Ambivalence

by KewpiKayo

Summary:

You were never meant to fall in the first place. He was never meant to see you again. Both instances were a complete accident.

And all though you don’t remember him, Alastor certainly seems to remember you. Your past is shrouded in mystery, but Alastor may have a few tricks up his sleeves to help jog your memory of the life you shared with him.

Was this second chance meeting a blessing or a curse? A miracle or a coincidence? And Is it even worth it to remember him?

After all, as the saying goes, ignorance certainly is bliss…

But another chance at love surely is worth the torture…right?

Chapter 1: Her Fall

Summary:

"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." ~ William Shakespeare

You rip yet another page out of your notebook, dissatisfied with the words you had written. This was the tenth page that you had crumbled and discarded within the span of 30 minutes. Nothing was good enough. No amount of motivation would help you find the words to describe what you had felt, regardless of the fully finished poems you had written. Why were you struggling so much? Writing should’ve been the easy part, after all. You were in Heaven. What else would you feel besides bliss or perfection? That was the point.

 

But still, depicting perfection or any other positive emotions for that matter, only got you so far when it came to poetry. You could only describe the same people, places or things for so long before the imagery in your mind's eye became dull. You were losing focus, your talent dissipating in the wind the longer you stared into the blank pages of your notebook.

 

You sigh, closing the book that rested neatly in your lap as you peered out into the vast openness of the universe. You closed your eyes as the clouds beneath you felt like fresh moss, rich with the deep scent of petrichor. It was almost to the point you could taste it. Your seat was soft to the touch as you dangled your legs off of the edge of the cloud scape you found yourself on. The cool breeze was alive with even more vivid scents akin to fresh linens, citrus, cinnamon and various other spices. The senses you experienced were the epitome of the words comfort and relaxation. The experience was almost too tantalizing to even describe. Everything was too perfect.

 

This little spot on the outskirts of Heaven had become your safe space as of late. It was your favorite place to come and think, the quiet breathtaking views of the vast universe being your backdrop. The sight never got old, regardless of how many times you would sit and gaze out into its depths. That was the reason you had come out here, after all. Even with writer’s block, you knew this place would never fail you and never leave you lacking for inspiration. Some of your best poems, stories and drawings had come from just peering into the vast remnants of where the world came into being. The elysian stars that shone above you became some of your closest intimates as you would sit and make art underneath them. Something about this place made you feel like you were alive again.

 

So, imagine your surprise when the words in your brain wouldn’t flow through your pencil into the paper like usual. No matter how hard you tried to think, the words were elusive and never came to you. You didn’t understand it. You were in your special place, so why was this so hard? Why were you so speechless?

 

The only emotion remotely close to sadness you could feel was the unsavory prickle of numbness. Sadness didn’t really exist in Heaven. After all, it wouldn’t be Heaven if it did. But somehow, that was the closest thing to describe what you felt. Perhaps it was loneliness, or longing of some kind? Or maybe the bittersweet nostalgia of a past long forgotten? Whatever it was, you couldn’t name it. And it frustrated you.

 

What was worse was that this feeling continued to become prevalent in your daily life, as if you were missing out on something, or missing someone you couldn’t quite name, or rather, remember. If you could only name the emotion, maybe you would be able to feel better so you could move on with your afterlife. At least, that was what you most desperately hoped.

 

You remember mentioning this feeling to the other heavenly souls and angels you were closest to, hoping you weren’t the only one experiencing this strange phenomenon. Of course, you were only met with strange looks and recommendations to just forget about it and enjoy your afterlife. After all, if it was something important, you would’ve remembered it or been alerted of it by now.

 

Most of the angels recommended to continue focusing on gaining your wings and halo, the next achievement on your to do list in your afterlife. You were well on your way to completing this, and were honestly surprised it still hadn’t happened by now. You couldn’t remember when or how you died, nor the details of your life, but you did know you had been in Heaven for a while.

 

Your superiors advised that continuing on in your endeavors would be good for you, regardless of your progress. For a time, you agreed with them. Their advice had made sense, so you did your best to distract yourself with your heavenly assignments and prayerful meditations whenever possible.

 

Still, the feeling continued to silently eat away at you. It demanded your active attention, even to the point of finding yourself growing more and more reclusive. You often stole away to your safe haven by yourself to think even more than you were used to. Poetry, writing stories or drawing become your escape from lamenting about your own thoughts. The situation was vexing to say the least, which is why you found yourself now hiding once again in your secret place.

 

You open your eyes once more to turn to look at your old portable radio seated beside you. It was softly playing an upbeat jazz song out of its speakers. You couldn’t help but do a little dance in your seat, swaying your head and snapping your fingers in time with the music; the gentle hum of static distracting you.

 

Regardless of how much your music tastes had changed since you died, for some reason you had a special place in your heart for Jazz, the classics and instrumentals. It gave you a strange sense of comfort, and somehow quelled the disquiet in your head. Maybe it had been the type of music you were accustomed to in life? You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that the songs that continued to play out of your radio soothed whatever nameless, bittersweet emotion that plagued you most days.

 

As the song came to a close, the low roar of static replaced the sweet notes you had hummed along to. You turned down the dial on the front to stop the noise, leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

 

That was the thing about your radio. It only ever seemed to play when you needed it. It was as if it would read your troubled thoughts and play a song accordingly, regardless of genre or time period. Then once its purpose had been fulfilled, it would be drowned out in static until it was needed again. This happened multiple times a day without fail.

 

You weren’t particularly bothered by the sporadic nature of your radio and just assumed because of its old design that Heaven’s radio stations and signals had become less common over the years. You actually had thought about replacing it several times, contemplating on finally investing in a mp3 player, or smartphone. New things were always being advertised in electronic stores throughout heaven, surely there was something you’d like amongst the choices.

 

For some reason, however, you just couldn’t bring yourself to part with your radio. You found excitement in its random music intervals, never knowing what would play next. And the songs that rang out always seemed to soothe your heart at exactly the right time. Plus it worked perfectly fine. It wasn’t broken, so why attempt to fix it or waste money to replace it?

 

For now, the radio seemed like it would be taking a break from amusing you. Being somewhat inspired by the silence it brought, you took this chance to do some writing. For once some of your words finally made sense. You were excited that a few poems on the page had come out somewhat decent, becoming proud of them the more they were fleshed out. You were especially enthused with the current one you were writing. The words were flowing like silk. Things seemed to be going well.

 

That was until they weren’t.

 

This particular poem was ruined the second you tried to extend to a third stanza. You tried to amend your mistakes, but found it hard to practice patience with yourself. The more you wrote, the more the words continued to jumble out in a distasteful failure. Erasure marks and black pencil streaks plagued the page and you mentally snapped when your eraser broke through and tore the paper.

 

You immediately felt defeated. Now the rest of your poems on that page were tainted, ruined even, because the paper was ripped. Why did you even try?

 

You tore the page out of your notebook in frustration, crumbling and compressing it in your hands. Without thinking, you threw the condemned piece of paper over the edge of the clouds. The crumbled note disappeared, tumbling into the abyss below.

 

Curiously, you peeked over the edge. The piece of paper was nowhere to be seen. Actually, you couldn’t see anything except for the wide gulf of dark nothingness beneath you. It was kind of spooky the more you stared into it.

 

Somewhere, far below you, was Hell. It was a place where souls were condemned and tortured for all of eternity. And as far as you knew, there was no way to escape that fate once judgment had been passed on a soul.

 

You remember hearing some of the Heavenly elders talk about how some angels in the beginning of time were even banished into the fiery depths. They were cast out for questioning the order that had kept Heaven safe for so long. One such angel being Lucifer. Everyone in heaven seemed to know who he was, and all for especially bad reasons. The elders would often tell his story to be a reminder, a warning, of what happens when you go against Heaven and the punishment that would follow.

 

You mused a little more on the thought. It truly must have been a terrible place if angels themselves couldn’t come back from there. Especially ones with wings.

 

Shaking your head, you pulled yourself up from looking over the ledge. You were clumsy enough already, you didn’t need the added pressure of eternal damnation over your head if you were to fall. Even if it was genuinely by accident.

 

You leaned back, content with bringing your legs back onto solid ground and sitting with your legs daintily to the side. Beside you was the rather large pile of crumbled poems you had created. They would need to be thrown away soon as it was getting closer to time for you to head back home.

 

Glancing around, you looked for a suitable place to dispose of your garbage. Of course, there would be no trash cans on this side of heaven.

 

You peeked into the satchel that was wrapped around your torso. You knew for a fact you didn’t have any more room in there to carry all that trash back home with you. Especially when you would put your portable radio safely in the bag later. You wondered to yourself if anyone would care if you just tossed the trash into the abyss? Taking a look around at your surroundings, you didn’t see anyone else nearby who would have a conflicting opinion on what you were about to do. You took that as a good sign as well as unspoken permission.

 

One by one you threw the crumbled paper into the outer darkness, watching all ten of them float rapidly into the depths. The wind was picking up, blowing them to and fro as they continued downwards towards the bottomless pit.

 

As you watched the crumbled pages descend into Hell, you had a small thought. What if someone down there read what you wrote? You silently pitied the person who would have the misfortune to read your terrible writing attempts. You wished whatever you had written was better. Maybe then it would be more entertaining? Maybe it would cheer someone up down there, if nothing else?

 

No, that probably wouldn’t happen. A lot of the poems you made were garbage, especially when you tried to write about happy stuff. There was only one page that you were actually proud of that you had written and the contents inside it were bittersweet at most. Maybe that’s why you dismissed them and sentenced the pages to Hell in the first place. You felt like none of what you wrote was your best work, and besides, sadness didn’t belong in Heaven. So, if your work wasn’t up to Heaven’s standards anyways then it certainly wouldn’t be up to yours. logically, that only left one other place to send your imperfections.

 

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would bother to read your words. Maybe someone would resonate with the meanings behind what you wrote. Maybe they would take the time to glimpse into your soul’s silent struggles? Even if the poems weren’t perfect?

 

You sighed and scolded yourself for your wishful thinking. Why would anyone want to read what you had to say? Your writing was laughable, at best. If your work had been better then it would’ve stayed in the confines of your note book, where no one else would read them but you anyway. And besides, it was Hell. People were probably too busy suffering to even consider reading something that randomly fell from the sky. It was a moot point to worry about, so why bother?

 

You continued to watch each piece of paper disappear from view, leaning a little too close over the edge of the clouds. You glanced over at your radio, reaching for it to put it back into your book bag when the wind picked up. It knocked into you, making you lose your balance completely.

 

In an instant, you, your book bag and your radio were falling; plummeting at top speed into eternal darkness. By the time you knew what was happening it was already too late. The cliff edge was already far out of reach. Somehow, through your screams of terror and surprise, you twisted and maneuvered your body in the air so you were facing the sky. Faster and faster, the brightness of Heaven became dull with every minute that you fell further.

 

The minutes that passed felt like hours. You didn’t know how long you had been falling. The only inclination that time was passing was when the cerulean blue sky turned dark and bloody. The ever growing stench of smoke mixed with sulfur assaulted your nose. Just by the smell alone you could tell you were getting closer to your destination.

 

Before you could ready yourself for a landing, your back hit the rooftop of a building. On impact, you could hear the snap of bones somewhere in your body as the breath was ripped from your lungs. The momentum of your fall propelled you forward, causing you to roll multiple times until you found yourself plunged downwards once again, knocking into multiple obstacles. The ground claimed you as its property as a cloud of dust and grime sprayed into the air at your landing, your head smashing into a dumpster on the way down.

 

The dirt that had floated into the air irritated your lungs and coated the inside of your throat, suffocating you. You struggled to breathe, only managing to take in strangled gulps of air as your head threatened to explode. Your lungs and back were on fire as you laid on your side, limp like a dead man.

 

Breaking out into a fit of weak coughs, you could see the occasional spray of blood leave your lungs. The red liquid dripped out of the corners of your mouth and out of your nose, painting the brick wall directly in front of you. Your head was heavy as your eyes continued to close, trying to refocus your blurry vision. Your eyelids stayed closed for longer each time you blinked. There was a pounding in your head, a deafening plea for release from the pain you felt.
After an eternity of torture, you succumbed to your wounds. Sleep embraced you, beckoning you into a dreamless void. You were hapless to resist, becoming dead to the world around you as you laid broken on the grimy asphalt.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hot air mixed with terrorized cries wafted through the open window of the Radio Demon’s studio. Alastor was reclined in his office chair, crossing his legs as he perched his feet on the opposite side of his desk. His eyes were closed as he wore a relaxed smile, softly humming to himself. At present he was enjoying the sounds of chaos being produced by the denizens of Hell just outside his broadcasting room. What a morning to wake up to.

 

Of course the world outside his radio tower would be a dumpster fire. An extermination had just taken place a week ago and turf wars were still actively happening. Sinners all over would still be looking through the discarded commodities of the deceased, claiming them as their own before attempting to kill others to protect what they stole. Was he complaining? Heavens no, this was Alastor’s entertainment for the morning as he waited for his coffee to brew. Who in their right mind would want to miss out on all that action?

 

Yes, the chaos outside was music to his ears. As he tuned into the screams, he remembered he had dearly missed being able to replicate the sounds he heard on his own broadcast. He was loath to admit it, but Alastor would have to be patient for an opportunity to present itself much later into the future. After all, he couldn’t possibly do that while still employed by the princess of Hell under her little passion project. No matter how much he wanted to let off some steam.

 

The whole idea of rehabilitating sinners was ridiculous to him, but it did bring him a sense of entertainment. That was the only reason Alastor was helping with the hotel after all; to bask in the inevitable disasters that would ensue when the hotel's residents would try to get into heaven. Key word being try. He knew things would end in an utter calamity and that was what he was banking on. He absolutely could not wait. It was only a matter of time.

 

Alastor’s ears twitched as he heard the faint ding of the timer go off in the kitchen farther into the hotel, signaling that his coffee was ready. He didn’t move from his spot, opting instead to signal to his shadow with his hand. He shooed it away to retrieve the hot drink for him. No way would he be leaving before he had his fill of listening in on the cataclysm happening outside. He continued to hum, content with imagining himself as the one causing the mayhem he heard. Just because he couldn’t participate in the theatrics outside didn't mean he couldn’t think about it.

 

As soon as it had left, his shadow had reappeared with the anticipated beverage in hand. Only then did Alastor move, opening his eyes and straightening up in his chair to take the cup offered to him. He nodded in dismissal as he breathed in the delicious aroma and took the first sip.

 

The dark liquid as hot as molten lava danced on his tongue, scalding his lips and the inside of his mouth. It was a perfect mix of bitter taste and searing ache as he swallowed. He didn’t even allow the drink to cool before sending it down his throat and taking in another gulp. This burning sensation was always something he looked forward to in a cup of coffee. It was like his day couldn’t start until he had that combined jolt of pain and caffeine to wake him up and warm his senses. Alastor sighed, his smile relaxing. Ah, the wonders of a good cup of Joe.

 

Flitting his gaze over towards his desk Alastor saw the mountain of papers waiting for him. One of his eyes twitched at the sight. Charlie had asked him to look over the documents she prepared to make sure everything was in tip top shape for the fundraiser she was planning later in the month. It was a laughable event, really. With a single glance he could already tell that the paperwork she presented him was not even worth the ink wasted to print it; but he agreed to look over everything to appease the princess.

 

Of course, that would only happen after he had finished his cup of coffee for the morning. Or, rather, his second cup. The one he enjoyed was nearly gone.

 

Shooing his apparition away to retrieve yet another cup, Alastor picked up his monocle that laid neatly on his desk and placed it onto his face. He sighed. He might as well get a head start on the task at hand. The sooner he finished his work, the sooner he could stroll around and observe the carnage he so enjoyed on the streets.

 

Alastor leafed through the stack of papers on his desk and organized everything into piles, marking the pages and making quick notes for Charlie in the process. With precision he made quick work of the stack in front of him. As he continued to concentrate, he could feel a slight breeze wafting into the room from his open window. Hearing a faint thud hit the carpeted floor, he peered over towards the noise and noticed a crumpled piece of paper.

 

Curious. How did that get there? He didn’t recall throwing anything the princess had given him away, no matter how much he just wanted to chuck every document into the trash and send them into a blaze. He was also most definitely sure he wouldn’t have missed his target if he did throw anything out. The piece of paper wasn’t anywhere near the garbage can in the first place.

 

Alastor got his answer when he watched another piece of paper waft into his studio from his open window, opting to land gently onto his broadcasting equipment.

 

Ah. That was the culprit.

 

Alastor pushed himself from his seat and stood to go and inspect the trash the window had so graciously let in, much to his irritation. He assumed it was yet another feeble death threat or territory claim written by an overlord-wannabe who was cutting teeth on the game he had been a pro at for so long. The attempt was pathetic if so.

 

As he picked up the piece of paper closest to him, a thought hit him. Most buildings around weren’t as tall as the hotel, and his radio tower was attached to one of the highest parts. So, how did the wind manage to pick this up and deliver it to him? Odd.

 

As he continued to muse on the thought, Alastor was met with his second cup of coffee. His shadow has returned, handing him the piping cup. Taking another sip he walked towards the window to look into the street below, his smile widening.

 

People fought, murdering in the streets. Bodies, limbless and headless alike, were strewn seemingly everywhere. Some shops had been vandalized, others were still in the process of being broken into and stolen from. Homes were even burning, with people inside. The screams from earlier had continued to ring in the morning air. The world outside was in utter shambles.

 

The sight was even better than Alastor had previously visualized.

 

So why was it that the objects that kept his attention fixated outside had nothing to do with any of the carnage or excitement around him?

 

Alastor’s attention was stolen by the measly sight of eight crumbled pieces of paper. At first glance, they looked like snowflakes in an inferno. Possibly not noticeable to the common eye, but very much out of place. They were at the mercy of the wind, tumbling on the sidewalk, street and the front yard of the hotel.

 

This wouldn’t do. He didn’t mind the chaos in the streets. He loved it, in fact, but the upkeep of the hotel was one of his obligations. Littering, however trivial, was something that needed to be nipped in the bud. After all, the outside of a building was the first impression of any esteemed establishment. If the outside was untidily kept, one could only assume the same for the inside. Alastor couldn’t risk what the papers would say if the hotel was continuously in disrepair. It wouldn’t be good for business. People wouldn’t want to come to the hotel, and if they didn’t want to become residents then he wouldn’t be able to watch them ultimately fail.

 

So, on yet another errand, he sent his shadow out into the street to retrieve the scraps of paper littering the yard. While he waited, he smoothed out the wrinkles in the page he held and had a look. What was written before him wasn’t a death threat. It was far from it, actually.

 

What he had in his clutches was a poem, and a very poorly written one at that.

 

He couldn’t help but let a laugh out at the contents on the page. The words he read were terribly naive to the point of stupidity, speaking of hope and other worthless sentiments. For some reason, a poor random soul felt the need to immortalize them into writing. What a joke! No wonder the poet threw this away.

 

As soon as he read the forsaken page, Alastor set it ablaze in between his fingers. It had served its purpose. He had given it an audience and now the only use he had for it was kindling for a burn pile. He savored the way it burst into flames in his grasp as the ashes fell to the floor. His shadow, ever the attentive apparition, had pulled the trashcan below where he stood to catch the embers that fell. He appreciated the gesture, not wishing for the pitiful ruins of the poem to besmirch his floor a second time. The mere thought of it irked him.

 

Holding out his hand for the next page, his shadow placed one more into his expectant claws. Much to Alastor's joy, the second poem was just as bad as the first, if not more so. A second bout of laughter escaped him at the atrocious writing he read. This poem was yet another about hope and peace and all the emotions he could care less about. It actually sounded like something down Ms. Charlotte’s alley. Did she write these? Alastor shook his head. He could tell by the wrinkled state of the paper that the poet wasn’t the princess. She would’ve treasured and kept something as pitiful as this. The emotions mentioned seemed to be something the demon belle cared a lot about, much to his dismay.

 

As he had finished the second page, he gave it the same treatment as the first and scorched it. By now Alastor was invested, asking his shadow silently for the next poem with his waiting hand. What other sorry attempt would he be able to read? If it was anything like the first two, then it was bound to be a hilarious experience. Laughing at a stranger’s shortcomings sounded like the perfect excuse to take a break from his work.

 

Thus started the cycle of reading, laughing and then burning the pages he was given. Alastor did this six more times, thoroughly enjoying himself with each poem he destroyed. He didn’t think the poems he read would impact him so much. If anything, he assumed each one would’ve been forgotten as soon as it was burned. Somehow that wasn’t the case. Everything he read seemed to expound on the one that came before it, adding to the absurdity of the ideas each one presented. That was what kept his laughter rolling, the notion that someone would take the time to write something utterly outlandish and miserable. Whatever the author’s reasons, he was hooked and enjoyed getting the chance to peek into someone else’s mind, however laughable their opinions.

 

“Now this is the entertainment I’ve been searching for! Honestly, what kind of pitiful wretch comes up with something like this?!” the radio demon cackled to himself, going back to recline in his office chair. He kicked up his feet while the seventh poem shriveled into ash from the heat radiating off of his hands.

