Even after all this time, the radio demon relished in the reaction he got from his contracted kittypet. Leaning his staff against his leg, he steeples his hands on the bar and rests his chin on them with smirk.
“Jesus Al, I’m busy. You’ll have to wait your turn, I’m behind by like 100 drinks here’ Husk hissed at him as he continued to measure and pour. “Charlie and Vaggi have been working their assess off bringing new potential redeemers in and it’s finally starting to pay off for them. So, if you are insinuating causing drama tonight, I wouldn’t.”
Husk turns around to place the next batch of drinks on the bar for Cherri to collect. He places both hands on the bar and leans forward a little. Alastor bats his eyelashes at him and pouts a little before clicking his fingers, a glass of rye and ice popping into existence in his hand. “Hmm... well I suppose I could take a backseat for now.” Alastor takes a sip of his drink as he once again surveys the room. “It’s only a matter of time before one of these sinners slip up and give me the entertainment I crave anyway!” He chuckles darkly behind his glass.
Husk rolls his eyes and checks the next order cheque. Alastor drains his glass in 2 gulps before refilling it and placing it on a napkin. Husk’s general demeanour loosened up again as he worked and his eyes darted to the overlord in front of him. He clears his throat before speaking again.
“Sure sure. Hey, uh, you see the new meeting scheduled for tomorrow? Charlie posted it in the staff room. We’re going to start brainstormin’ ways to get Angel Back.” He trailed off, voice wavering slightly. Alastor was aware of the meeting and was planning to be there, if only to be entertained as the group scrambled to make a haphazard plan that would surely fail.
“Why yes, I did. Though I fail to see how you’ll pull it off.” He knew Valentino wouldn’t let Angel out of his sight again after the last time he walked and with the media now focused on him as the new ‘head’ of the Vee’s, it would prove incredibly difficult.
“Well we gotta try!” Husk slammed a bottle of liquor down hard, “He can’t stay with that damn moth, he needs to be back here with me- US. Us…” Alastor squints at husk over his glass and cocks his eyebrow.
“Yes, with us of course. However will we live without our resident coquet?” This earned a scowl of disproval from the bartender.
“He’s more than his job asshole. Fact is, he’s miserable with Val. He needs to back at the hotel. He was on the path to redemption not that long ago and now? Now he’s back under his thumb and fuck knows what else. No, it stops now. You didn’t see what I did, ya didn’t hear him after the fight. ”
'Oh didn’t I?' Al leaned on the bar slightly and cleaned his monocle with an air of boredom as Husk continued.
“He needs us to remind him he’s worth more. Poor kids got it in his head that he betrayed us, He didn’t even know he was being manipulated by that TV.”
The mention of Vox made Alastor grimace slightly, but he slipped his trademark smile back into place, as well as his monocle before Husk could notice. Al drained his second glass in less than 5 minutes and sits up straighter.
“Well that he did, regardless of his intention to or not. Sounds to me like he’s taking responsibility for his actions.” Husk growls through gritted teeth. Al chuckled internally before feigning deep thought he sarcastically surmised. “But I suppose Charlie would say that’s his newfound conscience speaking. Ohh ok, I suppose I could drop by tomorrow.”
“How gracious of you.” Husk sniped as he finished his next round of drinks.
Cherri swings by at that moment to swap her empty tray for a full one.
“Fuck Husk! Two trays, I fuckin’ swear! That’s it, I’m talking to Vaggi about more staff tomorrow.”
Alastor chuckles as the young bombshell starts to lament her frustrations over being overworked to Husk. He stared at bottom of his glass deep in thought as they argued, their voices melting into the background noise.