 

“Alright, now what “riveting” words do we have in store for the final act?” Alastor chuckled, taking the presented paper ball from his shadow with eager anticipation. What sappy, utterly horrendous words would his eyes stumble upon next?

 

As he opened and smoothed his claws across the wrinkled paper canvas, his laughter immediately died in his throat. Sitting up straighter in his chair and taking his feet off of his desk, he tilted his head as his eyes skimmed the page.

 

With the previous works he read, there was only one poem per page. What he was looking at now, however, were four poems. The words were written in such a delicate hand. He stopped reading for a moment just to marvel at the penmanship used.

 

Looking back, the previous poems he read did have similar handwriting, but the attention to detail wasn’t as noticeable. Had this been a page the poet wanted to keep? He couldn’t understand why someone would go to such lengths to write each word perfectly if it was only going to be discarded in the end.

 

Ridding his head of his thoughts, he started reading the first poem:

 

 

“Well, this certainly changed to a different tune. Curious…”

 

The tone of this poem was bittersweet and starkly different from all the previous ones he read. It was actually decently written, as if more time was spent on forming the contents of the page. It was better than the other haphazard attempts he had burned, at least. Curious about the others, he spared the next one an inquisitive glance:

 

 

 

Alastor was standing now. He hadn’t realized he was so caught up in reading the words that he had gotten up from his chair. Once again the words were written with such attention, each letter peculiar and unique in design. He glanced down at the next poem:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alastor’s interest was piqued, but for far different reasons than to laugh this time. He found himself pacing around his broadcasting room, rereading the poem to himself. What was it that this person longed for? What was the intent behind the words he read?

 

These words were certainly a far cry from anything he had read moments before. They made the writer sound utterly hopeless, desperately sad even. It intrigued him and only drew in his focus more. What, or who, was it that they wanted to remember? And why was he even interested in knowing the answer? Without skipping a beat he continued reading:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alastor released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and crushed the paper in his hands, frustrated that the page ended almost abruptly. Of course it had ended on a cliff hanger, and a dissatisfying one at that.

 

While Alastor was alive, that was a grand tactic he used while broadcasting; to keep his audience on their toes with the promise of more content the next day. But there was no promise of more here, only blank lines and smudges. Was this genuinely all he would be left with? It frustrated him. Surely there should’ve been more written.

 

Thinking more on it, Why was he affected so much? It was nothing but words scrawled onto crumpled paper. It wasn’t even something meant to be seen, just discarded trash. But still, he wanted more.

 

Taking a closer look, he could see scratches where the poem ended. Black streaks and erasure marks plagued the bottom of the page which ended in a hole being torn through the paper. Before dismissing the page onto his broadcasting table, he gave it one final look over in an attempt to ascertain any new information. He brought the sheet of paper closer to his face.

 

Finally his efforts were rewarded when he glimpsed the faint words that had been previously obscured. Alastor adjusted his monocle and continued to read:

 

 

 

 

Oh he definitely liked the end to this one. It was as if Alastor was holding the slow regression of someone’s sanity in his hands. A soul's silent plea to be noticed. The discovery of such an interesting prospect had him giddy to the point of wondering if he would happen on more of them. His grip tightened on the sheet of paper, crumbling it even more. Alastor may not have had much interest in the emotions depicted in any of the works he read, but he couldn’t deny the craftsmanship was up to par. He would be keeping this page. If not to re-read, then definitely to critique it later.

 

A satisfied sigh rolled off of his tongue. Alastor folded the parchment in his hands, sufficiently entertained for the morning.

 

“It seems I’ve misjudged the poor sap who wrote these. They certainly have given me a gift.”

 

Alastor looked over at his shadow and held out the paper for it to retrieve.

 

“Do me a favor and put this neatly on my desk. I am keeping this one.”

 

As the shadow did as instructed, Alastor spared a brief gander at the forgotten stack of documents on his desk. Not wanting to spoil his good mood with mundane busywork, he opted to leave it for later as he took the last sip of his coffee.

 

Alastor grabbed his microphone that was propped by the office chair and gave it a twirl in his hands. A pleasant hum left him as he was dressed in the genuine smile he had been gifted; ready to instill fear into the hearts of the citizens of Hell whilst on his stroll.

Notes:

Man, when I watched the entirety of season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, this idea immediately entered my brain and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I have been stuck on this idea for a while.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think! I love reading comments and any and all feedback is appreciated!

Edit: I have added pictures for the poetry and fixed the issue with the pictures not showing up, so we should be good there. Please let me know if that error continues and I will check into it!

Chapter 2: Her Search

Summary:

"As long as one keeps searching, the answers come." ~ Joan Baez

You woke with a jolt, taking in a painful breath. You only stopped gasping for air when the ache in your chest and sides protested against it. Shell shocked , your vision went in and out. It hurt to move, to do anything other than lay on the ground curled in on yourself.

 

The dense cloud of dust that surrounded you started to dissipate as you let out a muffled moan that turned into a choked sob. A coughing fit followed. You could feel every individual nerve in your body going haywire, shooting searing pain through you. Everything hurt.

 

If you weren’t dead then you were getting close. How in blazes had you not died a second time from the impact itself? Honestly you still couldn’t believe your luck. However bad your circumstances were, you were still breathing. That was a miracle in itself.

 

Everything was still so blurry as you attempted to look around. You were only able to focus on the graffitied brick wall in front of you as your vision was taking its sweet time to refocus.

 

You knew something was off as soon as you tried to move, the pain more intense down your sides and your back next to your left shoulder blade. Something somewhere was definitely broken, probably multiple things.

 

You decided it was probably best to just continue laying on the ground for a little while more, at least until you figured out what happened and where you were. Not that you had a choice. You didn’t think you could stand, let alone move more than an inch without exerting a significant amount of effort. You sighed. You had to start somewhere if you were going to get your bearings.

 

You reached out your hand to the sky, slowly assessing if the arm you chose was damaged and wiggled each individual finger and shook your wrist and arm. Nothing really hurt as you moved and you didn’t see broken bones sticking out anywhere, which was good. You could work with that.

 

“Well, I’ve never really had a reason to heal myself before, but here goes nothing. Hopefully I still remember my training...”

 

Taking the hand that was not injured, you placed it over your most painful side. That was where you were pretty sure the majority of the broken ribs were. You concentrated as a sharp, icy sensation left your palm and onto the injured site as soft blue light glowed underneath your hand. It stung at first and you stifled a hiss in pain as you willed yourself to continue.

 

After a few moments, your side was numb and prickly, as if little ants were darting across your abdomen. You were slightly shaking, but there was no pain in the area you had touched.

 

 

You sighed in relief as you looked down at the palm you used to heal yourself. Frost and cold blue energy were collecting on the tender skin of your hand from your magic. The blue light swirled around your fingers as it recharged for another healing session. It seemed like you remembered how to do it after all.

 

Your excitement about a successful healing session was short lived, however. The fact of the matter was you didn’t know how long of an effect your healing capabilities had or how long they would last; but you did know the numbing sensation was temporary. That meant you needed to heal up quickly so you could get a move on and find a safe place to hunker down for the night.

 

Once your wounds gained feeling back, It would be game over and you would be down for the count until you mustered enough strength to do the meditation again; and you did not want to be laying down on a random sidewalk in the middle of Hell when that happened. That would just be asking for trouble, and Heaven only knew what kind of horrors awaited you if that occurred. Regardless, you didn't particularly want to find out.

 

At least you felt a little less like dying now, that was something you were thankful for.

 

When you were in heaven, you didn’t really see the point in learning to heal and had been out of practice for a while. Your reasoning was that you never needed to heal anyone in heaven since everyone was already in perfectly good health; and you weren’t expecting to be the first one picked to be sent on missions to earth as you didn’t yet have your wings for traveling purposes. So you had only learned the basics of healing.

 

Now that you were in this strange predicament, however, you regretted not paying as much attention to your beginner’s lessons. Had you known you would fall you would’ve been more enthusiastic about learning the advanced techniques the elders taught. But who honestly could have prepared you for falling? Most angels didn’t make it a habit, so there was no way of knowing. You were a guinea pig in this instance, the first in a millennia to have fallen. Maybe you were even the first to have done so completely by accident.

 

You sighed. There was no use in worrying about the situation now. You were stuck with the capabilities you had and you would make do. At least you were blessed with the useful gift of healing yourself, regardless of how much more powerful your gift would be if you had your wings and halo. You supposed that was just something you could continue to work towards. Perhaps you could use this random opportunity to practice what you learned in Heaven.

 

Another thought hit you. Maybe you could prove yourself to Heaven by surviving in Hell without any special equipment or assistance. If you were crafty and successful until an angelic rescue could be formulated, then the elder’s would have to give you your wings and halo early, right?

 

The only problem with your little plan was that you didn’t know how long that would take, or if it would even happen. But there was no use in worrying about what if’s. First, you needed to focus on not dying and finding shelter. You would worry about surviving the rest of the horrors of Hell later. At least right now, things were going pretty great on the not dying part.

 

As you formed a plan in your mind about what to do next and did your best not to freak out, you continued the numbing technique on your other injuries. You first doctored your head up as that was the place that was giving you the most trouble after your ribs. As you placed your hand on the back of your head, You felt the warm wet sensation of fresh blood. You were pretty sure that you were actively bleeding still and needed to close the wound on your head as soon as possible.

 

After you doctored up your noggin, you were able to sit up. You weren’t as dizzy as before and your vision had improved after your healing touch; but you were growing rather tuckered out from using the remaining part of your strength to repair yourself. You decided on taking a break as you looked around to take in your surroundings to assess the best exit route out of this dank alley.

 

As you supported yourself up with one hand on the asphalt, you continued to look around for a way out as the exits were barricaded by trash cans, dumpsters and a barbed wire fence. It looked like the only way out was to climb over the fence or underneath the dumpster.

 

The strong scent of sulfur hit your nose once again as the smell permeated through the air. The scent distracted you from your planning. It was much stronger than when you had fallen, but now it was mixed with other smells. One scent in particular, other than the crisp strangling scent of smoke, made you want to vomit and you couldn't figure out where the stench was coming from. It was putrid and made your stomach churn the more your nostrils breathed it in.

 

You attempted to stand as you propped your uninjured hand on the asphalt, the sharp gravel underneath threatening to break through the skin of your palm. You also felt another sensation as you pressed your weight on your hand to get up. Something sticky and wet had squished to your hand, but you were too preoccupied to take much notice of it. Instead you put your whole attention into making sure you got up off the ground safely.

 

As you got on your feet, you leaned against the wall to keep your balance. You had exerted too much energy in just that tiny action and you needed to rest once again. Your left shoulder was extremely tinder when you realized you weren’t able to heal it before you exhausted your power. You sighed. You tried to move it but immediately regretted that decision when your body screamed at you. You were pretty sure your left arm was out of socket and dislocated just by glancing over at it. It even hurt to turn your head on that side.

 

Taking a brave step forward, you finally glance down at your hand to see what you had touched.

 

Dark red liquid, almost black, stained your palm. You assumed it was some of your blood as you were covered in the stuff, but it wasn’t the blood that gained your attention. It was something else, another substance that hid itself in the color. Something was wriggling. Something squishy and repulsive. It looked like an insect, which confused you more.

 

You immediately cringed as you scrubbed your palm off on the brick wall beside you to get whatever was on you off. You were repulsed by the wriggling being on your hand. Just what exactly had you touched?

 

Turning your gaze over behind you, you were met with your answer as you stared down in disgusted horror.

 

Lying at your feet was a mangled body. It was leaning against the dumpster you had previously hit your head on during your fall. It had been eviscerated, the contents of its bowels spilling out onto the concrete in an unsettling mess. The viscera was glistening with the same dark liquid that remained on your skin.

 

But what disgusted you the most was the tiny grubs you found crawling all over the dead carcass and the surrounding asphalt. Maggots infested the body, crawling out of the empty sockets in its eyes, its open mouth, and especially the open cavern in its belly.

 

The urge to vomit was immense, the visual of the grotesque massacre in front of you permanently etching itself in your brain. You started swatting at your bloody clothing and slightly matted hair in a panicked frenzy to make sure there weren’t more of the maggots on you. Of course you had to fall on top of a dead body.

 

‘What a great welcome to hell gift’

 

Once you were incredibly sure that no pesky vermin was on you, your brain started to focus on more important matters. What you had just witnessed was the stuff of nightmares and a sight you would never forget, no matter how badly you wanted to. The poor individual who had sired this fate was nothing more than carrion now with worms for brains. Just what exactly did they do to deserve such a fate?

 

The more you stared into the dark decrepit holes in the cadavers face, the more your saliva built into your mouth and your stomach churned. They were symptoms, precursors, of the inevitable evacuation of what was leftover from your last meal.

 

Gagging on the smell, you stepped as far away from the body as you were physically able. You retched into the weeds next to the barbed wire fence; emptying the contents of your stomach as you shook to keep your balance. Your face and neck were bound to bruise with how violently you had vomited. It was to the point you thought you would look like you had a case of chickenpox later with all the blood vessels you were popping in your face.

 

Your sides were numb, but even then it was still a struggle to puke as with every heave of your stomach you depleted your energy. The situation became even more concerning when you saw blood was mixed within your bile. Great, now you had to worry about internal bleeding.

 

‘You're just checking all the boxes off this morning, aren't you? What else could go wrong? Probably a lot…’ you grumbled inwardly as you wiped the remaining bile off of your chin with a dirtied sleeve.

 

You felt gross and dingy, almost as if you had taken a shower under a drainpipe. You probably looked like it too, as you were sure you were covered in sweat and your old crusted blood as well as the dead guy’s you fell on. You were still actively gagging and the thought of falling on the poor deceased fellow made you retch even more; but you had nothing else in your stomach to release. At least you could be thankful that horrid experience was over. You hated throwing up.

 

Once you had stopped dry heaving, you carefully straightened yourself up only to hit the back of your head on something hanging above you. It didn’t hurt much but your head was still very sensitive from the fall and it still stung at the impact. Exactly how many times would you get hurt today? Just how clumsy were you?

 

You winced as you looked up and placed your hand behind your head, bracing for another headache. What was hanging on the fence above you was your satchel. It was covered in dirt and had gotten stuck on some barbed wire in the process of falling down with you. You reached up with your good hand to procure the bag, and yanked it off of its perch. You managed to get it down, but not without ripping a few holes in the fabric. At least the holes weren’t that bad and you could still use it. The only problem was that the contents of your bag had gone missing. Nothing was in it. Of course, that was to be expected. You were just glad you were lucky enough to find your bag, at least.

 

Still it saddened you that you couldn’t find your radio or poetry book. If they hadn't fallen close by, heaven only knew where they could’ve gone. Who knows, someone may have even taken your belongings.

 

There wasn’t really a way in or out of the alley, but you did see a few doors that would lead into the buildings that surrounded you. Someone must’ve taken out the trash, found your bag and pilfered through it. You couldn’t be that upset though, after all you knew the rules: finders, keepers, losers weepers. You didn’t think it was a very fair rule, though.

 

As you dejectedly hung your satchel over your non-injured shoulder, you decided now would be a good time to get a move on. Your head was heavy and you could feel yourself start to shake from exhaustion again, which wasn’t a good sign. You wanted to be out of this alley and somewhere safe before nightfall. You didn’t know this area and were double sure you didn’t want to find out what the night life was like down here.

 

Just what time was it anyways? Glancing up you could see the dark burgundy sky had grown darker, much darker than when you remember falling. How many hours had passed? You remembered it was morning when you had gone to your special place to write when you inevitably fell. Now it looked more like mid evening with how murky your surroundings were. The whole world was painted in deep shades of scarlet and obsidian, Leaking dull colors over the rooftops and against the buildings.

 

The rich bloody color of Hell’s ceiling had slight shades of dark purple and black swirling in the sky. Were those meant to be a mockery of clouds? Or maybe a sad attempt at a sunset? It was depressing to even look at such dull, diluted colors. They were beautiful shades in their own right, but they didn’t fit in the sky. No, the sky was meant to be blue and bright, vibrant even. This blatant travesty of the heavens just made your little artist's heart want to sob.

 

As you looked up you didn't see any stars and wondered where they were before you realized you were still in Hell. Of course you wouldn’t be able to see the stars anymore. You were at the bottom of the world, as low as low could get. Sinners didn’t get the privilege of being close to the sky. You didn’t realize just how much you would miss the deep blues and misty surrounds of your heavenly home. It hadn’t even been a day and you were already severely homesick.

 

Sighing in disappointment, you started walking towards the dumpster you would attempt to sneak under that was at the end of the alley. You could hear the crunch of weeds and discarded cigarette butts under foot as you trudged on, the sounds turning into a mush of needless noise in your tired mind. As you were nearing the end of the alley, a loud crack underneath your feet startled you. You back peddled and looked down at what you had just demolished underneath the sole of your foot.

 

There at your feet was the broken remnants of your radio, crushed even more beneath your foot. The springs and gears scattered amongst the weeds that were peeking through the asphalt. It was quite literally smashed all to Hell.

 

“N-no… no, no, no!” you panicked, your breathing increasing into hyperventilation territory as you kneeled down and scooped the contents of what remained of your radio in your hands. Many of the gears, wires, and other classic machinery poured out of your arms and back onto the dirty, trash ridden concrete. Your precious radio was in shambles. It was utterly ruined.

 

Frustrated tears bubbled in your eyes. You were running on nothing but sheer fumes of adrenaline and determination and had somehow miraculously managed to keep your emotions under check for as long as you possibly could. However, upon seeing your beloved radio in pieces, whatever strong self preservation that was keeping you propelled forward snapped in two. Like a twig.

 

Your tears quietly streamed down your face as you choked back a sob, placing the majority of your radio into the dinged up bag full of holes you held in your hands. Sure, it was just an old radio and could easily be replaced; but that wasn’t the point. You had the thing ever since entering heaven all those years ago. It had been a comfort more often than not when you had no one to talk to, and now it was gone; turned into nothing but a heap of scrap within a span of a couple of hours.

 

Honestly, what made you think you could survive down here? You were exhausted, in pain and absolutely terrified. You were considerably way in over your head and had no one to turn to. Was this really how people spent their lives down here? In constant fear, entirely in survival mode? It was utterly terrifying and you couldn’t come to grips with the full magnitude of the idea.

 

Hell was literally hell; but you assumed that was the point. Sinners were supposed to suffer. They had made their choices in life and this was the fate they had been allotted. You had only experienced a miniscule part of the place within the few hours you had been there and you were already wanting to go back home; and even then you were passed out for the majority of it.

 

Still, you couldn’t help but have compassion on the people who made their homes here. Maybe they deserved to pay for their crimes, sure, but you didn’t think anyone deserved to be this frightened all the time. How did people do it? It was exhausting. You were honestly ashamed you never really had much thought about just how bad people had it down here. You never really had to think about it since you were in the comfort of Heaven; and you were ashamed you hadn’t. It only took you falling and taking a tiny step in someone else’s shoes to truly understand and have your compassion grow. You were ashamed. Ashamed and humbled. You had to do better.

 

Wiping the remaining tears from your face, you pressed on once all the pieces you could find of your radio were tucked safely inside the part of your bag that wasn’t covered in holes. You had managed to crawl your way underneath the dumpster with surprising ease, only scraping your knees and elbows slightly on the gravel as you got up on the other side.

 

What greeted you on the other side of that dumpster, however, made the horrifying corpse you had first encountered look like the tamest thing in the world.

 

Bodies upon bodies laid in the streets, some headless, others limbless. Blood was scattered everywhere. Buildings were burning, property was being damaged and vandalized, people were stealing from, attacking and killing each other. Others were eating the deceased, and other truly unspeakable atrocities. You could even hear several car alarms going off, some in the distance and others were farther away.

 

And the screams. No matter where you went, you could not escape the screams. Terrified ones and painful ones alike filled the air creating a deafening cacophony. It surprised you that your ears weren’t bleeding. It was so much. It was too much. If you weren’t terrified before, you certainly were now.

 

The intensity of it all astounded you as you clutched your bag closer to your body. It was the only form of protection you had for yourself. Not wanting to stand out in the middle of the chaos, you continued to run in the direction you faced. You didn’t know where you were going in your panicked state, but you just knew you had to get out of there. You needed to hide.

 

Bobbing and weaving in between multiple piled up cars and barricades, you did your best not to stumble on the bodies you ran into. You were running out of breath. As you stopped to catch your breath and hide, you found yourself ducking once you saw something large fly over your head. You heard it land with a dull crunch. Not wanting to know what it was, you continued running and jumping over the bodies you had passed. You nearly tripped over every one of them.

 

You had never experienced war, only heard about it from the saints who would occasionally talk to you that had passed on before or after you; but this was what they had often described war to be like. From the desecration of life and property to the suffering of everything in the surrounding area, you could tell you were indeed in a war zone. No, a bloodbath.

Finally after what felt like hours of running, you found a quieter part of town and hid behind yet another vehicle that was barricaded up against a building. You felt safer here as the previous screams and car alarms were farther down into the city. You took as deep a breath as you could and released it as you looked down at your hands.

 

You were shaking intensely and your sides were burning and starting to hurt once again. Your healing was wearing off as you could feel the cold grip of fatigue bare down on you. You needed shelter. Fast. But where were you supposed to go? It didn’t look like anywhere would be safe in a place like this.

 

The car you were hiding behind was the first sanctuary you had found besides the alleyway you fell into. Some reluctant part of you was overjoyed you had fallen on that random corpse when you did. At least then you were safe from anyone else getting to you and killing you before you even woke up. You would’ve much rather been covered in maggots than eviscerated in the street, regardless of such a distasteful visual on both ends.

 

Feeling more at ease, you leaned your back against the car’s front passenger door as you turned your head to look down the street. Yet another dead body had been left behind on the sidewalk, but something was different about this one. You could see something sticking up from its bloated, engorged chest. Something shiny as it glistened under the dimming sunset and flickering street lights.

 

Looking around to make sure you wouldn’t get accosted or attacked, you slowly made your way over to the body. Your movements weren’t very graceful due to your injuries, but you put in your best effort not to fall flat on your face.

 

The stench of the cadaver in question was just as bad as the one you had previously encountered. It looked like the person had been dead for a few days. The corpse was probably ready to explode with how bloated it looked. You were surprised it wasn’t already seeping fluids.

 

Peering over the corpse the best you could, you got a better sight at what was sticking out of its chest. A knife rested in the corpses’ skin, its chest a sheath for the blade. The ornate blade was one of the most beautiful weapons you had ever seen, even if you didn’t really have much experience with weapons of any nature. The hilt was bejeweled in dark crimson stones and adorned with intricate decor, the obsidian metal bringing out the richness of the colorful jewels . It almost looked ceremonial and elegant. Angelic. But why would an angelic ceremonial blade be all the way in hell?

 

You grimaced as you peeled your gaze away to once again look at the impaled imp. There was a huge possibility the corpse would explode on you at any attempt to dislodge the weapon. If you were going to get the dagger, though, you had to brace yourself for getting decomposing imp sludge all over you. You sighed, accepting your possible fate as you grabbed ahold of the hilt.

 

You could only use your right hand to pull the dagger out which made an already difficult task nearly impossible. With each massive pull, the weight of the corpse underneath moved with the blade, as if you were trying to pick up the body. No matter what you did, the blade would not budge. But you weren’t going to give up. That was the first weapon you had seen all day and you were not going to pass up the opportunity to grab something to protect yourself with.

 

Becoming desperate, you started to wiggle the knife as dexterously as you could. You could see some metal slowly slipping away from the decomposing body, but it still wasn't enough. With one final idea, you said a silent prayer as you made your last several attempts at procuring the weapon that was embedded in the deceased’s chest.

 

Finally with a distinct squelch of flesh, the dagger came free. The force you exerted backfired as you were knocked on your hind end, but you managed to not injure yourself further. The only consequence you experienced was the jarring sting in your left shoulder. The pain was starting to make itself known once again.

 

You brought the dagger closer for inspection, happily surprised you weren’t bathed in entrails and decomposing bodily juices. The ornate dagger glinted underneath the streetlights that flickered above you. It was already incredibly dark outside as you inspected the blade. Just how long had you struggled to get it? From what you could tell, it was possible it had already been a few more hours since you woke up.

 

Holding it up to the light with one hand, you made sure all of the blood and gunk was cleaned off of the dagger. You had previously wiped it off on your clothing so nothing seemed to be on it; but the light glow that reflected in the blade as you brought it closer to your face caught your attention. You managed to get up from the ground as you turned your head to inspect where the light was coming from, stowing your blade away into your satchel.

 

You happened to be close to what looked like a main street of sorts. Multiple buildings and shops were connected to each other. The majority of them looked like they had recently been vandalized.

 

This shop in particular had the display windows smashed and nearly everything out of the front of the store had been ransacked. Nothing seemed to be left except for a singular TV and a few empty stands and other cords and equipment. Perhaps the other monitors that were stolen had been newer models as the one that looked back at you was very antique in its visage. Almost out of place.

 

You walked closer to the display window, watching as the TV flickered between static and what could be described as a dramatic telenovela. The characters droned on underneath the cracked screen you looked at and you were becoming rather disinterested the more the show carried on. You sighed and turned your head to start finding shelter. Before you walked too far, you heard a sardonic voice ring out from the TV.

 

“Well hello you wayward sinner! Do you enjoy blood, violence or perhaps depravity of a sexual nature?”

 

“No, not really…” you found yourself turning back to the TV, replying to the broadcaster’s hypothetical question. The show must have cut to a commercial break.

 

“Of course you do, that’s why you're in Hell! But what would you say if I told you there was a place to stay that had none of that?”

 

‘There's a sanctuary like that down here?’

 

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! This establishment was founded five days ago by Lucifer's delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands as she works through her daddy issues by fixing you!”

 

“Well, that's kind of harsh airing out someone's dirty laundry like that…” you mused, compelled to keep watching by the voice announcing. Not that you were going to leave before the commercial was done anyways. This was the best option of safety you had found all day. Regardless of the depreciating tone the announcer described the place. Perhaps he wasn’t getting paid enough to really care? Maybe he wasn’t getting paid at all.

 

“We offer many amenities here, such as somewhat functional staff, 24 hour pest control and custom rooms! Also, enjoy riveting conversation with our only resident! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! Your last attempt at redemption starts here!”

 

Before the commercial abruptly ended, you saw an address flash on the screen. In a desperate attempt to memorize it, you continued to repeat the address to yourself like a madwoman as you jogged in what you thought was the direction of the hotel. You were just guessing at this point, but it was better to start looking now than be stranded on the streets come nightfall.

 

You hoped your injuries would hold out until you made it there.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Once again you didn't realize how long you had been running. Your calves were burning and your lungs were pleading with you to slow down, to do anything other than to continue on as you were. You couldn’t stop, though. If you stopped you knew you would collapse and you couldn't afford to do that. If you did, you may not wake up.

 

The address from the commercial was a mantra on your lips, the words growing slower and more slurred as your mouth fought with your exhausted brain. You had to manually and audibly correct yourself as you continued to repeat the phrase. Your brain had become desensitized to the words as they only turned into gibberish with each passing minute you repeated it to yourself. The need to continue inhaling breath and exhaling it through your mouth was not helping matters. If anything, it just left you more confused about what you had said previously. Tongue twisters certainly would’ve been much easier to remember and pronounce than whatever confusing drivel your brain had you saying in the moment.

 

Were you even going in the right direction? You had to keep correcting yourself on which way to go so much that it was giving you a headache. Or perhaps that just meant your healing had run its course and the full brunt of your injuries were coming back into swing sooner than you had anticipated. Both instances were not favorable.

 

Your head was on a swivel, keeping an eye out for any type of sign that resembled what you saw on the commercial.

 

‘Its a tall, big building. Has a bunch of windows and has an old-timey elegance to it. You’d have to be blind to miss it. I mean, it had a huge sign on top of the building…at least it did in the commercial… What was the name? The Happy Hotel? No…It did start with an “H” though...’

 

The more you inwardly rambled on, the more your tired brain became confused. You hadn’t noticed that you lost the address, traces of the memory leaving your mind with every breath you took. As soon as you realized, it was too late. Panic started to rise in you as you couldn’t remember what the address was. You were slowly going insane, but all you could do was force yourself to keep walking. If you kept walking, you wouldn’t pass out. If you kept walking, you wouldn’t die.

 

‘Just. Keep. Walking. Don’t pass out…’

 

Twenty more minutes of aimless wandering finally led you to your breaking point. You were leaning against a brick wall next to a vacant shop once again. You were shaking with the effort to keep yourself on your legs. Breathing was once again a struggle as your injuries were back into full swing. You took small steps against the wall you had found. You didn't know where you were. All the buildings looked the same in the dark.

 

The only thing that made you feel safe in that moment was the bag securely resting on your shoulder as you tightened your grip on what was left of your belongings. That, and the grand building with the bright glowing billboard that stood across the street.

 

Looking more at the building in question, you didn't realize you were at your destination until you actually read what the billboard said.

 

“The…Hazbin Hotel…?” you muttered, your vision going blurry.

 

‘Wait…that was the name!’

 

Relieved you had finally found sanctuary after the terrible day you had, something in your body gave you the strength to propel forward. Your small tentative steps soon turned into you nearly tripping over yourself as you ran as fast as you could to the front doors of the establishment; your injuries momentarily forgotten. If anyone had seen you, you would’ve looked like a loon. You didn’t care though, you were finally in a safe place and a step closer to going back home.

 

Finally making it to the front doors, it took the remaining strength you had to knock. At first it was a polite knock to make your presence known. Soon, however, in your desperate state you started banging frenziedly on the door. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You were on the verge of passing out. Or worse.

 

‘Please let me in…I don’t have much time left…I don’t want to die out here…’ you inwardly panicked, paroxysms of rough coughs attacking you to the point you were on your knees. You held your hand up to cover your mouth as blood stained your palm. Things weren’t looking good.

 

Hope soared in your rapidly beating heart as you heard voices coming from inside. Most of them were whispered but there was one excited squeal that reached above the others. Regardless, most of them were indistinguishable in your panic. But you could tell they were getting closer.

 

You were still coughing when someone came to the door, opening it wide with an excited flourish. From what you could see, it was a blonde with rosy cheeks. Her eyes were closed as she gave you a grand welcome.

 

“Welcome to my Hazbin Hotel! I’m so excited to—!”

 

The blonde opened her eyes and stopped mid sentence as she stared down at you with one of the most concerned expressions you had ever seen. Her red eyes were saturated with compassion as they went wide, covering her mouth with her hands as she gasped.

 

“H-Holy shit are you okay?!”

 

Finally you had managed to stop coughing, but your lungs were dead and your head wasn't that far off. The pounding at the base of your neck only increased when you tried to speak. The world was spinning. Why did the blonde have two heads now?

 

“...Hi….”

 

You fell forward before you could even finish your sentence, hitting your head once again on the hotel's concrete porch.

 

Chapter 3: His Discovery

Summary:

"This is the sound of fate knocking at the door." ~ Ludwig Van Beethoven

Notes:

Trigger warning: Implied/ referenced past child abuse

The sound of the kitchen sink filling up with water and bubbles gently accompanied mellifluous hums as Alastor rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a sponge. One of many dirty plates from the supper he had prepared for everyone that evening was inbetwixt his hands as he dunked it into the scalding water; covering the dish in the soapy foam. In circular motions, he scrubbed the dish meticulously and applied more lye soap when it was needed. Alastor wanted to make sure each dish he washed was spotless. So much so that he may have spent more time scrubbing everything clean than he had initially planned; but as long as the dishes were clean, then that's all that mattered.

 

Alastor continued the routine as six songs came and went on his radio. He was particularly enthused with the one that had decided to play next. His humming had increased as he paused what he was doing for a moment to appreciate the lovely tune, his voice carrying in time with the singer on the other end of his microphone.

 

Alastor had the thing leaning against a stool next to him. The mic was slightly shaking with the vibrations of a distant loud sound. It sounded like someone was banging on a door, or some other violent variant. The noise was so hushed under the music that played around him that Alastor assumed the sound was one of many after tremors of a massive explosion somewhere farther away in Hell. The Radio Demon sang along to the music that played, unbothered as he continued on with his chores.

 

As soon as it got to his favorite part, however, the song was interrupted. The upbeat jazz had been intercepted by the sound of someone shouting for him from the opposite room. Immediately agitated, Alastor’s radio faded out into static as he cursed under his breath. His careful routine had been disturbed as well as his music for the evening. Now the clean water he had just refilled in the sink would get too cold to wash the rest of the dishes. How wasteful.

 

“What impeccable timing…” The Radio Demon sarcastically grumbled. A huff soon followed.

 

Alastor placed the cutting board he had been cleaning back into the sink. He washed and rinsed his hands off, grabbing the towel he had been using to dry the dishes and wiped his hands. Folding the fluffy towel, he neatly placed it back onto the counter as another loud summons for him rang throughout the kitchen.

 

“Alastor! Get your ass in here now! We could use a little help!”

 

The overlord sighed. Were they that incompetent? Couldn’t they handle things themselves for just one measly second? At least enough for him to finish a simple task? These fools were useless.

 

The redheaded cervine fellow shook his head in exasperation. Donning his overcoat and putting on his more calculated persona, he made sure to brighten his smile to a show stopping degree before pushing the door open to the next room.

 

“What seems to be the issue?”

 

The familiar and tantalizing smell of blood that wafted into his nose immediately bettered his mood. The rich metallic aroma caused his mouth to water. Whose blood was he smelling?

 

“Are you blind, shitass!? Do you really have to ask?” The Latina grumbled as she motioned towards the front door. She and the princess were gathered close to the entrance of the establishment.

 

Even from his tall vantage point, Alastor was still too far away to see what had gotten the snow haired female so hot under the collar. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the woman's abrasive nature. That was how she always was, especially when conversing with him. Even so, her attitude was extra fiery that evening.

 

Alastor glanced toward the princess who looked like she was coming down from a panic attack. Just what was so concerning to have the two externally troubled in such a way? He kept quiet. One of them was bound to give him the information he needed passively and without having to do much on his part.

 

“O-oh my gosh… Vaggie, do you think she’s dead?! She looks super hurt…I heard someone banging on the door so I-I just opened it then I saw her kneeled down coughing up blood and then she passed out and–”

 

“Hun, it’ll be okay. Let’s just calm down and take a few deep breaths.” Charlie nodded as Vaggie led the blonde through a brief breathing exercise before speaking again,“I don’t think she’s dead, just passed out from the pain. She looks like she’s had a rough time of it.”

 

Well things certainly just got interesting.

 

“Who died? A pity I wasn’t the cause, really…” the irritated look the feisty woman gave him had Alastor’s smile growing.

 

“No one died. Not yet anyways and we are going to keep it that way..” Vaggie gave Charlie a comforting glance as she rested her hand on her girlfriend's shoulder.

 

“Alastor, we need you to pick her up and set her on the couch for starters. There is no telling how many broken bones she’s got, if any, and we don’t want to injure her further. You think you can do that?”

 

“I suppose I could be persuaded, but only if you would ask ever so nicely.” Vaggie rolled her eyes as the demon's patronizing request.

 

“Just get her to the couch. Please.”

 

“Now that’s more like it! A lady ought to have manners, y’know.”

 

Alastor stepped closer to the two ladies and lifted Vaggie’s chin. Immediately enraged, the one eyed maiden tore her face from his grip and stared daggers at him.

 

“And a lady also should keep a smile. My dear, you are practically waltzing around naked. No, you aren’t fully dressed at all! I’m sure the princess would agree that a smile would certainly do you wonders!”

 

“I don’t have to smile for the likes of you, asshole.”

 

Alastor continued to saunter closer to the door, choosing to ignore the girl’s rude reply.

 

“Alright, so where’s the poor damsel I’m supposed to be…assisting...”

 

His words trailed off. Laying covered in blood and broken on the concrete in front of him was none other than the person he hadn’t seen in nearly a century:

 

His wife.

 

No. Not his wife. It couldn’t be. Perhaps just someone who wore her face. Someone who had like features.

 

Regardless of how much he denied the fact, your likeness to his memory of what his little lady looked like was impeccable. Startlingly so.

 

Alastor’s eyes lingered over your bloodied features, dazed. You looked peaceful considering the trauma induced sleep you seemed to be under. Just how did you get into such a state?

 

“Alastor? Hello? Sometime today would be nice.” Vaggie tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the Radio Demon to react.

 

Being ripped from his wonderings, the only signifier that he had been caught off guard was the slight up in volume of radio static, a sharp sound that echoed in the grand entrance of the hotel.

 

“Apologies. I was just assessing the best way to collect her from the floor.”

 

Alastor recovered his composure quickly and snapped his fingers. Shadowy tendrils came from out of the floor underneath where you laid and wrapped gently around your legs, arms and torso. Another tendril propped your neck up as you were floated over to the nearest chaise sofa and softly placed onto its surface.

 

Before Alastor made his way over to you, he caught a glimpse of something shiny on the floor. Looking down, he noticed a dusty, tattered satchel. Some sort of machinery was spilling out of it and onto the ground. Bending down, he picked up the dispersed pieces of metal and put them back into the retrieved bag; but not before giving one in particular a brief gander.

 

The gear he held in his hand was tiny and one that didn't look like it was made with modern ingenuity, which was something he could appreciate. Just what had this come out of? Peering down at the bag, he placed the gear inside and noticed a much larger broken piece of a wooden structure. What he saw looked familiar.

 

It was terribly rude to go perusing in a lady’s belongings, let alone her handbag; but the sight of such an antique creation had him curious. He peeked inside the bag, if only in the name of figuring out who he had just placed on the couch.

 

On a more unsubtle note, Alastor also wanted to know why you looked like her…

 

Staring back at him was a creation he was all too familiar with. Inside the bag was what looked to be a Philco model 70 radio, the tell-tale signs that it was the grand cathedral edition displayed by how the wooden arches on the front sparkled under the porch light above him. Alastor reached into the bag and pulled out the broken radio. He blew the layer of dust off that rested on the wood as he looked down at it fondly; smoothing his hands over the antique surface with the gentlest of touches. Just seeing it had taken him back in time.

 

Despite whatever mishap that had almost completely destroyed the thing, he could tell it was well taken care of. It even looked like the wood had been polished recently. Just what had happened to it to cause it to come into such a state of disrepair?

 

Glancing over at the unconscious maiden in the chaise lounge, another layer of intrigue stacked itself upon your unresponsive shoulders. Why did you have such a broken masterpiece of a radio? Why were you bloody and unconscious? Most importantly, why did you wear the face of his wife?

 

Alastor had far too many questions than he had answers for at the moment, much to his displeasure. He would certainly get to the bottom of this, but the time for reflection was not now. After all, the task to make sure you didn’t die was of utmost priority… At least until he could get his answers from you.

 

Placing the remnants of the radio back into the bag, he made his way to where you laid on the couch. Charlie was busying herself with propping your head up with pillows, whipping around your form with anxious uncertainty. The sight was pitiable. He thought the princess to be the type who would take charge in an emergency, or be eager at the chance to help the poorest souls that made their way here. What he saw now though, was a girl flummoxed on what to do.

 

Alastor sighed inwardly. Perhaps she just needed a good nudge in the right direction. Any direction really, just as long as it knocked the girl out of her mental paralysis. That was the only interference he would do on the young lady’s part.

 

Alastor cleared his throat, alerting the princess of his presence. She was in too much of a tizzy to even notice him walk up to her. He had to place a hand on her shoulder for her to fully acknowledge him. She looked up at him with a rather startled expression, but relaxed once she saw the overlord. He patted her shoulder a few times before removing his hand back to his side.

 

“Relax, my dear. At this rate you are going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

 

“Right. Sorry…” Charlie fiddled with the sleeves of her suit as she stepped out of the way for Alastor to come closer.

 

Before the deer man could speak with the blonde and address the elephant in the room, the tail of his tattered coat was boisterously blown against his legs. A whirlwind of pink and white could be seen darting out from underneath him and around the couch.

 

Of course, Alastor wasn’t surprised in the slightest as the exuberant little cyclops in question was running after a particularly fast paced roach with a feather duster in one hand and a sewing needle in the other. The tiny girl was laughing maniacally to herself as she ran, finally managing to pierce the pest she was after. At least she was one of the few that was doing her job at the moment.

 

“Niffty, my dear, perfect timing as always! I could use your assistance with something, if you have a moment.”

 

The tiny cyclops stopped stabbing the cockroach repeatedly to look over to see who had addressed her. Upon noticing Alastor’s presence, Nifty scurried over with an eager smile on her face as she looked up at him and awaited his request.

 

“Little darlin’, I need you to prepare a room for our newest guest.” Alastor motioned with his hand over towards your unconscious body. The young lady looked to where he had led her gaze and nodded enthusiastically.

 

“M’kay! I’ll make sure there aren’t any roaches or bugs or anything like that in her room at all! It’ll be spick and span!” She referenced the roach she had just murdered and lifted it up to show Alastor. It was still very much on the sewing needle, its leg involuntarily twitching. Just to make sure the bug was truly dead, she stabbed it against the floor a few more times with a huge grin on her face.

 

“Just look at all the pretty colors on this one! This one is really special, I can already tell! It’s gonna be set in her closet to make sure no other bugs get close. Then I’ll put it in my collection once they get the message, hehe..” her grin was borderline manic.

 

Alastor was unbothered as the small cyclops continued her mutterings. Instead, he found the display rather amusing and even silently appreciated how precise and thorough the girl’s technique had been to put an end to the roach’s life. Such an interesting little mind she had.

 

“Yes, I’m sure it will set the finest example. Now, do you think you could also clean up the front porch? It has gotten quite messy since our guest’s arrival and we don't want to leave it in such a state, now do we?”

 

“No sir we don’t! I’ll get right on that!”

 

“Excellent.”

 

And with that the pink haired cyclops in the flowy poodle skirt left in a frenzy, her little legs running up the stairs as fast as she could. As she left, he could hear her joyfully muttering to herself about how she finally had an excuse to use the new jug of bleach left unclaimed in the utility closet.