Truthfully, his mind stuck on their conversation, tangenting to the Vee’s as a whole. The Vee’s we’re wounded for now, it was true, but Alastor was still reeling from the time he had spent with them in V tower, though he would never admit it to anyone. He thought back to the days he spent tied to that stupid office chair. The first few standing out in particular. He HATED being paraded around by the simpering picture box. He filled his glass for a third time and took a deep drink. The memories flashing in his mind, the diner, the parade, the interview. His static crackled as he thought of the interview and his eyes narrowed remembering how Vox had publicly declared about his tail or specifically his lack of one. How he had laughed with that vile news anchor. Conspiring to the masses to ridicule Alastor on social media and on the streets. Humiliating as it was, it was for the best that the public knew what they did. It wasn’t any less infuriating. Vox’s smug face flashed in his mind’s eye again.
He ground his teeth hard and the nearby radio screeched slightly, not loud enough to attract attention of the whole room but enough for husk to notice. He nods to whatever Cherri says and waves her off as she leaves and turns back to Alastor, who is silently seething and nursing his rye.
“You’re drinking a lot tonight. Something on your mind?” Alastor snaps out of his reverie remembering where he is and the radio stops crackling. His usual wide smile returning.
“Me? Aha! Always husker but nothing you need to worry about, I assure you! As for the libations, well, why wouldn’t I?! We have cause to celebrate after all. This hotel is on the map. A rising star amongst the dregs of humanity! Hottest place in town is it not? Aha!” Husk rolls his eyes, seemingly thrown off the scent for now by Al’s incessant patter as he gets back to work.
“Alright alright! Yeah were ‘poppin’ off as Cherri says, so I gotta concentrate.”
With that, Alastor drains his glass and stands to leave.
“Very well Husker! Ta ta for now!” He picks up his cane and twirls it as he leaves.
Alastor tunes his personal radio station, settling on a lively tune and walks to the beat through the hotel the crowds parting with his presence as he made his way across the room, up the grand staircase, along the gilded corridors and ultimately, to his room.
As the door to his quarters softly clicks shut and the lock is turned into place, Alastor’s music stops abruptly.
A beat later his posture slumps.
With a heavy sigh, he strides to his vanity table, places his cane down and removes his long coat and letting it fall to the floor before slumping down on the pouffe in front of it. He buries his face in his hands. Not daring to look at his reflection and the look his face wore in the privacy of his room. He can’t bear it but ever since he came home, his joy had dimmed, his mind distracted and his self-worth diminished.
Alastor closes his eyes and summons a cigarette. A cold gust sweeps from behind, reaching up and across his spine before settling on his shoulder and squeezing it in comfort. Without opening his eyes, he nods to his afterlife long companion. On his other side he hears the distinctive click of his old Dunhill lighter before lifting the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling slowly. He opens his eyes to see his reflection staring back at him. The face he sees is not one of his usual jovial self but a twisted and pained expression barely able to be called a smile. This smile was holding all the pain and stress accumulated over the last month. His shadow behind him mimicked his emotions except for one detail, it bore a frown so deep and sorrowful you could almost hear it cry.
Alastor waved his companions hand away and summoned a bottle of rye, nothing special just something to dull the ache in his head. It had become a habit as of late to sequester himself in his room of an evening and drink alone. What was once a glass or two every so often grew to many glasses every week, to nearly a whole bottle a night. His tolerance grew with it and soon he felt powerless to resist.
Shadow poured a glass as Al pulled his bowtie loose and opened a few buttons with his free hand. Once poured, shadow slid to the wall behind the vanity mirror, peering at his master’s face from over the top. He tilted his head in question. Al picked up the glass that had become almost a permanent extension of his grip and drank from it, staring him down.
“I’m fine. Don’t give me that look.” His shadow fiddled with its own hands, running one over an ear as they flattened but nodded back.
Al sighs and clicks his tongue in irritation. Although he was never truly lonely due to his translucent friend, their conversations were pretty one sided.
Al’s mind drifted back to Vox and the interview again, the cause of his current dower mood. Some days, the mention of his name bore him no mind. He could simply go about his day and duties to the hotel. Today however was not one of those days.
The subject of his tail had been the talk of many curious sinners during his time in Hell and when he first arrived he saw no harm in his change of physiology. However, as he assimilated to his new ‘home’ and contract keeper, his mind changed drastically. Rosie loved to tease and infantilise him over his ears and tail. Her nickname for him as her ‘pet’ demeaning. If she saw his new appendage this way, surely the general public would view it the same. It was infuriating to go from being a respected radio host and feared killer to that of an animal of prey! Prey for Satan’s’ sake. No, it would not do to be seen as lesser than those in the pits of the abyss. He was promised the title of ‘most powerful sinner in hell’ and he would be damned if he was seen as a weak little prey animal. He made it quite clear to Rosie that she was not to tell a soul or mention his tail to anyone. She found it funny but kept her word even to this day. All he had to do was conceal it after that.
That’s when his dirty little secret had begun. Almost a century ago.
If Rosie knew she would likely stop him but the thought of anyone else learning about his derriere filled him with enough dread to keep going. Alastor was a lot of things but he has never been weak.
Alastor takes another long drag of his cigarette and glares daggers at himself, briefly obscured behind a breath of smoke. His eyes dart to the bottom of the mirror, the table stopping him from seeing lower than his hunched over waist, but he knew it was there. Alastor growled and his static built up more freely, louder now that he was alone and had no one to disturb.
It had been a month since the interview. Just weeks since the overlords banded together to save the ring from Vox’s angel powered weapon and just as long since her last dealt with his tail. Yet here was, his tail completely intact again. His eyes flashed briefly, dials flickering on and off as his antlers grew by several points.
A whimpering crackle emitted from his shadow who at once started shaking his head and hiding behind the mirror further.
“Come now, you know we must abscond of this ghastly thing. No point in delaying the inevitable.” Al was starting to slur slightly as he spoke and gestured to his phantom with his glass before downing its remains and slamming it onto the table before stubbing out his cigarette and grabbing the bottle.
Al stood swaying slightly as he caught his breath and then crossing the room to his bayou, bottle in tow and shadow at his heels despite his reluctance to be involved.
His bayou was where he kept his tools for all of his more gruesome jobs, both public and… the more personal. He walked for a long time, sipping from the bottle while walking a path only he knew. Once he was deep into the wet densely wooded area, he turned down a small slope to the right and past some vines into a clearing of marshland with a beat-up old shack of a cabin that leaned onto a lake. Taking a heavy swig Alastor pushed clumsily into the rickety cabin in the middle of the swamp and set down the much lighter bottle on a bloody table in the middle of the room.
The cabin had only 2 rooms, one larger than the other. The main one held a table laden with bottles and jars of various herbs, spices and liquids. Next to it a chair and a mostly bare plate cabinet. To the right of the room was a kitchen with a butchers block several knives and cooking equipment. Through a door to the left, a sparse bedroom.
Als’ shadow flittered through the door and straight up to the ceiling to a far corner, observing timidly, knowing what was to come. Alastor opened the top draw to the cabinet and took out a box of matches to light the gas sconce above the table. The light bounced around the room stretching shadow before it pulled itself close again. Replacing the matches he grabs a velvet wrapped blood red box and places it on the table.
Al looked to his shadow and reaches out his hand as if to beckon it to him. The shadow shakes all over, violently shaking its head. ‘No.’
Alastor grits his teeth and turns to it, now swaying quite obviously.
“YOU COME TO ME WHEN I TELL YOU TO.”
Alastors' voice was laden with cracks and pops as he manifests his scarier features, his antlers lengthening and his height growing until he almost needs to duck from the low cabin ceiling. Shadow quakes with fear, bringing its tendril like arms in front of himself, moving even further into the corner as though, if it tried, it could get even further away than it already was. Al let out a screech akin to the sound of stag attacking, eyes once again forming the dials he so often uses to terrify his victims into obeying. Shadow covers his eyes and slips quickly over the ceiling and into the next room. Al follows its movements with his eyes but does not follow it to the other room, letting go of his bigger from with resignation that it must be done himself tonight.