 

Alastor chuckled as he watched her go. Whatever made the small girl happy was fine with him. Especially if her interests and talents were used to perform something that benefited him. It was a win-win situation.

 

With that matter of business dealt with, Alastor turned his attention once again to you. He seated himself on the ottoman closest to you as he brought his hand up to your neck to check your pulse. He wanted to be sure you weren’t already dead within the time it had taken him to get you to the couch and procure accommodations for you.

 

Alastor was pleased to feel the slow passage of blood in your veins against his claws. You had a faint pulse, but still a pulse no less.

 

So it seems you were a fighter. You had to be in order to have held out as long as you did with the injuries you sustained. And that was just what he could see on the surface level due to your blood soaked clothes and the somewhat matted appearance of your hair. There was no telling how bad your internal injuries were and he was sure you were bound to have some.

 

Just how did you get hurt so badly? Had you gotten mixed up in a turf war and were injured that way? Or perhaps you had fallen? Even still, it was strange to see someone survive so long with such injuries. This only made him more curious about you.

 

“Where the fuck is a first aid kit when you need one?!” Vaggie screamed belligerently from across the room as the slamming of cabinets soon followed.

 

Alastor closed his eyes and snapped his fingers as a care kit appeared in his hands.

 

“No need, Vagatha. I have one at the ready.”

 

His smile was once again replenished as he heard a hushed string of what he assumed to be Spanish curses from farther behind him.

 

“Is there anything else you need? I could go get some more supplies.” Charlie was still standing a few feet away from him and had pointed behind her in the direction of her office, AKA the hotel’s largest supply closet.

 

Alastor was quiet as he opened up the first aid kit and set it on the coffee table in front of him, taking out a couple of cotton swabs and gauze. What else would he need? He looked you over once again, noticing the dirtied deep scratches on your brow, face and neck. He would need to wipe the grime away first before any positive progress could be made.

 

“Yes actually. Could you perhaps grab a warm soapy washcloth and a bottle of antiseptic?”

 

As soon as Alastor spoke the words, the absurdity of the situation hit him. Why was he being designated as the impromptu doctor in this situation? If anything, he surmised that he would be the last choice anyone would want to have to take care of them. He was the complete opposite of a healer, after all. He was much better suited to taking lives rather than saving them. It was what he preferred, at least. So, If anyone needed to be taking care of you, it was the princess.

 

So why had he not voiced his concerns yet? Was it because looking at you reminded him of days long passed where he had taken care of his mother? Or was it perhaps seeing any lady as beaten and battered as you were always left a sour, unfavorable taste in his mouth? Perhaps he just wanted to be the one to solve the issue, acrewing even more accolades in the process. After all, the more he received, the more possible future deals to be made…Maybe that was the reasoning behind his rare spot of compassion.

 

Alastor mentally added the remainder of his thoughts on the growing pile of ponderings he would address later. He needed all of his brain power focused on the task at hand. If he was going to play doctor, after all, then he might as well put everything he had into it… Even if having a serial killer in the role of a medic was considered reprehensible to the sanctity of medicine.

 

Of course, Alastor didn't care very much. He wasn’t opposed to doing a few heinous things, especially if his actions produced results. That's what he was entirely known for in hell after all. His ghastly actions made the afterlives of others worse all for the joys of keeping him intrigued; and this situation was intriguing all the way around.

 

“I’m on it!” Charlie’s reply to his earlier request had shook him back to the present. As soon as she spoke she raced off into her office to collect the items he had mentioned.

 

He wasn’t really able to start anything until Charlie returned with the necessary equipment, so he took this chance to deeply assess you. After rolling up his sleeves to get to work, he gently lifted your right arm and turned it to and fro, doing the same with your wrist and each individual finger making sure no bones were broken. Was he even doing this correctly? That was a stupid thought, of course he was. He was peeved that doubt had even entered his mind.

 

Once he was adequately pleased with his assessment of your right side, he moved to look over the left. Alastor immediately noticed the contorted position of your shoulder. It looked awkwardly placed and excruciatingly painful. He moved closer, allowing his shadow to gently lift you from your seat so you were upright. Your head was limp and slumped over as if you were a ragdoll.

 

Tilting your head to the side to better see what he was dealing with, Alastor placed your arm so it was stretched out in front of you. You were passed out so you were as relaxed as you possibly could have been in the moment, so maneuvering your arm into its socket should’ve been easy. However, what he was about to do was rather irresponsible and could’ve potentially hindered your mobility further. It wasn’t that he particularly cared, but it was still a possibility. Even so, he was the closest thing you would get to a doctor and the issue needed to be dealt with.

 

So, with that in mind, Alastor made haste in putting your left arm back into its socket by pushing down on the front of your shoulder. A loud crack rang into the air as he did. He savored the noise, finding it tremendously delightful. His intent hadn’t been to cause pain, but the sound had indeed pleased him. He was sure if you had been awake you certainly would’ve been screaming. It was a shame he didn’t get to hear you.

 

“Que fue eso?! You better not be actively trying to make things worse!!” Vaggie yelled, obviously worried he had hurt you anymore than you already were.

 

“Nothing to worry about. Just putting her arm back into its socket. It was dislocated.” Alastor stated over his shoulder as if it was the most normal thing to mention in casual conversation. He was perturbed that he even had to explain himself. He much preferred pulling limbs apart rather than reattaching them, true, but now was not the time for such a treat. Even he knew that.

 

The shadowy tendrils that had lifted you up once again for him to have access to your shoulder had laid you gently back down onto the sofa.

 

As soon as Alastor was done, his ears swiveled to face behind him as he picked up on the sound of someone running up to him. It seemed Charlie had come back with the bottle of antiseptic and the wet washcloth he had requested. He held a hand out expectantly with a succinct ‘thank you’ as she handed the items to him and caught her breath. Why did she feel the need to run? You certainly weren’t going anywhere.

 

Alastor glanced at the blonde with apples for cheeks as he took the supplies from her, noticing the princesses' worried expression once she had calmed down from her brief jog. It wasn’t a wild guess to assume what was troubling her and he had surmised correctly once Charlie felt the need to voice her concern.

 

“Alastor? Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

 

“Quite certain, Ms. Charlotte. She’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time. She just needs to be cleaned up and given the proper amount of time to rest and heal.”

 

The princess gave him a doubtful look but nodded as she hovered over the shoulder of the overlord dressing your wounds.

 

Alastor sighed inwardly. The more the princess worried the more she hovered. He needed the space to properly tend to you and with Charlie peering over his shoulder he couldn’t do that. Of course, she was a few feet away, but even so, her presence was much too smothering for his liking. He needed to distract her, perhaps give her another task to perform to get her out of his hair and farther away from him.

 

Before he could mention a task for the princess to complete, Charlie moved from behind him.

 

“I-I’m going to go see if we have any pain killers stocked…and I’ll get Vaggie to find her some spare clothes...It looks like she’s going to need them both when she wakes…”

 

“Splendid idea.” Alastor addressed her without taking his eyes off of you. Well that took care of one of his problems. He didn’t even need to lift a finger.

 

Alastor watched the princess nod with a new found determination gleaming in her eyes as she ran off towards her girlfriend to speak with her briefly. Once their conversation was over the two females ascended the stairs together; going higher up into the hotel in search of another supply closet.

 

Alastor turned his attention back to you, continuing to dab at the dried blood and cuts on your face with the warm washcloth he had received from the princess. As he worked, his eyes were once again brought to your peaceful bloodstained face. You were blissfully, maybe even stupidly, unaware of your surroundings and completely at his mercy. You were lucky he had an exponential interest in you as well as obligations to uphold as the facility manager of this fine establishment. Otherwise you most likely would have remained lying in a pool of your own blood on the porch…

 

…Especially when he considered the silent atrocity you had committed for stealing his wife’s features. You weren’t her. You couldn’t be. Regardless of the unique relationship he had with her, his wife was far too good for a place like Hell. She was much like his mother in that respect. Regardless of how things had ended.

 

Rebuilding his focus, he sighed quietly to himself. He folded the washcloth that was getting dirtier in his hands to a more clean side before continuing the linen down your face. The grime was coming away with ease and now he could fully see the depth of the injuries to your face. You looked like you may have even needed some sutures.

 

Adjusting the monocle on his face, Alastor leaned closer to inspect just how deeply your lacerations went. Hmm. The cuts didn’t go as deeply as some he had personally seen in the past, so perhaps stitches were not needed. Maybe he would get away with just bandaging you up and giving it a few days to see if you improved.

 

“Sir, room number seven is ready!” a chipper voice rang out next to the couch as Niffty popped her head up to place her chin on the arm rest to watch what Alastor was doing.

 

“Ah, wonderful. I’ll notify the girls when they return. Good work.”

 

Hopping onto the arm rest beside your head, the tiny cyclops peered down at you before looking back towards the redhead.

 

“She looks like she’s dead. Like, dead-dead. Are you sure she’s not?” Niffty brings her perfectly clean and de-roached sewing needle closer to her chest, clutching it in her fists. The flames of excitement tumbled around in that big doe-like eye of hers. Her smile was once again eager as she bounced in place on the arm rest. Perhaps she was happy at the possibility of cleaning up after a corpse?

 

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stab her? Y’know… Just to make sure?”

 

With his free hand, Alastor patted the girl the size of a small house cat on the head. She closed her eye and giggled sweetly as he ruffled her hair.

 

“No, little darlin’, that won’t be necessary. Disappointing, I know. Unfortunately, she is alive and that’s how she will need to stay for the time being…” Alastor wiped your face once more with the damp cloth in his hands and reached for a bandage. Darting to the other side of the couch, Niffty picked up the care kit beside the overlord and brought it up to him so he could peruse the contents of the box freely.

 

“Thank you, my dear… did you go ahead and clean the porch off already?” Taking another bandage from the box offered to him, he spared the small girl a glance.

 

“Uhh….I’ll be right back!” Realizing she had left a mess unattended, Niffty immediately sat the first aid kit back on the table and scampered off.

 

Just as quickly as she left, Niffty reappeared. The gallon of bleach that was comically being dragged behind her was the size of her whole body. Alastor would’ve let out a laugh at the sight if his focus wasn’t already indisposed.

 

Upon getting to the entrance of the hotel, Nifty let out a shout full of glee.

 

“Oh wow she made a really big mess! Yay! This is going to be so fun!!”

 

Without skipping a beat, the girl in the hot pink poodle skirt went to work. She pulled a scrubbing brush seemingly out of nowhere and began her detailed deep cleaning session. Just how did she have that brush stowed away? Perhaps the pockets in her dress were deeper than Alastor had thought. It didn’t really matter, but the sight was curious.

 

As Alastor finished applying bandages to your face, he closed the first aid kit with a satisfying snap and stood to his feet. He made his way over to the bottom of the staircase and was about to ascend to the next floor when he noticed the two girls coming back.

 

“Ah, there you two are. I was just coming to retrieve you. I believe the little lady’s chamber is ready. And so is she, I’ve just finished tending to her.”

 

“Oh perfect! Thanks Alastor!” Charlie cheerfully thanked him, clasping both of her hands together in a pleased manner. Vaggie had her arms crossed, but seemed to be pleased with the news.

 

“Do you think you could help us transport her up the stairs? The elevator is still out of order…so fixing it is the next thing I have planned on my to do list!” Charlie chuckled sheepishly.

 

“Certainly.”

 

Alastor snapped and turned his head to watch his shadow split itself into multiple tentacle-like apparitions. He shooed it off to go retrieve you from across the room. Once again, you were carefully elevated into the air as you floated to where the three stood.

 

“I do believe Niffty mentioned her room was suite number seven? If that’s the case, then it’s next to mine.”

 

Alastor motioned for the two to go before him as he made sure you were secure in his shadow’s grasp.

 

“Well? Ladies first!”

 

At his behest, both females made their way back up the stairs. While their backs were turned, Alastor peered over to where you had laid previously and spotted your satchel. With another snap of his fingers, a portal to his broadcasting room opened underneath the bag as it fell. He didn’t want your belongings to have the chance to be pilfered through, so he thought the safest place for your handbag would be in his domain. He would check to make sure it had been delivered safely later as he planned to take another look at your radio in the privacy of his studio. For now, though, he needed to escort your sleeping form to your bedroom.

 

Motioning to his shadow, he watched as you were once again transported by the tendrils made of black mist up the stairs to your room. He soon followed after.

 

Passing suite number six, his room, Alastor noticed the two ladies already waiting for him. As hotel owner, Charlie had gotten out the hotel’s grand master key to enter the needed room and with ease pushed the door open.

 

“Just lay her on the bed, we can take it from there” Vaggie instructed as she held a folded bundle of clothes in her arms. At her words, Charlie’s countenance had somewhat brightened at the prospect of finally being able to help someone.

 

Alastor silently motioned his hand towards the room and watched as his shadow entered and placed you gently on top of the comforters of the king sized mattress.

 

The two females entered the room as well and prepared to get to work. Vaggie laid the clothes she held down onto the chair next to the bed and started to sort through them as Charlie hung closer to the door.

 

“I really do appreciate your help, Alastor. Thank you so much.”

 

“Of course, dear. A pleasure. If I am needed for anything else, I’ll be in the kitchen for a short while before retiring for the night. Hopefully any more assistance won’t be necessary, but you never know.”

 

Charlie only nodded with a small smile and closed the door as the overlord dissipated into shadow. Alastor had done all he knew to do, so he felt adequately comforted to allow the responsibility of watching over you to be shirked off onto the two females. You were their problem now, so he could wipe his hands clean of you for the time being.

 

Alastor reappeared in the kitchen, returning to his previous chore before all the excitement of the evening had begun. Being met with a sink of cold water, the Radio Demon sighed as he hung his coat on the hook next to the door. He rolled up his shirt sleeves once more and emptied the wasted water to refill the sink. The sooner Alastor resumed his previous task of washing the dishes, the sooner he could retire for the night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After finishing the last few dishes and other required chores in the kitchen, Alastor entered into his broadcasting studio for the second time that day. He was met with the pleasant sight of your bag resting on his desk as he placed his coat on the garment rack next to the door.

 

Making his way over to his desk, he picked up the satchel and attempted to only empty out the necessary pieces to fix your radio. Once he had everything he needed, Alastor gently laid the tattered bag onto the floor. The rest of the contents of your bag remained undiscovered.

 

As he gave the contraption a good look over, he realized he would need to procure more gears and wiring, and other supplies as the complete set of pieces for your radio wasn’t present. It wasn’t a big issue as a little bit of magic could help with that and hold the pieces together in the meantime; but he didn’t want to be completely reliant on magic alone. This was a rare opportunity to get to see, let alone fix, something that dated back to when he was alive so he wanted to do most of the work by hand.

 

Sure, most of the radios he owned resembled the one he was taking special care of and, yes, he could conjure many of them at will to replace it if he wanted to. That wasn’t the point, though. This radio wasn’t made by him. It had belonged to someone else who seemed to appreciate the craftsmanship just as much as he did.

 

Radio wasn't dead, Alastor was convinced of it and no one would tell him otherwise. It was the proper medium to express oneself, after all; but the world outside his broadcasting studio had gotten much too modern for his tastes within his seven year absence, so it was just nice to see that someone else appreciated something he cared for just as much.

 

That was why he wanted to fix the radio himself. Even if doctoring you up had been a nuisance, fixing the contraption was a small token of appreciation to you for being someone who continued to cling to the old way of things. Perhaps it was even an investment in gaining you as one more captive audience member when you woke? That was if you didn’t listen in already.

 

With his mind made up to fix the radio by hand, Alastor made a mental note to stop by the hardware store on his way to the tailor the next morning. He compiled a list of specific supplies he would need to acquire in order to proceed with restoring the relic. Tonight, though, he would pick through the remnants and work on what he could. Surely there was enough supplies still left to keep him busy for a while longer.

 

Alastor walked across his office once he had snatched a small key from the inside of his desk. He had unlocked a secret drawer as he picked up two rolled packages of sorts. He was saddened by the layer of dust that had presented itself on the surface of the fabric and wasted no time in blowing the pesky dust away.

 

He had set the first pack of his regular repair tools aside. When he rolled out the next pack on his desk, however, his smile grew.

 

Inside the second pack were his pristinely kept “tinkering tools.” At least that was what he liked to call them. If the victims that were privileged enough to star on his past broadcasts were still alive, they would probably have referred to them as “devices of torture”. Same difference. Regardless, Alastor was tickled pink to finally be able to use them again.

 

The overlord picked up one of the stainless steel tools and admired just how delicate it looked and felt in his hands. It was dainty, sure, but it was forged with an angelic metal of some kind. Before his disappearance, he had to pull a vast set of strings and limbs to be able to even get his hands on such a set; but it had been worth it.

 

The specific one he held certainly could prove to be a very potent weapon if used correctly, which was why he had kept this particular set under lock and key. Anyone killed with this type of utensil would not be making a comeback, after all, and these were only used for his special broadcasts. That, and the new purpose he was giving them that evening.

 

His special tools weren’t normally intended for the mundane purpose of fixing household commodities, but one couldn’t be too picky. After all, he knew that the specific tool he would mainly need came from this particular set, so he would make due. Plus this would allow him the excuse to daydream as he fixed your radio and reminisced on the beloved memories and screams the little tools had brought him nearly seven years ago. Oh, how he missed it. Perhaps another opportunity would present itself soon.

 

As Alastor took a seat back at his desk, having a better look at your radio sent him into even deeper memories, even before his death. He was sent back to the days of his boyhood, precious memories flooding into his mind of him and his mother. He remembered how he would sit in the living room in front of the radio patiently waiting for his favorite childhood broadcast. Before commercial breaks and after, at least one or two songs would play. When those songs would ring out, his mother would often stop whatever chore she was doing and pull him into a joyful dance or hum along with him to the tune as he helped her with the household chores. Those were his fondest memories.

 

Alastor’s smile grew more genuine as he tried to remember his mother's laughter and the sing-song timbre of her voice. She was the one who taught him everything he knew.

 

Well…Almost everything. His mother was stern and an advocate for self sufficiency, but even then cruelty wasn’t in her vocabulary. It never was. No, that lesson he had been given was his bastard father’s doing.

 

At the thought, memories from the darker parts of his past played behind his mind’s eye. They came in flashes. The memories were gone in an instant, but they had the most powerful lingering effect:

 

He remembered the screaming, fighting and cursing. He remembered he had hid under the kitchen table, watching a knife being brandished and a pistol being pointed. There was blood. Lots of it, and lots of tears. The few slaps from the man he loathed to call his father had turned into several brutal punches. He could hear pleads for mercy coming from a defenseless and broken woman, a mother protecting her young son. Warning shots were fired off, creating holes in the wall. He could physically smell gunpowder and smoke, almost as if it was wafting in the air still. Then he remembered the deafening silence before a door slammed shut. After that, there was nothing but the sound of soft feminine sobs and comforting words coming from a feeble child echoing in a dimly lit kitchen….

 

….nothing, of course, except the portable radio shattered into pieces that spread out like metallic ice onto the floor…

 

Alastor shivered as his grip tightened around the tool in his hands. He hadn’t realized he had been staring intently at the broken radio in front of him. Why, of all the things to think of, had that specific memory come rushing into his brain? He sighed, burrowing his face into his free hand and wiped away the beads of sweat that collected onto his forehead. His smile had faltered due to the harrowing memory. That was enough strolling down memory lane for one night, let alone the next century…

 

Regardless of how detestable the vision his mind rendered, perhaps it was a silent cue to why he had readily come to your aid himself rather than let anyone else tend to you. You had been in the same broken state that his mother had been subjected to in his memories. Subconsciously, he must have returned to the old formative habit of tending to her wounds. Perhaps that was one answer to his never ending pool of questions. A small victory in the grand scheme of things, but still a victory no less.

 

That still didn’t give him a reason as to why you looked like his wife, however. If anything, the reminder only sparked frustration. He hadn’t thought of her in years… He had been blissfully unaware of the memories he had tucked down about that side of his past, so why did just one glance at you immediately send him back to the time he had shared with her?

 

Why would he have cared to even remember her in the first place? What they had was nothing special, just strictly business. Nothing more than two individuals living together playing house. Nothing more and nothing less. So no, there was no way you could’ve been associated with her, he wouldn’t let himself believe it. It was just a coincidence. A strangely specific one. It had to be.

 

Alastor sighed. He didn't want to think about the matter anymore. Memories were pesky things, after all. Especially in the fact that they could change from sweet to bitter in mere seconds.

As Alastor began to organize piles of gears on his desk, he noticed the crumbled piece of paper of the poems he had collected that morning sticking out of his top desk drawer. Pulling the sheet out, he quietly reread the contents of the page.

 

Why did this poor soul want to remember so badly? Memories were a hassle to deal with on the best of days. Most memories, at least. Remembering his mother was always a joy, now that reminiscing was the only way he could see her. As long as he could separate the rougher parts of his upbringing associated with that vermin of a father from his happier ones, his mother's memory would continue to remain untainted in his mind. There she would be kept safe and held fondly.

 

Perhaps that was what the poem was trying to convey? The desire to remember someone who one didn’t know if they would also be fondly thought of? It sounded utterly lonely. Perhaps emotionally debilitating, or even torturous. Alastor happily read the poem again. The tragicness of the words written enticed him.

 

Folding and placing the paper back into this desk for safe keeping, his attention was once again brought back to the remnants of the broken radio in front of him. Alastor brought out his pocket watch and checked the time. It seemed he would be pulling an all-nighter in order to repair the damage that had been done to the obviously cherished relic. Perhaps even two nights. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him, however. Sleep was on an as needed basis and he was very much accustomed to sleeping at odd hours.

 

Silently accepting the challenge, Alastor welcomed the entertainment that would come out of the experience, relishing the fact he had been given not one, but two enjoyable gifts that day. He busied himself under the ambiance of candlelight and the sound of his own humming, satisfied with just how interesting his day had turned out.

Notes:

Hey guys thanks for reading! I wanted to mention I took inspiration from both the pilot and the series when writing for Alastor, since I love both variations of his character. I wanted to put a little more of his whimsical and showman-esque flamboyance from the pilot and marry it to what he is like in the show🤣 so hopefully both aspects will make more appearances as the story progresses.

Also I took the creative liberty to expound on a personal headcanon of what Alastor’s childhood might’ve been like. (If you haven’t noticed this fic is fueled by many of my personal head cannons, especially later in the story 🤣)

This is just speculation on my part, but thinking about how he was a momma’s boy in the past and the possible abuse he may have endured, I wanted to flesh that detail out slightly when writing for him in this chapter.

Hope you enjoyed what I came up with and thanks ever so much for your support!! Stay tuned for the next installment! ~<3

Spanish for chapter: Que fue eso?!: What was that?!

Chapter 4: Her Bearings

Summary:

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" ~ Ernest Hemingway

“Did you know you sleep like you're dead?”

 

Startled awake, you opened your eyes with a gasp. The breath in your lungs was nonexistent. One big luminous eye was staring back down at you as you heard a chipper laugh. Your head was pounding as you nearly shot up from your bed. Where were you? Why couldn’t you breathe? In your panic, you hadn’t registered that the tiny pink haired lady sitting on your chest and talking to you was the cause of all your problems.

 

“Well of course you do, you are dead, otherwise you wouldn’t be here hehe. But no, I mean, y’know like, dead-dead? You don’t move or snore or anything! You barely even breathe!” The tiny cyclops rambled on excitedly, seemingly unconcerned with your near panic attack. Finally you realized the cause of your struggles for the time being was the one perched on top of you daintily. She didn’t look like she weighed that much, so why was it so hard to breathe?

 

When you tried to move, the girl jumped down from you and you immediately remembered why you couldn’t take deeper breaths. A deep ache settled underneath your ribs. It felt like someone had stuck a knife in you and left it there. You groaned under your breath, clenching the bedsheets in your free fist as you held your side. Slowly, you attempted to sit upright.

 

“Here, let me get that for you!” A pillow was promptly fluffed behind you, followed by the girl scurrying off the bed to collect more pillows and tuck them around you. Before you knew it you were in a nest. It was comfortable, but very counterproductive when it came for you trying to get out of bed. You sighed. It wasn’t like you would’ve gotten very far in your condition anyways.

 

“Thank you, miss. I appreciate it…” you try your best to be polite as another wave of pain gripped your rib cage . Your lips tightened as your brows wrinkled downwards. You closed your eyes as you waited for the pain to pass. You honestly wanted to bite a hole into your tongue with how much it hurt. Another healing session would definitely be needed once you were alone.

 

“Of course! I’m Niffty, by the way! It’s nice to meet you! ”

 

“Nice to meet you too…” you didn’t mean to sound grumpy, but your voice came out curtly with the pain you were feeling. You were glad the small lady didn’t seem to notice your change in voice as she went on with her next question.

 

“So…what’s your name?”

 

As you began to introduce yourself, you paused and realized you didn’t even remember your own name. That predicament was new. You already didn’t remember your past while you were alive; but you did remember writing your poems, reaching for your radio and falling. Along with everything else that had happened once you got into Hell. But for the life of you, your name was the one thing you couldn’t remember. What a weird set of circumstances you found yourself in.

 

Not wanting to be rude to the girl who patiently waited for your reply, you tried to attempt to answer her honestly.

 

“T-that's actually a really good question.. I, um…I don’t really know? I kind of hit my head really hard when I got here so…”

 

The girl's eye widened at your statement, if that was even possible.

 

“Really?! I’m sorry, that's so horrible!”

 

As soon as the words sprung from her mouth, her attention was immediately sent to something supposedly moving across the room. With haste, the girl with pink and slightly messy bob leaped from your mattress and bounded over to the far corner of the room. You were surprised she didn’t trip over your duvet or fall with how urgently she jumped up and ran. What was so important that it caused her to abruptly leave the conversation? You didn’t mind the nice reprieve from talking, of course, but it was still rather strange.

 

“I knew you would be back and I was right! It seems like you didn’t get the message I left out for you, so you’ll be the next example for the others!” you heard a few rather loud thuds on the hardwood floor, followed by the tiny girl’s maniacal cackling.

 

What was she doing? Who was she talking to? You sighed. Your brain was too tired for this. Each thud that you heard caused your headache to spike in increments; getting worse with each repeated noise. You laid your head in your hands, attempting to alleviate the pain by massaging your temples.

 

The rest of her continued mutterings were incoherent, but you managed to hear the girl repeatedly say the word “stab” at least four or five times. Was she attempting to kill something?

 

“Hmm...It looks like you're still breathing! I’ll fix that!” and yet again the tiny girl went on a stabbing spree, the incessant thudding noises continuing. It seemed your previous guess was correct.

 

Your face was still in your hands as you tried your best to not think about the searing ache your head was experiencing. You were so focused on yourself that you didn’t notice the bed once again had extra weight applied to it after a few more minutes. You only looked up when the small girl addressed you.

 

“Look at this one!! Isn’t it pretty?! This one is going to be added to my collection for sure!”

 

You didn’t know what to expect when you heard her speak to you, but seeing a huge, dead cockroach on a sewing needle as you looked up wasn’t it. Though the sight was grotesque, as an artist you could see why she would see the beauty in it. The bug’s exoskeleton was rather richly colored and surprisingly shiney. It was a fine prize to be had for any bug collector worth their salt.

 

Now the dull continuous thudding noise you had heard earlier made sense. Thinking more on the situation, perhaps she was the one in charge of the 24 hour pest control that was advertised in the commercial that brought you to this place.

 

“Yes. It is rather lovely. I really like the color of its shell.”

 

The girl by the name of Niffty, if you remembered correctly, gave you a happy grin and giggled.

 

“I’m glad you think so too!! I’m going to keep the other one in your closet as a warning so no other roaches come in here, so don’t be surprised if you see it okay? It’s gotta stay in the closet until I can come back to retrieve it for my collection later.”

 

You only nodded in agreement and gave her a small smile. You were silently thankful for the warning.

 

“Oh! And there should be lots of fluffy towels in your bathroom! I also made sure everything was really clean for you, so I hope you like your room!”

 

Ah, so the tiny girl with gremlin energy who stood in front of you was also the housekeeper. So far the commercial had been sufficiently honest about its review, regardless of how sarcastic the broadcaster's delivery of the information.

 

“Please let me know if you need anything else, like more fluffy towels, soap or shampoo or cleaning supplies. Y’know, stuff like that. But whatever you do, don’t touch the bleach that’s under the sink! That’s mine, okay?!”

 

“Um...Sure no problem, I won’t touch it..”

 

A cute but rather sinister laugh bubbled in Niffty’s throat as she clutched her sewing needle to her chest. The cockroach she had caught previously still dangled from her makeshift sewing needle skewer.

 

“Good!! I have some really big plans for it, hehe!”

 

Just what could the tiny girl possibly want with a random jug of bleach? You shook the thought away mentally. You didn’t want to know.

 

Seemingly pleased with your agreement to honor her request and not touch her things, Niffty looked over to your nightstand and eyed the alarm clock that rested there.

 

“Oh gosh, I’ve got to hurry! Alastor still wanted me to clean a few more rooms before dinner time. It was nice to talk to you! Thanks for letting me kill the roach in your room. It was really fun! Probably not for the roach, obviously, but plenty of fun for me! I really like inflicting pain on them!”

 

The girl certainly had a unique way of thinking, you’d give her that. You were glad she took pride in her work at least.

 

“It was my pleasure…?”

 

You could hear the girl ramble on about how fun it was to kill the roach under her breath as she hopped down from her perch on your bed. She ran over to your bedroom door and jumped a few times to reach the door knob; giving a grunt of effort as she jumped up for the last time. Finally she had managed to successfully open the door.

 

Before the girl left completely, she looked back at you with a toothy grin.

 

“Oh, and I’m glad you're not dead! You seem too nice to be dead.”

 

“Um…me too? And thanks?” You didn’t really know how to respond to her statement. You assumed the easiest way was to just agree with her. If the rest of your future interactions went as well as your first one with the miniature cyclops, then maybe you’d actually be okay and not regret that you had lived through your fall.

 

With that Niffty left, shutting the door behind her as she scampered down the hall. Through the closed bedroom door, you could hear her excitedly shout the news that you were finally awake to the rest of the hotel.

 

Well that was an eventful interaction. Niffty seemed really sweet, possibly a little deranged, but maybe that was just part of her charm? Either way, you assumed you would enjoy her company much more after getting rid of the headache and the pain in your lungs you were experiencing.

 

You continued staring at your bedroom door, only just realizing you were left alone. Finally, you had a moment of peace to fully wake up and assess your situation.

 

So, you had successfully managed to not die and find shelter. At least you could mark those two things off of your mental list. So far, your plan of surviving was going rather smoothly, all things considered.

 

Sitting up straighter in bed, you were able to take in your surroundings better. You were in what looked to be an extravagant room that was both slightly modern and slightly not; but everywhere on the walls was red decorative wallpaper accented with elaborate golden and black chandelier-type patterns. It was rather beautiful, in an old, classic sort of way. The designs reminded you much of your room in heaven and how it was decorated, minus the color scheme. Still, the atmosphere that surrounded you made you feel at home, at least.

 

Having a more accurate idea of your surroundings made you feel safer. At least you weren’t on the streets, being accosted by random sinners and fighting for your life.

 

Still you felt rather vulnerable in the vast, unfamiliar room you found yourself in. Instantly, your dagger came to mind. If you held onto your angelic dagger, you knew you would feel ten times better. Thinking it a good idea to grab it out of its hiding place, you peered over the side of your bed to look on the floor. If you remembered correctly, your weapon should’ve been tucked away nice and safe into your bag.

 

Speaking of which, where was your satchel? As you peered over the bed’s edge, your bag was nowhere to be seen. Had you lost it? You could’ve sworn you remembered bringing it with you; but you didn’t put the possibility of you losing your bag past you. Your memories were spotty and unreliable at best, after all. It was entirely possible that in your desperate state you had dropped your belongings in your attempts to survive. The thought saddened you. You scolded yourself for being so careless with your belongings, even if you knew it wasn’t entirely your fault you lost them in the first place.

 

As you continued to quietly lament about the loss of both your radio and your only means of protection, you tried to relax. Emotionally deflated, you laid back down into the makeshift nest of pillows Niffty had built for you. As you did, you looked down at your arms and realized you weren’t in your normal clothes, but decently comfortable pajamas. Odd. You didn’t remember changing.

 

Heat rushed to your face at the thought of being disrobed without your knowledge. Sure, the situation mandated that you would need a little help in that department; but It was still embarrassing to know you were stripped bare in the presence of an unknown audience.

 

Worrying about who had undressed you wasn’t going to help things, though. In fact, it only made your head needlessly ache again. You needed to stop thinking too much and just focus on the things you could control at the moment. And the first thing you could control was your body and your movements.

 

Wait. You could control your body, which meant you weren’t feeling any unnecessary pain at that moment besides your headache and the previous ache in your ribs. Other than that you could move freely.

 

Just to make sure your theory was correct, you tentatively turned your head to the left; testing to see if the pressure was still present from your shoulder injury. You were able to turn your head much more than yesterday without any painful interference. Now for the real challenge.

 

By looking at your left arm, you could tell it was no longer in the awkward shape it was in before, which was good news. Slowly, you attempted to lift your arm in front of you. You were met with an expected amount of soreness, but nothing as painful as you had previously experienced.

 

That was weird. You were for sure you had either dislocated your arm or pulled it out of socket. Had someone fixed it for you while you were out? Usually with an injury like that, you would have had to see a doctor; and you weren’t readily convinced that Hell even had anyone who cared enough to heal people, let alone keep hospitals staffed.

 

You were pleasantly surprised with this place, this hotel. It seemed to be a blessed sanctuary among a town in ruins riddled with sinful degenerates. So maybe you could lift your expectations for your hellish experience a little higher than rock bottom if someone had managed to be kind enough to tend to you.

 

Hopefully, after you were in better shape health wise, you would be able to thank the person or people who had helped you and shown you such kindness. You honestly didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened had no one came to your aid. You shuddered at the very thought.

 

As you continued to glance around the room absentmindedly, you decided it was probably time to start stirring. Or at least time to attempt to get up.

 

You did your best to dig yourself out of your comfortable pillow fort and slowly maneuvered yourself to where you could hang your legs off of the side of the bed with ease. Your head was barely pounding and your ribs weren’t screaming at you as much now that you had the chance to relax some, but your wounds still needed another round of healing in order for you to be able to function normally.

 

As soon as the familiar blue frost accumulated on your hand and activated your unique numbing ability once more, you could hear a knock at the door before it abruptly opened.

 

You were caught completely by surprise and didn’t have time to think as you quickly hid your hand underneath one of the spare pillows that littered your duvet, terrified your identity as an angel would be in jeopardy. You didn’t know anyone down here, and even if you had found yourself lucky enough to be in a sanctuary of sorts; you didn’t know how people would take the news of you being an angel that had recently fallen. You didn’t know if that information was safe to give out at the moment. Probably not. You made the split second decision to conceal your identity for the time being as you looked towards your door to see who had come into the room.

 

Two women entered your chambers, one being a tad more excited in her countenance as they made their way over to you.

 

Your memory was still sketchy from the night before, but one of the women who stood in front of you looked faintly familiar. The tall girl with rosy cheeks had blond hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail with two bands. The moth looking girl accompanying her was shorter with extremely long white hair with a large red bow. Her expression was more serious.

 

As they made their way towards you, you took note of their clothing, something artistic in your brain loving the creative colors of their uniforms. Both girls were wearing similar, color-coordinated outfits. The only differences between them being the blonde opted to wear a red suit with a black bow tie while the snow haired female wore a red polo with a black collar, a black mini skirt and long charcoal gray stockings.

 

“Oh my gosh, you’re alive! I’m so glad! I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re okay!!”

 

Before you could react, arms were wrapped around your torso and you were roughly squeezed into the embrace of the blonde who had just addressed you.

 

You didn’t expect to have been hugged, and you especially didn’t think that the girl's grip would’ve been that strong. She nearly strangled you as you managed to lean your chin on one of her shoulders while the life was squeezed out of you. Your ribs were crying out in pain, but you didn’t want to be rude. What were you even able to do in a situation like this? No one could’ve prepared you for such an encounter, regardless of if you were still in Heaven.

 

“Hun, I think she’s had enough...” the white haired girl chuckled before walking up to the blonde in question and patted her on her shoulder.

 

“Oh!” immediately you were let go and you could feel the air rush into your lungs once more. Your ribs still stung as an aftereffect of the massive hug you were given, but at least you were able to breathe.

 

“Sorry about that! I’m kind of a hugger, if you couldn’t tell already…” The girl laughed sheepishly as she fiddled with the sleeves of her vibrantly red suite before bringing a hand towards you for you to shake. The girl's eyes glistened with a few unshed tears. Was she really that relieved to know you were okay?

 

“Um, how about we start over? I’m Charlie!”

 

You smiled and cordially took her offered hand.

 

“Nice to meet you.” you gave a soft smile. You hoped your succinct answer wasn't awkward. You were always horrible when it came to interactions with people, and conversing with strangers was never a strong suit of yours. So far though, it seemed like you hadn’t offended the blonde. She seemed sweet and exuberantly kind just from the first few moments of meeting her. Even if she almost strangled you to death with the sheer force of her hug.

 

“And the amazingly, wonderful person standing beside me is my girlfriend, Vaggie!”

 

Charlie took a few steps back and grabbed the other girl in attendance by her shoulders, squeezing them before pushing her closer to you. The aforementioned girl laughed at Charlie's theatrical way of introducing her as she looked over her shoulder towards the blonde.

 

“You're not so bad yourself, Hermosa…”

 

The compliment made Charlie giggle as she averted her gaze, obviously embarrassed to have been flirted with in front of a stranger. Still, she didn’t look very bothered as her smile remained just as lively.

 

Vaggie turned back to you and held out a hand, much in the same fashion Charlie had done before.

 

“I’m glad you made it. We were starting to think you were a goner, but I’m glad to see that’s not the case. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

The snow-haired girl's voice was brisk, but kind. You could tell just by her way of speaking that she seemed to be a ‘get to the point’ type person, one who wasn’t particularly a fan of nonsense. It was a commendable attribute.

 

“I’m glad I made it too! And same here, it's nice to make your acquaintance as well.” Again you politely shook hands with yet another stranger. So far, you had managed to keep afloat amongst the introductions and pleasantries that always seemed to come with first time meetings. The two women didn't seem to hate you so that was good, at least.

 

“Sooo…What’s your name? And I hope you don’t think this rude, but can I also ask how you happened to stumble upon my hotel? Not very many people come this way, so…” Charlie rubbed the back of her head as she glanced away. When Vaggie took her hand, the blonde looked over to her with a grateful smile, “O-of course we are super stoked to finally have someone stay here, don’t get me wrong, but most people don’t actively search for a place like this… ”

 

Ah, there was the dreaded question. You silently wondered how many times you would have to answer it before the day was finished.

 

“Um… well, I’m not really sure what my name is…I can't really remember. I hit my head really hard on a dumpster when I fell, so..”

 

Both girls’ eyes widened as they looked at each other before looking back at you.

 

“Oh, so you're like new-new… I'm so sorry for not realizing that sooner! The type of injuries you have make so much more sense now. And you’re probably really confused then…”

 

Clearing her throat, Charlie reintroduced herself in a sing-song voice.

 

“Well then, let me properly introduce myself. You already know my name is Charlie, but I am also known as the Princess of Hell. Welcome to my Hazbin Hotel!”

 

The princess twirled in a circle with both of her hands outstretched, theatrically showcasing your bedroom with a smile. You couldn’t help but grin at her formal, but playful introduction.

 

Though, upon hearing that the blonde was royalty, you immediately clamed up. You were in the presence of a princess and you hadn’t paid any respects yet? What kind of rude cretin were you?

 

“Oh I’m so sorry Your Highness! I didn’t know you were-”

 

The girl waved her hand away, cutting you off before you could finish your sentence.

 

“Please don’t worry about formalities or anything like that! I wasn’t expecting you to know about me, anyways. I’d prefer it if you just called me Charlie.”

 

You gave her a quick nod, making a mental note to just use her preferred name from now on.

 

As you got a better look at the girl in front of you, you vaguely remember seeing her face featured in the commercial you had seen on the antique TV in the ransacked shop the night before. Thinking more on it, you realized you had only answered part of her previous question.

 

“Also, I think I remember seeing a commercial advertising this place. I saw it on an old TV in a broken shop window. That's actually how I was able to find my way here. It took me a while, y'know, with having to wander on the streets in the dark while injured. Fortunately I found the hotel before my body gave out.”

 

“Wait. Do you remember what kind of commercial it was?” This time Vaggie spoke up, walking closer to where you sat on the bed with an expectant look. Her tone had a sense of urgency.

 

You were confused why that really mattered, but you did your best to look back into your limited memories. You knew you had to be quick otherwise your head would start hurting worse.

 

“Um…It was just a regular commercial…Though it was rather strange how it was sarcastically advertised,” You tapped your chin as you thought, “But regardless of the way the information was presented, everything mentioned was honestly depicted. At least, as far as my limited knowledge goes… I mean, I haven’t stepped out of the room yet, so…” you rambled, not knowing if you had made any sense. You didn’t think your opinion really mattered at the moment the more you saw the Latina’s expression change to one of anger. Hopefully you hadn’t said anything to make her upset.

 

“¡Qué gilipollas es ese tío!” Vaggie growled as she clenched her fists.

 

“Charlie, can you believe that prick?! Alastor went ahead and aired that shitty commercial after we specifically told him it wasn’t what we had wanted to represent us!”

 

You saw Charlie make a conflicted face before putting in her two cents on the subject.

 

“Hey, it’s okay…Sure, it’s probably not a great situation that the old commercial aired; but I am still so appreciative of the new one that you guys made…even if we haven’t got to see it yet…” Charlie goes over to Vaggie and grabs her by the shoulders to try and calm her. You only watched in silence, completely confused as to why they were mad about a random commercial on TV. Still, the moment somehow felt important for the two to have so you remained silent.