“Coward.” He mutters before turning back to the box on the table. His fingers twitch ever so slightly as he opens the lid. Upon the cushioned velvet insides lay a single black blade with a handle made of bone. Discoloured a deep yellowish brown from years of use. It glowed with green magic imbued with in it many decades ago. Despite having performed this task for most of his afterlife, he was always slightly hesitant to start and so it takes a moment to steady himself.
Alastor takes his time taking off his belt, pants, shirt and shoes. He folds the clothes meticulously and leaves them in a neat pile on the chair next to him. No more procrastinating. He braces himself, then grabs the knife.
Al raises the knife and twists around to look behind him. It was an awkward angle thanks to his shadow refusing its help tonight but not impossible.
Disgusting.
Al took his left arm and grasped his tail hard from underneath. Its soft plush fur brushing between his fingers and disturbing the delicate pattern of spots upon its surface.
Demons are supposed to be grotesque.
He tugs hard, fur ripping from the base in clumps and he holds it upright.
The image of Vox’s face comes to his mind once again. This time, the intrigue on it, an almost hopeful look on his face on that first day of his capture as he ripped Al’s clothes off with his wires and tying him up against a wall to see the space where his tail would have been only to find nothing but a scar. ‘What? No tail? God! You’re kidding!? That’s hilarious’ Vox dissolved into peels of laughter in his mind but Al could tell he secretly wished he had one by the disappointment etched into the pixels of his flat face.
‘Maybe I’ll get you one huh? You would look so… cute.’ He leered at Alastor, before tying him back to his chair, still bare to add to his humiliation. Tears stung at his eyes at the memory of it.
Overlords, should NOT be cute.
Al let out a bloodcurdling scream as he brought his right hand behind his back to the underside of his tail and sliced harshly upwards. Blood pooled on his hand as the blade met bone immediately but did not go through. His lack of coordination from the strong alcohol making the job messier that usual.
I am not WEAK.
He pulls upwards with the blade again, ripping through sinew and cartilage.
The silence of his swamp filled with Alastors’ screams of pain and the repeated sounds of wet ripping flesh. The crunch of his tail bone severing from his spine was deafening as he sawed through roughly creating a schism between it and his body.
His left hand pulls harder as the tendons start to flay back. The remaining layers of sinew and skin rip from his hind quarters as he finished with a shout. Alastors’ breathing is heavy and his voice trembles, sobs falling from his lips, long having dropped his signature warm ribbon microphone effects. He falls to his knees and the knife clatters to the floor.
He stays there for several minutes gasping for air, steadying his shaking form before lifting his head to the side and glaring at the now severed appendage. Barely recognisable, a mutilated tuft of fluff and blood lay motionless in a pool of blood, a bone sticking out from one end. Alastor picked it up lifting it close to his face with a sneer and squeezes it before dropping it back to the floor.
He raises a hand in its direction and incinerates it.
This is how it must be. A small price to pay for my pride.
His shadow comes forth from the lintel at which it lingered, having watched the entire harrowing affair. Accustomed to the scene of self-mutilation his master had performed but still wary of approaching too soon. It helped him to his feet.
Alastor was not done yet, he needed to perform a cleaning ritual to stem the bleeding from the base of his spine before he could rest. He allowed his shadowy friend to gather the rags and necessary ingredients and combine them in a bowl for him.
He bent himself over, using the edge of the table to lean on for stability and grabbing the mixture of herbs and oil and dipped in a clean rag, reciting a spell over the bowl as he soaked the rags.
He dabbed at the stinging wound on his back and felt the telltale rush of the potion working. Once the bleeding had stopped, his shadow was ready to wrap the area in a thick bandage. Alastor felt utterly spent, it had been a long day, and the ritual took a lot of power to perform.
Leaving the clean up to his shadow, he wearily dragged himself to the second room and onto the bed. He curled up on his side and let his tears flow freely as he tucked in on himself tight.
Disgust, shame and pain overtaking his brain and body as he passed out.