 

“And look, at least it led one wayward soul here who desperately needed help,” Charlie motioned over to you as she gave you a glance with a soft smile before looking back towards her girlfriend, “I consider that a win in my book, regardless of how it happened. One more person staying in these walls is better than none. It’ll be okay, Vaggie, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

 

Vaggie sighed as her troubled expression slowly turned into a hesitant, lopsided smile.

 

“I should be the one telling you that…” the Latina continued to look up into the princess’ eyes. Before long, the flames of anger once again took residence in them, “ I’m still talking with Alastor about this, though. He can’t keep pulling stunts that will make us and this place look bad!”

 

You continued to watch the two encourage each other as you glanced to the side, feeling the gravity of just how awkward your presence was making the conversation. Maybe you were the only one who felt like that; but even so, you felt like you needed to leave your own bedroom in order to give the two some privacy.

 

“Now that we are on the subject, I guess now is as good a time to discuss it as any….” Charlie paused as she once again looked over towards you. It looked like she was looping you back into the conversation once again, “Have you, possibly, considered the idea of, y’know…redemption for yourself? Is that something you may be interested in?”

 

As you looked up at the princess, you could see a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

 

Of course you had thought about it. That was the whole reason why you had sought out this hotel, so you could return home. But, you couldn’t let them know that. At least not yet. The two girls who stood in front of you seemed trustworthy, but it was far too soon to let your secret become common knowledge. You had to wait a little more before you told anyone, just to be safe. If you even decided to.

 

Not realizing you hadn’t answered her question, you tried to form an answer. Your tongue wouldn't respond and did not let any substantial words come through. Nothing but phrases meant to fill space.

 

“U-um…I-”

 

“Of course, you probably haven’t even had time to think about it much, considering you just woke up. Sorry! I just..I just really get excited talking about this place.” Charlie laughed sheepishly as she averted her gaze.

 

You watched the princess’ expression falter. You didn’t want her to feel bad nor did you want her to think you weren’t interested. You tried to think of anything to say that would comfort her, but all the answers you could’ve given Charlie just sounded too awkward or too much for the moment; or something that would’ve sounded better coming from a good friend rather than a stranger. In the end all you could do was just give her a simple statement telling her you understood.

 

“No worries. You don’t have to apologize, I get it.”

 

Charlie smiled back at you, seemingly grateful for your understanding. She cleared her throat and continued on.

 

“We can always talk about it later once you’re healed up. Anyhoo, we just wanted to come by and briefly introduce ourselves. Plus, y’know, just check on how you were doing. We’ll leave you to get dressed now.”

 

You appreciated the girl’s concern and nodded as the two ladies took their leave.

 

Before they left, Vaggie turned to look at you. She pointed first at your night stand and then towards your closet across the room.

 

“There’s some pills in your nightstand in case you need any for the pain, plus a first aid kit for bandages and stuff. Also there should be some clothes your size in the closet. Wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”

 

You thanked the girl as she only nodded in response. Vaggie moved to follow after Charlie when she turned around to look at you again. Had she forgotten something?

 

“Oh, and dinner will be ready in about an hour. Feel free to join us if you are up for it. I’m sure everyone else would love to meet you.”

 

With yet another nod of acknowledgment, the bedroom door was closed. You were finally left alone to be able to process your thoughts.

 

Relief flooded over you at being able to keep the conversation you just had unscathed. You were proud of yourself for managing to conceal your Heavenly identity, especially after learning you were speaking with the daughter of the first fallen angel. You shuddered. Now you were convinced it was definitely not the right time to give any personal information away, at least until you knew everyone a lot better. Even though the princess seemed nice, common sense mandated that you to keep your personal information concealed for now.

 

Wanting to distract yourself, You tried to take in as deep a breath as your lungs would allow before attempting to resume your interrupted healing session; first tending to your ribs before your head and face. Your energy was still very much depleted so you weren’t able to do much. To help speed the process along and get you faster relief, you searched your nightstand drawer for the aforementioned medication.

 

As promised, the bottle of pills awaited you. You grabbed them from the drawer and shook two pills out onto your palm. As you attempted to get up from your bed you realized you were able to maneuver around with much more ease. Even though you were still very much sore, it was beyond remarkable just how much you had healed in only a day. Maybe you would feel ten times better tomorrow with more rest.

 

You walked to the bathroom carefully, reaching for the faucet on the sink. Turning your head back, you popped the pills into your mouth. You used your hands as a makeshift bowl, cupping some cold water into them to bring up to your mouth to drink with the medicine.

 

Once you were adequately medicated, you wiped the remaining water off of your chin as you made your way over to the closet; mindful of the roach Niffty had left behind on the closet floor. If you weren’t expecting it, you would’ve been startled by the sheer size of the bug when you opened the door. You hoped the little maid was right in leaving it as a warning. If they got that big, you definitely did not want anymore coming into your room.

 

With that thought out of the way, you went to choose your clothes for the evening. Most of the clothes provided for you were a bit too modern in appearance for your tastes, but you would make do. After all, the two ladies were nice enough to furnish you with a wardrobe. It would be terribly rude to be picky.

 

You just hoped there was a hat or something to cover your head amongst your selection that matched with what you planned on wearing. You had caught a glimpse of what your hair currently looked like in the mirror in passing and you did not want to make your appearance downstairs in such a state. The ends of your hair were matted with blood to the point that you even considered giving yourself a trim. You knew it would be a hassle to wash out, so maybe cutting it was the best option. You would think about it later once you were back from dinner and able to take a proper bath.

 

You continued to peruse your clothing options, finally picking out the most suitable outfit to wear to dinner. You ended up choosing the nicest turtleneck and cardigan duo you could find and matched it with the least ripped pair of jeans. You even managed to find a matching head scarf to go with your attire, much to your relief.

 

You began getting dressed, thinking about what would be on the menu that evening. Your body desperately needed food in order to heal properly, so gaining sustenance was a must. It was quite literally the only reason you had even considered leaving your room. You were running on nothing but fumes from the night before and you knew you couldn’t go on like that for much longer.

 

As you thought about the subject, your stomach growled. The sound was perfectly timed, almost as if it was trying to make a point.

 

You hoped dinner wouldn’t be a nightmare to get through, but you quietly suspected the worst and braced yourself for the inevitable, repeated questions that would be asked.

 

Sighing, you wished you had never lost your poetry book. At least then you could use writing in it as an excuse to not talk to anyone. You silently wondered if you would have the opportunity to acquire a new one soon.

 

You donned your head scarf and slipped on a pair of flats, completing the elegantly modern look you had curated for yourself. Rather proud of your ensemble of clothes you wore, you gave yourself a once over in the antique vanity mirror that sat across from your bed. You pulled some of your hair that wasn't matted out from underneath the scarf to frame your face nicely before pausing to admire your work. Regardless of the plethora of bandages that adorned your face, you felt somewhat pretty in the outfit you had chosen. If only you had a natural lip stain, gloss and a bit of mascara you thought the look would be even better.

 

Taking in a sharp breath and releasing it, you headed for the door and made your exit into the rest of the hotel. You made a mental note to replace the bandages on your face once you returned.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Making your way down the grand staircase of the establishment, you took note of your surroundings. The grandeur of the place was welcoming, astounding and a little unnerving all at the same time. Much like your room, the walls were decorated with antique red wallpaper and the ceiling in the main hall was adorned with a rather large chandelier. Picture frames scattered the walls as you made your way down the stairs, absentmindedly looking at the faces that smiled back at you.

 

You held on to the golden banister that led down the stairs, taking careful steps as you made your descent. The closer you got to the ground floor, the more you could hear the faint sounds of voices. Other noises that were common with having dinner with a large crowd could also be heard through the closed door you saw just around the corner.

 

Your heart beat timorously in your chest. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, you closed your eyes and prepared yourself mentally to walk the few yards it took to go into the next room. You knew people would try to talk to you and you wanted to make sure you did your best to not be an awkward, antisocial mess. You treasured the quiet while you had it, knowing you probably wouldn’t be able to sneak into the room without being noticed.

 

With a last ditch effort to gain the courage for the inevitable interactions you would face, you clenched your fist and pushed open the door.

 

As you made your way into the next room, the volume of the noise you had heard earlier grew exponentially. You were thankful you had taken medicine for your headache earlier. You knew if you hadn’t you would’ve been suffering the whole meal. Even then, you weren't sure how long your healing would last this time. If anything, you thought you would hold up maybe an hour. That should've been plenty of time to eat, make light conversation and skedaddle back to the safety of your room. That was the plan anyways, regardless of if the numbness in your ribs subsided or not.

 

The increase in sound didn’t make sense, however. Maybe it was just your anxiety amplifying the sounds you heard earlier, because only a few people were seated at the dining table. It didn’t look like anyone was really talking or doing anything that would warrant such noise. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, subconsciously heightening your senses due to your unease. Maybe in your tired state, your brain was just making up noises that simply weren’t there. Those were the theories you were going with, anyways.

 

No one had spoken to you yet as you sat in the first free chair you saw. You did your best to keep your posture as straight as possible, remembering proper table etiquette. At least that was one useful thing you remembered, random as it was.

 

‘So far, so good.’

 

As the thought crossed your mind, the sprightly voice of the princess greeted you to your left.

 

“Oh, so you decided to join us after all! Great! I’ll tell Alastor to make you a plate.”

 

With that brief greeting, the princess got up from where she was sitting. As she passed she patted your right shoulder in a friendly manner before making her way to where you assumed the kitchen would be.

 

Thanks to the princesses' warm, welcoming gesture, You weren’t as nervous now that you made yourself more comfortable in your seat. Looking around the table, you noticed Vaggie was also present as well. A few empty plates also littered the table. You assumed whoever else resided at the hotel either had eaten previously, or would be making their rounds shortly.

 

As you waited for the food to come out, you distracted yourself by placing your silverware in their proper places and straightened the forks, knives and the wine glass that sat before you. You even unwrapped the towel they came folded in. As you busied yourself with the random task of setting up your eating area, you heard a set of footsteps. It sounded like someone wearing high heels was making their way towards you.

 

You glanced up to see who had just pulled up the seat closest to you, only to see a rather tall, fluffy fellow in what looked to be a pink pinstripe suit take a seat.

 

As soon as he did, Vaggie finally spoke.

 

“You're late…”

 

The Latina’s statement was met with the effeminate looking demon flipping the bird as he continued to look down at the smartphone in his hands.

 

“Aw, get off my ass, would ya?! The food’s not even out yet, so why tha fuck does it even matta?”

 

You glanced over to Vaggie. She was standing from her seat now and honestly looked like she was bristling, ready to explode if the spindly fellow continued with his atrocious attitude.

 

“Yeah, but it’s common sense to arrive early to things like this. I mean, even she got here earlier than you and she's injured. She at least had an excuse!”

 

For emphasis, Vaggie motioned her hands in your direction.

 

Angel finally looked up from his phone, his visage suggesting that he was slightly offended by what the moth-like girl suggested.

 

“And you think I don’t?! Do you honestly know how long it takes to look this damn good? You're lucky I got down here as soon as I did!”

 

Angel fluffed his hair up before once again looking down at his phone, obviously done with the conversation.

 

Vaggie flopped back down into her seat and gave a deep sigh, a Spanish curse being uttered under her breath. It looked like she was struggling to keep herself from saying anything else that would rile them both up.

 

A few more moments of silence followed as you tried to distract yourself with the growing tension in the room by twirling the rim of your wine glass, gently moving it to and fro. Just from listening to the previous argument, you could feel your headache coming back with a vengeance. Your healing hadn’t lasted as long as you thought, but that was to be expected since you used as much energy as you were able to heal yourself. Even then it wasn’t that much. Perhaps eating would replenish your strength and power reserves.

 

The sound of a door being opened was heard as the voice of the princess once again rang into the room.

 

“Oh, Angel! Good evening! Glad you could join us too.”

 

As Charlie spoke, she sat a couple of glasses of ice water in front of you and Angel before addressing you.

 

“The food will be out in a few more minutes, but here’s something for you to sip on in the meantime!”

 

You looked up at Charlie and gave her a grateful smile and thanked her as she went to go take her previous seat. As she sat down, Vaggie pulled her into a conversation, once again leaving you to the silent solitude in your head.

 

“Sooo… how’d you end up down here?”

 

The spindly fellow who Charlie had addressed as Angel didn’t look at you as he asked. Instead he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone with a pink gloved thumb.

 

The phone he held reminded you of the smartphones and gadgets everyone seemed to have in Heaven. They were much too new for your liking as you preferred to write letters, or use the rotary phone you had in your home. That was what you had used if the need to communicate with others without having the opportunity to converse face to face arised. Not that you had very many friends to send letters to or receive calls from, but that was beside the point.

 

“Um…I fell?”

 

The man gave a snort as he looked up at you for the first time that evening, placing his phone face down on the table. You caught note of his two discolored eyes with pink irises and a signature golden tooth in his mouth as he spoke.

 

“Ha. No shit, sherlock. Everybody falls into this dump. No, I mean what made ya come here? What’s your sin? How’d ya die? Y’know, the whole shabang…”

 

You sighed inwardly. Yet again, you had to explain your predicament. The question was to be expected but you were getting tired of repeating yourself.

 

“I don't really know. I hit my head really hard on a dumpster when I landed. All I seem to remember was reaching for my radio and then falling over–”

 

“Wait what? Are you deadass right now?”

 

You were a bit confused with the modern slang he decided to use, but you just assumed he meant to ask you if you were serious.

 

“Umm…Yes?”

 

At your confused confirmation, Angel started laughing uncontrollably.

 

“Pfftt Oh, that’s gold! You tripped and you fuckin’ died!”

 

“Angel!” Vaggie barks. It seemed the unexpectedly loud laughter had interrupted her and the princess’ conversation.

 

“Oh come on! You gotta admit that shit’s hilarious!” Angel gesticulated all four of his hands at you, “You can’t tell me it's not!”

 

The Latina only narrowed her eyes at the individual resembling a spider. At her silent disapproval, Angel sighed and cast a slightly regretful look in your direction.

 

“Look. Sorry to do this to ya, Tutz…” Angel picked up his phone from the table and began tapping the screen, “...but I am absolutely sharing the hell out of that with my girl buddy.”

 

You could hear the faint dial tone of his phone call as Angel Dust scooted his chair back and left the table.

 

“Cherri! You will not believe this. I just heard the funniest fuckin’ thing in ages–!”

 

Everyone seated at the table watched him leave up the stairs as he laughed into his phone. Perhaps he wasn’t hungry after all to have left so abruptly.

 

Upon hearing Charlie’s nervous laughter, you turned your face back towards the princess.

 

“So, it looks like you’ve met Angel Dust, our newest…and only resident. Besides you, of course. We are working hard to get more people interested in the hotel, but it's, uh…” she glanced over at Vaggie who gave her an encouraging nod, “…It's still a work in progress.”

 

“Well! If it isn’t the lovely lady of the hour, gracing us with her presence!”

 

Startled, you heard a rather familiar, jaunty voice come close from behind you. You had been so engrossed in what the princess was saying that you hadn’t heard anyone approach you. You felt a hand be placed on your right shoulder as you turned to look at who was behind you. You were met with a rather tall, immaculately dressed gentleman wearing a monocle.

 

Everything about the fellow in front of you screamed that he was the type that demanded presence and respect whenever he walked into a room. If you couldn’t tell that by the dapper bow tie, overcoat and slacks he wore, then you especially got the message by how vibrant the red color scheme of his outfit and hair was.

 

As you looked up at him, you noticed a set of black antlers and two rather fluffy tufts of hair sticking from his red and black tipped bob. Were those ears? The more you looked at him, the more you could see that his animalistic features resembled that of a deer.

 

But the two most prominent things you noticed about him were his dark red eyes and his rather large smile that held countless sharp teeth within. It was a little unnerving being looked down at with such a calculated, almost animalistic gaze. Even if he met you with a dazzling, toothy grin.

 

“I must say, my dear, you must’ve been quite the sinner to have such an ungraceful fall. Just look at all those injuries!”

 

The deer-like man gestured towards your bandaged face and the rest of you as you heard a faint laugh track play in the background. You wondered where the sound was coming from when you noticed a microphone of sorts cradled in his free arm. With the other he supported a large platter, remnants of steam floating from the top. You assumed that was your meal just by the sight of the vapor and the mouthwatering scent.

 

“It almost makes one curious just how dastardly a life you led before?”

 

Alastor was still holding your plate of food above you as he chuckled to himself and looked at you curiously. You laughed nervously, not sure what to say to answer him. You felt kind of bad at not holding a conversation very well with the tall fellow, but your head was still very much in pain and you were not in the mindset to converse with anyone except for the necessary pleasantries to be polite. It was a shame, though. He seemed nice enough.

 

You were still disoriented from all the sleeping you had done the past couple of days. Really, the only reason you came downstairs was to get food into your system before you would inevitably crash in bed again later. You told yourself you would face the hotel, and everyone else in it, tomorrow. Unfortunately, that ended up not being the case and you invested your attention into conversations much more than you had planned.

 

You did your best to be polite, despite the headache promising to rupture your head at any moment. You could still feel the dull ache as you focused on everyone talk. You probably needed to head back to your room to rest. Of course, that would be after you had finished dinner.

 

“Ahem…” Charlie fake coughed, catching the attention of the man clad in red. The tufts on the top of his head flicked towards her in acknowledgment. So they were ears…

 

You saw Charlie hold out her hand like she was holding an imaginary bowl and pointed to it, nudging her head. Alastor seemed to catch on.

 

“Oh, Where are my manners? I’m sure this was what you were waiting for.” Alastor theatrically presents the bowl he held and rests it in front of you on the table. Steam was rolling pleasantly out of the top.

 

“I do hope you like Jambalaya. I thought it might put some pep back into your step, so to speak. I’d be careful if I were you, though. It has quite the kick.”

 

You nodded towards him with a small tired smile and gave a quick thank you for the beautiful meal he prepared. You placed your napkin in your lap neatly before picking up your spoon, careful to not rest your elbows on the table. You stirred through the contents of the steaming bowl and blew before taking a bite.

 

Instantly the spices hit your tongue and you did your best to stifle a cough. Sure Alastor had warned you of the heat, but you didn’t think there would be that much spice. It was a fairly small bowl after all.

 

“Well darling?”

 

Your eyes were starting to water so you blinked to compose yourself. Once the heat cooled down, the flavor was actually rather decent; though you had a feeling something was off about the meal. You couldn’t quite put it into words. It was probably just the spices that were included.

 

You gave Alastor a thumbs up.

 

“I-it’s good…”

 

Conscious of the tall imposing fellow watching you, you took another rather large bite to show your appreciation for the food. You forced down the strange feeling surging in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to be ungrateful. These people had taken you in, dressed your wounds and even had a meal prepared for you, after all.

 

“Well, I’m glad you think so!” You couldn’t tell if the redheaded fellow knew you were being slightly dishonest. If he did, he chose to ignore it. He looked pretty pleased with himself regardless.

 

“It was my mothers recipe after all!”

 

“S-she must’ve been a lovely cook…”

 

The spices in the bowl of Jambalaya you ate continued to incinerate your throat, your eyes burning. Seriously, what had he put into it to make it so spicy? Maybe you just weren't used to many Creole or Cajun dishes? Looking back, you didn’t remember eating much of them in Heaven. You wondered if you even had the chance to eat them while you were alive. If your dish had slightly less spice, it would’ve been perfect.

 

“Why yes I suppose she was. In fact, I do believe this was the recipe that nearly killed her!”

 

Great. It was your second day in Hell and you were already almost killed three times. First you had nearly been suffocated by a tiny one-eyed woman with a sewing needle, almost crushed to death by a hug from a princess and now you were most likely being poisoned by a tall, red haired deer man!

 

You sighed inwardly, the heat in your mouth distracting you from your thoughts. That probably wasn’t a very fair assessment of your situation on your part. Especially since these people had rescued you and had been nothing but welcoming; but in your tired and frazzled state you were ready to just be back in the safety and privacy of your room. You didn’t want to talk anymore. You would try again with impressions tomorrow once you had more adequate rest.

 

Of course, you outwardly hid all of your mental exhaustion with the best smile you could. You didn’t want to cause more trouble for these people than you had already. And everyone seemed decent at least. No one was needlessly mean or cruel to you.

 

So, despite the unbearable throbbing of the headache that was currently attacking you, you did your best to finish the rest of your fiery meal with gratitude. Even if the gentleman who prepared it for you had probably tried to poison you.

 

As you were nearly finished with your meal, you realized said man had stood behind you the whole time, watching you. Immediately feeling self conscious and as if you had been rude, you wiped your mouth with the napkin that rested in your lap and looked up at him.

 

“I am so terribly sorry! You went through great lengths to make me something to eat, I'm sure, and I haven’t even had the common decency to introduce myself or ask for your name. I don't know where my mind is at today. Forgive me. You must think I'm incredibly rude.”

 

The man before you quirked an intrigued brow, but his broad smile never left his face. It seemed he was content to hear you ramble on awkwardly.

 

“I um...I would properly introduce myself; but I seem to have found myself in a really strange set of circumstances. You see, I don’t really remember my name…”

 

“Ah. Well, that is quite the predicament indeed.” the man nods to you in understanding, “And there is no need to fret, dear. How about we just rectify the situation and clear any undue confusion?”

 

The man takes the microphone he was cradling and extends the opposite end of it to you in greeting. Tentatively you took it in your hand and shook it once before the microphone was collected and held close to his side like a cane. It was the strangest way of giving a handshake to someone you had ever experienced.

 

“My name is Alastor, dear. It’s quite the pleasure to be making your acquaintance, Miss Whoever-you-are.”

 

“Likewise.” you give him a soft smile at the jovial way he had addressed you.

 

“Though, it is rather odd that you ended up laid out on our front porch. Just how did you-”

 

“Alastor!”

 

The familiarity of Vaggie's voice could be heard from across the room. You watched as the cervine fellow’s ears twitched due to the interruption, though his countenance and smile remained unbothered. A sigh followed with the slight twitch of his eye.

 

“Apologies for cutting our conversation so brief, my dear, but it seems as though I am being summoned. Do take care.”

 

You nodded as Alastor inclined his head to you as he turned to go see what the Latina needed. You assumed she was probably going to speak with him about the commercial she had mentioned earlier. So that's why his voice sounded familiar. He was the one whose voice was featured in the commercial.

 

As you watched him leave, you realized you were about tapped out for conversation for the night. Your headache was once again in full swing and your side was starting to throb once more. Perhaps one more night of rest would take care of the lingering after effects of your crash landing into Hell.

 

Scooting your chair back, you carefully stood from your seat and picked up your dirtied dish from off of the table. As you turned to go, you felt a woosh of air close to your ankles. Looking down, you saw the tell tale signs of the little cyclops you had met a few hours earlier. Had she been hiding under the table the entire meal?

 

“I got it~! Cleaning up after dinner's my job! Thanks for the help though! I can take your plate to the kitchen for you if you're done?”

 

“Oh okay! Thank you.” you obliged the darling little cyclops, bending down to hand her your bowl. Niffty gave you a small grin before speeding off into the kitchen.

 

Scooting your chair back to the table, you made your way out of the room before anyone else had a chance to address you.

 

You were unaware of the pair of dark red eyes that watched you as you made your exit…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Once you had gotten back to the comfort and safety of your room, you had yourself a well deserved bath before dressing in the silk pajamas that had been provided for you. You even managed to trim your hair a tad to make it more presentable and easier to tend to.

 

After completing your nightly routine, you snuggled back into the pillow fort that still remained on your bed from earlier. You could barely keep your eyes open as you sunk deeper into the pillows. If you hadn't lost your poetry book and if you weren’t so tired, you would’ve continued your nightly routine of writing poetry to wind down for the evening.

 

You sighed as you drifted off into sleep, silently lamenting over the loss of your two special items.
You were so engrossed in your sleepy disappointment that you hadn’t noticed one of your items had been returned to you; newly restored and waiting patiently on your vanity to play another song for you whenever you awoke the next morning.

Notes:

Thank you all for reading! hope you enjoyed!

 

translation for the Spanish used in the chapter:

 

Hermosa: Beautiful
¡Qué gilipollas es ese tío! : That guy's such a jerk!/ what an asshole that guy is!

(I am not a native Spanish speaker, so please let me know if these translations are wrong. Thank you!)

Chapter 5: Her Radio

Summary:

"You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can't forget. Those are your 'friends'" ~ Mark Twain

You were buried under a stack of fluffy pillows when you awoke the next morning. Raising your hand to wipe the sleep from your eyes, you stretched out and yawned; surprised that you weren’t interrupted from your rest. You had a rather peaceful night, all things considered. In fact, it was some of the best sleep you had received since making your fall.

 

Grabbing the nearest pillow on top of you, you pushed it to the side as you tried to stare up at your bedroom ceiling. In your attempt at waking, the duvet and sheets you laid beneath wrinkled as a few pillows fell to the floor. Once again, you were surprised. You were actually able to move without hurting. Your ribs weren’t in as much pain as the previous day and as you stood to your feet you noticed your headache was completely gone. Who knew all you needed was a couple nights of sufficient rest in order to feel this good again. Perhaps you were more proficient in healing than you had previously thought.

 

As you tried to remove yourself from your bed, however, your left shoulder twinged in pain. It seems you weren’t fully recovered after all. You sighed. At least the pain was much more manageable than it had been. You assumed you only needed one more night of rest for the remnants of the pain you felt to vanish completely. You were just thankful your headache was no longer with you.

 

Grateful to be in a better mindset, and an even better mood, you finally pulled yourself from bed to get ready for the day and at least attempt to be productive. First things first, you needed to reintroduce yourself to the inhabitants of the hotel. You felt your behavior wasn’t up to par the night before, and part of you couldn’t quite remember what all had even happened. Just for good measure, you wanted to reacquaint yourself with everyone.

 

Even if you had an excuse for not making much conversation the previous night, you still felt terrible for not making more of an effort to talk after the kindness that was shown to you. So, even if you still had reservations about conversing with everyone again, you needed to at least make the attempt to be sociable. Especially since you were finally in the headspace to do so properly. It was only polite.

 

You went ahead and started your morning routine, remembering how you liked to get ready for the day in Heaven. You chose to wear the clothes you had donned the night before since they weren’t very dirty and went to the bathroom to freshen up and remove and reapply bandages to your face.

 

As you worked to dress the wounds that were nearly healed on your face, you began to hum a simple but happy tune. It brought you a sense of comfort and normalcy to your routine and it was something you would often do as you dressed or did mundane chores back home.

 

Continuing with your work, you didn’t realize that the soft tune you were humming had the accompaniment of faintly playing instruments. You paused what you were doing to admire the sound, the tune you had previously hummed turning itself into a full blown orchestra with all of your favorite instruments within minutes. It was almost as if the music was coming from within your bedroom.

 

Opting to finish your current task, you applied the last fresh bandage to your face and combed your hair before donning your headscarf from the night before. Once your cute ensemble of clothing was perfected you went back into your bedroom to investigate the beautiful music that continued to play for you.

 

As soon as you entered your room, your eyes met with the one thing that you thought was beyond repair and would never be in working order again.

 

Your radio rested upon your vanity, looking as new as the day it was given to you. Along with it was your satchel resting neatly on the floor.

 

Without thinking you jogged over and sat in the vanity chair, taking the radio in your hands and giving it a closer inspection. You smoothed your hands over the front and sides of the Philco 70 in awe. You didn’t see a scratch on the thing. How had it returned to working order? It was more pristine than what you remembered. It even had a brand new coat of polish! It was beautifully restored. Artfully so.

 

Once again you turned it around in your hands to continue looking at it, the song you had hummed earlier still playing from its speakers. It should’ve been smashed. Shattered. The last time you saw it, it was nothing but a pile of bolts and torn wires and broken wood. It was unfixable. How was it here in your room, back in your hands, working perfectly?

 

Continuing to hold the relic in your hands, you teared up. You were ecstatic to finally have it back and even more so to think someone had taken time out of their day to fix it for you. You couldn’t think of any other reason why it would be back in your room playing music. You only wondered just how long it took to assemble the broken pieces for it to look this perfect. You were incredibly touched to say the least.

 

‘I’ve got to find who it was and thank them for returning it to me…’

 

You held onto the radio and admired the newly refurbished craftsmanship long after the song had turned into static. You were just so glad to have it back. Gently placing the radio back onto your vanity, you turned the dial to hush the calming buzz exiting the speakers as you glanced towards your bag.

 

So you weren’t crazy in thinking that you had brought it with you to the hotel. Lifting it up you noticed that it was still very much tattered, but that was alright with you. As long as the item within was still there you didn’t mind the state of the satchel. As you held your bag, you could feel there was a slight heft to it. The added weight was promising.

 

You reached your hand inside and smiled when you managed to grasp something cold and metal. Bringing it out slightly to look at, you were met with the angelic dagger you had previously acquired. It was still just as beautiful as the day you found it and you were incredibly happy to have it back. You knew you had brought it with you in your desperate attempt at finding sanctuary, so you were relieved that you weren’t going insane after all.

 

Giving the blade one more look over, you stowed it away into your bag once again. Placing the satchel back onto the ground, you got up from your seat and looked yourself over in the vanity mirror in front of you. You fixed any stray hairs and minor details about your outfit that you hadn’t noticed earlier. Once you were satisfied with how you looked, you left your room in an attempt to find the one who had restored your radio and returned your belongings to you.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Um…G-good morning!”

 

You had made your way down the grand staircase and into the lobby where you saw a few individuals present. The princess was seated, looking as if she were going over some things with the Latina beside her and the arachnid who was seen splayed out rather provocatively across the sofa, his legs hanging off of the opposite arm rest. Upon hearing your voice, the blonde turned her attention to you with a cheerful grin as she transferred the cards she was flipping through from her lap onto the coffee table that separated her from the spider. The woman next to her followed suit, giving you her undivided attention.

 

“Oh, good morning! Well, I guess it would technically be considered the afternoon now since it's like a quarter to two, but I love your enthusiasm!”

 

Once again you felt a surge of awkwardness seep into your chest upon realizing you had slept in way too late.

 

“Oh? I suppose I forgot to check my alarm clock when I woke up a little while ago. Sorry! I didn’t mean to sleep in that much...”

 

“No worries. Vaggie and I thought it best to let you get some more rest since you’re still recovering and settling in. How’d you sleep?”

 

You smiled, silently grateful to both ladies for the extra hours of being in bed you had been gifted. Even if you didn’t mean to sleep that long, the extra rest really helped.

 

“Like a dream! Thank you.”

 

The princess only smiled as she adjusted herself in her seat on the couch to face you.

 

“Well I’m glad!”

 

Before you managed to get lost in any more pleasantries, you stated the purpose of you arriving in the lobby.

 

“Hey, um I don’t mean to interrupt whatever you three were doing; but if you have a moment, there's something I’d like to ask you?”

 

As soon as your words left you, you could hear the effeminate male mumble under his breath something close to “Well you kinda already did, but whateva. Not like anything we was talkin’ about was important anyways…” Vaggie shot him a dirty look, but it seemed the comment went unnoticed by the princess.

 

“Of course, ask away! You aren’t bothering us in the slightest! What’s up?”

 

“I wanted to ask if any of you knew who fixed my radio?”

 

Both the princess and the woman seated next to her looked confused before the blonde perked up. It looked as if she were ready to give you an answer when her attempt was interrupted.

 

“The only one who would know anything about them would be smiles. He’s kinda the expert or…whateva the hell you wanna call it.” The effeminate fellow rolled one of his many wrists as he spoke. It was as if he was trying to waft the right words from his brain.

 

“Ah, okay. Do you by any chance know where he is?”

 

“Eh, not really. Last time I saw him he was at the bar chattin’ with Whiskers ova there. He’d most likely know where creepy face ran off to…”

 

The spider raised an arm and lazily pointed over to the bar that was stationed across the room. You gave him a soft smile and thanked him. Before you walked away and before your courage left you entirely, you also wanted to make another attempt at introductions. You felt horrible for not remembering the people you were speaking with. The only person you really remembered the name of was the maid, Niffty, and that was only because her introduction was so unique. Even so, you wanted to fix the issue as soon as possible.

 

“Um, and while I still have your attention, I also just wanted to reintroduce myself and apologize if I was rude last night. I wasn’t really in the mindset to keep up conversation yesterday, so I wanted to amend that. It’s nice to meet the three of you….Again…”

 

At your words, the blonde gave you a sympathetic look as she got up from her seat and walked over to you.

 

“Oh you don’t have to apologize! I’m sure everything may have been a bit overwhelming yesterday with all the new faces and surroundings. It’s understandable why you would feel a bit on edge. Well, you know this already, but I’m Charlie, this is Vaggie, my girlfriend, and that's Angel over there. It's nice to meet you again too.” she laughed, reaching a hand out for you to shake. You took her hand before retrieving yours.

 

You made a mental note to remember the names that were mentioned.

 

‘The blonde princess in the suit is Charlie, the girl with one eye is Vaggie and the lanky, scantily clad spider is Angel. Got it.’

 

Vaggie also got up from the couch to walk over to you and looked toward the spider, calling him to attention.

 

“Angel, aren’t you going to say hello too?”

 

Like the night before, Angel was occupied with his phone. Upon hearing Vaggie address him, he mumbled under his breath yet again, “Did ya not just hear me talk to the broad? Don’t get your panties in a twist, jeez.” He looked over to you, unenthused with the request that was made of him as he pointed to himself.

 

“Heya. Angel Dust. Pornstar. And no, the chest floof is not a pair o’ tits, in case you were wonderin’. Now, you can consider me met, alright?” He curtly greeted you and gave a short dismissive wave with one of his many hands before looking back at the device he held. He sounded like he didn't have the energy to invest more into the conversation, much like how you had felt the night before. You were just happy he at least hadn’t ignored you or laughed at you again. It was a start.

 

The more you looked over at Angel, however, the more you noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes. He must have not been able to get much sleep or maybe he just had a long night at work? In all honesty it looked like he had just made his way out of bed himself, or was dragged out of his room unwillingly. You could see that being the most likely scenario, especially paired with his temperament and shortness that afternoon. You weren’t going to hold it against him, though. You knew better than anyone how much of a difference a good night's sleep made. You hoped he would warm up to you in time.

 

Not wanting the conversation to end on an awkward note, you took your leave.

 

“Well, thank you all for your help and I’m glad to make your acquaintances again.” With that you waved goodbye to them.

 

Charlie waved back as she went to take her seat once more and continued flipping through the cards she had prepared and went back into discussing her previous point with the arachnid with a bit more enthusiasm than before.

 

Before you could make your way over to the bar that Angel had mentioned, Vaggie called out to you and pulled you aside, mentioning there was something important she wanted to discuss with you. You obliged her, doing your best to listen intently to what she had to say.

 

“So you mentioned you were looking for the Radio Demon earlier, correct?”

 

You nodded, assuming that was who you needed to speak to. It made the most sense after all, considering that radio was part of his moniker and you were needing to find the individual who had fixed yours.

 

“Well, I’m not going to stop you from looking for him, but please just be careful. He’s the type you don’t want to get involved with. Trust me. He’s a cruel, vicious overlord with a bloodlust that is unparalleled. He’s killed thousands, perhaps even more than that. He’s ruthless, and he is certainly not one to be trusted or trifled with. So, with that being said, I wouldn’t make it a habit to seek him out unless it is absolutely necessary.”

 

At the Latina’s warning you nodded, chills making their way up your arms at her description. She made him sound like a complete monster. He most likely was, considering you were in Hell; but part of you couldn’t help wondering that if he was like that, then why did he take the time to fix something that was important to you, a complete stranger? And if Vaggie was so wary of him, why was he even working at this hotel in the first place?

 

Was the reason behind his continued presence within these walls possibly for protection? From the way the female described him, he would be the best at the job. Certainly no one would want to mess with him. If that was the case, then the place you found yourself in was indeed a sanctuary, securely guarded by one of the most brutal demons Hell had ever seen. Though, the more you thought about it the more you didn’t know if you should be grateful you were safe here or terrified you had to share the same air and space as the Radio Demon. Maybe your answer would come in time?

 

“Since you're new, I just wanted you to be aware of how dangerous the individual you would be dealing with is if you still intend on seeking him out. You seem sweet, so Charlie and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. As long as you know the dangers of interacting with him and are extremely cautious when in that demon’s presence, then you should be fine.”

 

Vaggie reached a kind hand up and patted your right shoulder comfortingly. Her gaze was soft but still very serious. Almost grave.

 

“And under no circumstances should you attempt to make a deal with him. Ever. No matter how enticing or tempting his offers may be. Yeah, I know he seems docile, kind even, but he’s a smooth talker. That's his game. It is in your best interest to just avoid him entirely if at all possible, for your safety. Okay?”

 

“O-okay, I understand. No underestimating said demon, No deals. Nothing of the sort. Not even if he’s kind. Got it.”

 

“Good, glad we could reach an understanding. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, especially before you got a chance to be redeemed. That is, if that’s something you're interested in doing. Y’know, just keep an open mind. We’ve only known you for a few days, but you definitely seem like a really great candidate for it already.”

 

You nodded as you gave her a smile.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about it. And thanks again for your and the princess’ help. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me without your kindness. I owe you all a huge debt.”

 

“No need to thank us, that’s why this hotel is here. Charlie wants it to be a place for those who feel like they don’t have anywhere else to go or belong and for those who want to find a better future for themselves. Like I said before, just keep an open mind. That’s all we ask. And who knows, if you decide to achieve redemption for yourself and succeed, that might be all the thanks Charlie would ever want or need.” Vaggie looks back towards the blonde with a tender smile. You could tell she truly cared for the girl and wanted the best for her. It was incredibly sweet and endearing.

 

“Of course. I’ll be sure to give you both an answer soon.”

 

Pleased with your reply that you would consider the hotel’s services, the one eyed Latina removed her hand from your right shoulder and said her goodbyes, leaving you to be alone with your thoughts as she made her way back to the couch where the princess and Angel were still seated. She certainly left you with a lot to think about.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at the bar. It was located in the lounge, only a short distance away from the lobby. You could still hear the princess and Vaggie continuing their previous conversion with the spider, though you weren’t really paying attention to much of what they were saying. It was rude to eavesdrop, anyways.

 

You took a seat on one of the stools provided as you tapped your fingers gently against the counter, building up the courage for yet another encounter that morning. The more you looked at who was maintaining the bar, the more you noticed that you hadn’t met this person before. He had what looked to be owl wings, black and white fur, cat ears and a tail with feathers at the end. You even noticed a top hat was perched on top of the individual's head.

 

You pulled at your left shirt sleeve as you did your best to send a friendly greeting to the bartender who had his back turned to you.

 

“Um, hi!”

 

The individual behind the bar swished his tail back and forth lazily as he turned his head to the side to look over at you. He silently acknowledged your presence as he grabbed a towel from beside him and a shot glass. He didn’t make a move to say anything back to you, probably wanting you to get on with whatever you had addressed him for. Not wanting the silence to continue, you went along with the rest of your greeting.

 

“So sorry to bother you, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before…I’m-”

 

“New? Yeah, I can tell. Angel mentioned somethin’ about how you arrived a few days ago and that you weren’t able to remember your own name. Plus somethin’ about you tripping and dying and falling down here or some shit..” The cat grumpily interrupted you, turning around fully to lean against the bar as he continued to clean the glass he held.

 

“Y-yeah...That’s me.” you laughed nervously. It seemed the news of your arrival had traveled fast.

 

The cat in question who addressed you busied himself with wiping off the shot glass in his hands before setting it next to him on the bar. As you studied him, his expression seemed tired, almost dull. Perhaps he had been down here for a long time and had seen enough horrors to make him jaded. He looked like the type that knew about everyone else’s problems but kept quiet about his own. He seemed like a good bartender at least just by seeing how much attention he gave to each glass he cleaned. However disgruntled a disposition he had, he at least took his job somewhat seriously.

 

“So, can I ask your name?”

 

He once again looked up at you before looking back down at the other glass he had acquired in his hands during the duration of your conversation.

 

“Husk.”

 

“Well, it's nice to meet you.” you said, making a note to add the cat’s name to the mental name list you had already started in order to memorize everyone.

 

Thinking you might as well get on with the real reason you had come over to the bar, you played with your shirt sleeves as an attempt to collect your thoughts and figure out what to ask. You didn’t want to bug him more than what you already had, but you needed to ascertain directions since you hadn’t had the opportunity yet to do some exploring.

 

“Um, while I’m here, I was wondering if I could ask you where I could find-”

 

“Who fixed your radio? Yeah I heard you talkin’ about that with the princess over there. You weren’t exactly being very quiet,” Husk flopped the towel he was using over his shoulder as he propped one fist on his cheek and reached for a bottle of booze, “If memory serves me right, you’ll find the asshole clad in red somewhere close to the library. I think he was doing a bit of bookkeepin’ and checkin’ on a few things for the princess before retirin’ for the day. It’s what he mentioned when he stopped by for a drink earlier, at least.”

 

‘This place had a library?’

 

Intrigued, you decided you would think about that at a different time.

 

“Okay, and where would I be able to-”

 

“The library’s on the third floor, fifth door. It's an obnoxiously big room with an obnoxiously big door. Can’t miss it.” After his statement, Husk chugged nearly half the bottle of booze he held in his paw in only a few gulps as he continued to look at you with a disinterested stare. How did he manage to continue chugging his drink without reprieve? Surely his throat was burning horribly by now. Maybe he was just used to it? Even so, it was a talent in and of itself to drink nearly a whole bottle of alcohol without so much as batting an eye.

 

It was also remarkable how this cat knew what you were going to ask before you even had a chance to finish your sentences. Granted the first few times it had happened he had already known the information, so the third time it was probably just a lucky guess. Still, the talent was remarkable. It seemed he had great attention to detail in his craft. He must have had a lot of experience with people watching, and was also possibly a gifted listener. He had to be since he was a bartender. Listening to the woes of whoever he served came with the job.

 

“Okay. Thanks so much. I’ll let you get back to work now. Lovely to meet you!”

 

Husk only nodded as he grabbed a wet washcloth and started to wipe the bar down. Not wanting to bother him any longer, you hopped off the stool you sat on and made your way closer to the library.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

‘Third floor, fifth door….third floor, fifth door…’

 

You held onto the banister and quietly muttered to yourself as you continued up the second flight of stairs, well on your way to the third. You didn’t want to get lost in such a large building and aimlessly wander the halls. Heaven only knew when you would be found if you got lost in such an extensive place.

 

Turning around the corner after finally exiting the flight of stairs, you were met with a rather long corridor with multiple doors on both sides. You remembered Husk had said the library would be found behind a large fifth door, but what side of the hallway was it on?! All the doors looked elaborate and large, so there was no way for you to know which one led to the library. You sighed. You really didn’t want to go through the hassle of opening and closing all the doors down the corridor to finally find the room you were looking for. That was just crazy.

 

As you hung closer to the stairs with a hesitant hand still on the banister, you looked down both sides of the long corridor once more as your mind became more of a maze of thoughts. Were you sure you were even on the right floor? You seriously had no sense of direction.

 

Feeling defeated, you ventured your way down the hallway to continue with your previous, and rather idiotic, plan of opening all the doors on the third floor. Because that was obviously the best course of action rather than go back down stairs and have someone show you around, sarcasm intended. But still, you would have rather risked looking like a loon opening and shutting random doors down the hallway than have to ask for help and inconvenience anyone else.

 

As you set your plan in motion and knocked on the first door, you got a chill as the low crackle of static faintly tickled your ears and down your neck. Goosebumps formed along your arms underneath the long sleeves of your cardigan. Where was the sound coming from? It was close enough to affect not just your hearing as you brought your hands up in an attempt to warm yourself. Why had the room suddenly grown colder? As you placed your hand on the door knob, shadows danced across the skin of your hand. It was enough to make you look up at the lights overhead. They were flickering every so often. You noticed a few lights were brighter than others as the static mixed with the visual light show happening above you. Your goosebumps increased. You hadn’t realized that the static never left. In fact, it only got louder…

 

You heard the music before you saw him. Soft relaxing jazz weaved beautifully into the air mixed with the already present pop of static as a large mahogany door opened a little ways from you. Exiting from the door in question was a tall, opulently dressed gentleman clad from head to toe in deep burgundy. He was revealed to be holding a small stack of books cradled in one arm and a microphone that looked like it was being used as a cane in the other. The man with the red and black undercut bob had his back turned to you, leaning his microphone against the wall as he paused next to the door and briefly read through one of the many books in his grasp; occasionally turning a few pages every now and then. Perhaps he was the person you needed to speak with?

 

Calmly you approached the gentleman as you called out to him in your best attempt at a pleasant greeting.

 

“G-good afternoon Sir!”

 

The tall redheaded fellow who stood in front of the rather elaborately decorated library door swiveled his velvety ears back to face you as he continued to skim over what to be a dense looking tome in his hands. Your attempt at getting his attention was successful as you heard the loud snap of bone seconds later. The deer-man turned his head 180 degrees in order to look over in your direction. The sight of his head turning backwards so abruptly startled you, especially when coupled with the weird phenomena you had experienced earlier with the static chills and the flickering lights. Of course, you did your best to recover from your unease and quickly pretended as if nothing was wrong as you approached him.

 

The gentleman promptly shut the book he held, giving his full attention to you as you took the few steps needed to stand in his vicinity. His microphone that had previously leaned against the wall vanished into thin air, and with it the static and music you were enjoying. You were slightly concerned as you looked up at him, watching his neck twist back to normal with ease as you heard yet another crack of bone as he had turned the rest of his body around to face you. Had he just broken his neck to look at you? Perhaps it was already broken? If so then how did his head stay on his shoulders-

 

“Salutations! Good to see you, doll. Do you remember me?”

 

His chipper greeting interrupted your train of thought, though you managed to process what he had said. Honestly, you didn’t remember him, but you felt telling him that would’ve been extremely rude, especially when he was acting like he knew you. You were certain that if the red deer fellow hadn't asked you, then you could’ve easily told him. You were sure someone had mentioned his name before even if you didn’t remember meeting him.

 

For some reason, however, the only names you could remember were what Angel, Husk and Vaggie had called him. You knew for a fact that his name wasn’t just Smiles, nor any of the other names you had heard the others mention that afternoon. Your favorite one you heard though was definitely Smiles. It was a good nickname, seeing as how the fellow standing before you wore a permanent grin. It was slightly unnerving how it never wavered.

 

“Well, um, you do look familiar…I think you might be the one who fixed my radio?” You give him an uncertain smile as you attempt to deflect his question and change the focus of your conversation. For some reason you couldn’t remember if you had met the man in front of you or not. However familiar he looked, you couldn’t place when you had seen him before. Perhaps he sounded familiar due to the commercial you had seen before coming to the hotel?

 

The only answer you received was a twitch of the man’s eye. Your reply obviously wasn’t what he had wanted to hear just by his reaction. You didn’t blame him, though. No one wanted to be forgotten; but you honestly could not remember him or his name to save your life…He shouldn’t have asked. If he hadn’t, then you would have remembered. Your brain was weird like that, even without the assistance of your memories being messed up.

 

“That was actually the reason I wanted to speak with you. I just wanted to say thanks. I really do appreciate you doing that for me. It must have taken ages to fix…”

 

The man’s irritation was momentarily forgotten as his smile grew from a plastered mask to one of the more genuine sort at the mention of your treasured radio, his red eyes sparkling and turning a bit more lively. Just by his brightened expression, you could tell it was a topic he enjoyed.

 

“Right you are! It certainly was a doozy to repair, but nothing I couldn’t manage. I quite enjoyed the challenge, actually. After all, It’s not everyday you get to see something that dated back to when you were topside. It was a welcome reminder indeed.”

 

The deer man wiped his hand across the book at the top of the small stack he carried, removing invisible dust particles from the hardcover. Once the dust was shooed away to his liking, he reached up to readjust the monocle that rested precariously underneath his eye. You silently wondered how he managed to keep the eye wear securely on his face until you noticed the delicate chain that it was connected to.

 

“Regrettably, the Philco 70 is such a rare model nowadays. Especially one as magnificent as what you have in your possession. It was honestly a shame and such a tragedy just to witness how busted up it was. You should really take more pride in the care of your possessions, darling.”

 

That last comment was unnecessarily hurtful and it stung as the man before you delivered it to you with a grand smile. You had taken care of it, even to the point of polishing it once every week while in Heaven. You cherished it. Even someone without a seasoned eye for older technology could see that it had even been polished very recently before it was destroyed and fixed. Perhaps he was just trying to get under your skin? For whatever reason, however, you didn’t know.

 

“So just to make sure that the previous finish could stand out even more, I brought it upon myself to add a bit more polish to the exterior once it was refurbished.”

 

So he had noticed the usual care you had taken to make sure it was in top shape, however damaged it was before your radio had somehow found itself in his care. He just wanted you to feel bad, ashamed, that it had to be fixed in the first place. His secret remarks were needlessly cruel, especially since it wasn’t your fault your radio had found itself in a state of disrepair; but you did your best to ignore his attempts to rattle your already crumbling confidence. Instead you answered him affably, still very much grateful to have the radio back in your possession regardless.

 

“I-I noticed it had a bit more shine than usual. Thank you for going the extra mile to bring it back to its former glory. It's very much appreciated.”

 

“No need to thank me darling, but you are most welcome. It was quite the thrill to restore it.”

 

As the conversation lulled, the Radio Demon turned to shut the door to the library with a soft click of the hinge. He silently motioned for you to continue walking with him as he made his way down the corridor in the opposite direction of the stairs. You noticed that he could have made longer strides if he had wished, but he kept his pace at your speed to account for the height difference between the two of you in a chivalrous fashion.

 

Thinking it an appropriate time to finally ascertain who the gentleman you were speaking with was, you cleared your throat softly before continuing.

 

“I, um…I think I may need to introduce myself…”

 

“Oh?” The deer man gave you a side glance that was filled with a silent curiosity you couldn’t quite comprehend.

 

“Yes. I’ve been making the rounds this morning to reacquaint myself with the residents here and, well, first impressions are important so I wanted to make a proper introduction.”

 

The tall man stopped walking and chuckled as he turned his head to look down at you. Why did just hearing the sound of his laughter fill you with a strange sense of trepidation? Perhaps Vaggie was right about him?

 

“Yes, that they are, and my it was quite the first impression you made indeed! You started out with a bang. Literally! You nearly busted the door down knocking and passed out from blood loss before poor Ms. Charlotte could even introduce herself! At least you were decent enough to keep your blood off of the carpet.”

 

You froze, blinking in surprise. You were absolutely mortified that that was how he would remember you, but you were also really confused. You didn’t remember meeting anyone other than briefly seeing the princess before fainting. Was the gentleman who stood next to you also present that night?

 

The dread must have shown on your face because the red clad man laughed even more. Placing his free hand on your shoulder and patting it a few times, he pulled away before wiping an invisible tear from his eye.

 

“Oh, don’t you worry. I would never forget someone who came in so elegantly!”

 

You sighed internally. He was definitely mocking you and was having a fun time doing so, it would seem.

 

“You certainly made quite the spectacle of things. In fact, it was such an event that I don’t believe I ever got the pleasure of your name?”

 

“O-oh.. see, that’s the thing. I don’t really…know..”

 

“Ah yes, I do remember you mentioning that. Your memory was still fairly foggy on most things at our second meeting, correct?”

 

You internally scolded yourself once again. You forgot this wasn’t the first time you were meeting him, and it seemed that this was his third time meeting you. He must have seen you while you were unconscious, that was the only other explanation you had.

 

As he mentioned it you could put together bits and pieces of certain events that had happened the night before. You had met him, struggled to eat a bowl of the spicy Creole delicacy he prepared. You had even spoken to him briefly. No wonder he looked so familiar.

 

You couldn’t believe your brain’s lack of recognition. That dumpster the sky so graciously rammed your head into must’ve really done a number on your noggin. Were your memories really that screwed up or were you just even more horrible than you remembered when it came to names and faces? You could understand forgetting people's names, but to just completely forget you had even met someone entirely? You already weren't good at conversing with people on the best of days, but still, even this was a new low for you. This was why you stuck to your art, books and poems most of the time. If you never met anyone you wouldn’t have the chance to forget them.

 

“But third time’s the charm, right darling?”

 

The man looked like he was silently judging you behind the amused smile he wore. Perhaps he was enjoying seeing you squirm under pressure as he witnessed your mental downfall. You knew he could secretly tell you were mentally berating yourself for such a disgraceful social blunder…

 

“My name is Alastor. Quite the pleasure. However, I don’t usually make a habit of introducing myself a second time.”

 

Something about his tone suggested he was irritated. Your assumptions were correct when his hand returned to your injured shoulder, his grip tightening to an agonizing degree. It took all you had to not cry out in pain in front of him.

 

Immediately the aura around his person changed as he leaned in closer to you, the lights flickering more furiously overhead than they had before. The eyes that stared back at you were radio dials and the previous static was audibly harsher in his voice as he spoke. His ebony antlers even grew into rough spikes as his red hair became more disheveled. His ghastly, almost animalistic transformation filled you with horror.

 

“But this is a special circumstance I suppose, so I’ll be lenient. Do try your best to remember our encounter this time, alright?”

 

Alastor’s words were a stark contrast to his actions. You could only nod as you struggled to form words through the pain as his hand squeezed tighter on your shoulder, his claws threatening to pierce through your clothing and into your skin. The way he looked down at you made your blood run cold, as if he was daring you to forget him again. You would remember this encounter for sure, if not from plain common sense then from being absolutely scared out of your mind.

 

Not thinking your silent answer to him was adequate enough, you did your best to reply through your harrowing fear.

 

“O-of course. I wouldn’t want...To..to forget such a lovely fellow as yourself…Again…I’m…I really am sorry about that. My memories are still all out of sorts…”

 

At your reply, his eyes and features turned back to his normally pristine appearance as unexpectedly as it was to see them change and with it the lights stopped flickering and his voice returned to its usual timbre. His smile had also returned to more of the normal variety, if one could call it that to begin with.

 

You looked up at him, dazed with fear. Had your apology caught him by surprise? Or were random radio sounds and visible body modifications just a thing with him?

 

“Ohho! Well, aren’t you a deer! I could just eat you right up!”

 

Alastor laughed once again as he released his grip from your shoulder to pat you on your head gently; fluffing up your hair in the process. You were thankful the pressure he had previously applied was gone, but you couldn’t ditch the feeling that he wasn’t entirely kidding as you went to adjust your headpiece, your hands still shaking from the scene you had just witnessed.

 

Remembering the warning Vaggie had given you about his reputation earlier that afternoon, If Alastor had the opportunity to kill or even eat you he probably would. That sentiment alone solidified the fact that you needed to remember who the man in front of you was. Especially for your own safety. At least he seemed pleased with you now, so you didn’t have to worry about setting him off at the moment.

 

“It’s quite alright. After all, we can’t all be perfect. Accidents happen, so all is forgiven.”

 

Was it though? Perhaps he had forgiven you, but he was most likely not going to forget your little slip up. By looks alone, he seemed like the type to keep tabs on everyone who had wronged him in some form or fashion. Especially since your mistake happened twice. If anyone would be on his hit list, it would most definitely be you.

 

You were going to have to do something about your short term memories. Maybe you needed to write down any new information into a journal to keep up with everything?

 

“So, is that all you needed from me? I am a very busy man. Time is ticking away you see..” He looked at you as he brought out his pocket watch and opened it for a quick peek before shutting it closed and snapping his sharp, lidded gaze back to you, “Do be quick if there is anything else…”

 

“Uh, n-no. No sir, that’s all I wanted to discuss…Thank you for your time, and for fixing my radio. And I’m sorry about what happened before…H-have a lovely rest of your day…” you gave him a wave and nodded your head in respect with the most pleasant smile you could muster in your apprehension. You made sure to add more politeness into your tone to attempt to make up for offending him earlier. You were desperately awkward, sure, but that didn’t mean you lacked manners.

 

You didn’t want to keep him very long or waste his time anymore than this encounter probably already did. He was a businessman, after all. Businessmen always seemed busy. Plus, the aura Alastor was giving off as he stood next to you suggested he wanted the conversation to be cut short. You weren't going to be stupid a second time. Instead, you took the silent hint to buzz off.

 

“Sorry to be a bother. Thanks again for your help.”

 

Alastor met you with yet another curious gaze as you excused yourself.

 

“...Anytime, dear…” his voice trailed off as you turned to make your exit, returning your retreating gesture with a small wave of his own.

 

You didn’t realize his eyes stayed on you as you retreated; catching traces of the muttered echoes of his name on your lips like a mantra until it was recited to memory.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Sorry to be a bother. Thanks again for your help.”

 

“...Anytime, dear…”

 

What a peculiar bundle of energy you were. Your forgetfulness was indeed a nuisance, but at least you were polite. You had certainly piqued Alastor’s curiosity.

 

And you were an expressive little thing to boot! The emotions you put on full display were all the more interesting. The terrified look you had just given him repeatedly flashed behind Alastor’s eyes. Seeing your radiantly shining eyes glistening over in terror was incredibly satisfying. He was doubly assured you would remember him now. Someone obviously had to do something about that pesky memory of yours, and well, he was the best person he knew; so of course he took the opportunity to shock the needed information into your system. And, my, you didn’t disappoint him with your reactions. He didn’t think scaring you would’ve been that fun… The experience certainly filled him with a sense of gratification…

 

It was almost the same feeling he received the night before when he may or may not have put a dash more spice into the jambalaya he served you; much more than what the instructions had called for at least. Decimating his mother’s recipe wasn’t a thing he was proud of and it was something he planned on never doing again; however, Alastor had to admit that the sight of you struggling to compose yourself and eat due to the added heat in your meal had him almost rethink adjusting his take on his mother’s food. Seeing you in such a sorry state was a delightfully pathetic spectacle to behold. It was something he wouldn’t have minded to witness again.

 

And then you had given him another lovely sight by apologizing to him for your rudeness, your inward panic written all over your face. Seeing you so worried was almost endearing. It was such a treat, your trepidation nearly making him giddy.

 

Alastor found himself laughing quietly as he turned to walk in the opposite direction that you had taken. Remembering your reactions had given him an extra boost to get through the dreaded afternoon slump. It was enough to have him humming a jovial little tune as he continued through the corridor and down the opposite flight of stars that led to the second floor and into the privacy of his chambers. Yes, the plethora of emotions you had provided for his viewing pleasure that morning as well as the previous evening were immensely entertaining indeed.

 

Alastor continued to hum and flip through the books he held as he sat down at his dining table in the forest part of his domain. As he read amongst the peace of nature and under the quietly rustling leaves of the old weeping willow next to his fireplace; he ignored the whispers in the back of his mind that reminded him that your endearing expressiveness as well as the gentle, euphonic cadence of your voice were both identical to, if not the same, as his late wife’s…

Notes:

I hope you guys are doing well! Thanks for reading! Hearing from you all really makes my day!

Chapter 6: Her Request

Summary:

“She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful for her ability to make other people smile even when she was sad. No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful deep down to her soul. She is beautiful.” ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

“Hey Niffty, I think I’m finished with this room. It’s the last one we have to clean, right?”

 

Putting the broom, mop and the rest of the cleaning supplies you held in your hands onto the cart; you dusted your hands off as Niffty came running up to you from a room farther down the hall. She held a jug of bleach and glass cleaner in her hands and held them out to you.

 

“Yep, that's the last one! Did you make sure to make the bathroom mirror extra shiny?”

 

“I made it as shiny as I was physically able.” you gently laughed, taking the items from her and placed them back into their homes on the cleaning cart.

 

“Okay! What about the bed, did you make it like I showed you? What about all the towels?”

 

“To the best of my ability, yes. The duvet and sheets have been replaced with clean ones and made neatly. Also, all the towels are fluffed, folded, and put away in the bathroom closet.”

 

The tiny maids' smile widened at your report, obviously pleased. Once everything was sorted and stored away neatly onto the cart, you reached over into the small basket that held an assortment of complimentary mints, taffies and hard candies. You plucked one at random.

 

“The only thing the bed’s missing is a mint on the pillow. I haven’t put one on yet. And, I wasn’t able to replenish the toiletries either; but everything else should be finished."

 

In truth, you had been snacking on more than a few of the complimentary sweets in the bowl as you cleaned. You had honestly forgotten that they had a purpose other than to be victims of your snacking habits. You couldn’t help it though, you had a very large sweet tooth; and they were far too tempting to leave them be and not have a few. Of course, you may have helped yourself to more than what was probably a healthy amount…

 

“No worries, I can do that!”

 

You picked up some of the small complimentary bottles of shampoo, conditioner and other toiletries and bent down to give the cyclops the items in question. Before the small girl could make her leave, you called her name and got her attention.

 

Picking up another candy from the basket, you showed her the piece in your hands.

 

“Do you want one?”

 

The small girl's eye widened with excitement as she nodded rapidly up and down, telling you the one you had picked was actually her favorite. Finding her actions endearing, you tucked it away in your pocket and gave her a cheerful grin.

 

“I’ll keep this safe for you, then. Wouldn’t want you to run around and accidentally choke on it while you clean.”

 

“Oh, good idea. Gimme a second, I’ll be right back!”

 

With that the girl sprinted into the room you had just exited, carrying the toiletries to be arranged in the bathroom with her.

 

While you waited for the darling little cyclops to finish her chores, you scrounged around the candy bowl and popped one of the more colorful salt water taffies that was provided into your mouth. You savored the taste, not necessarily because the flavor was your favorite; but mostly because when you had first tried it earlier that morning the sweet taste was familiar. Promising.

 

What was even more strange was that only that specific color and flavor caused the feeling. It gave you the vague sense that somehow the taste was tied to something important; and for the afterlife of you, you couldn’t understand nor remember why.

 

With that same sense of familiarity came the bittersweet nostalgic feeling you had grown more than accustomed to while you were safely at home behind the pearly gates. Of course, the only way you effectively were ever able to medicate the feeling was to write poetry and listen to the comforting music your radio played; and you couldn’t do one of those things at the moment. Not at least until you did a bit more exploring of the hotel and found a notebook.

 

You weren’t very hopeful of the idea, however, because within the two weeks you had been at the facility you hadn’t managed to find a single one, strange as that was. Surely the princess had a spare laying around somewhere. But alas, you weren’t successful in your search.

 

You weren’t going to give up that easily, though. Mostly because that bitter feeling of nostalgia wouldn’t leave you alone. No, it needed an outlet and consuming candy did very little in that department. If anything, it amplified it to a palpable, painstaking degree.

 

Regardless, you made up your mind that you would continue the search for the needed writing supplies after your chores that day. Even if the search would end as fruitless as the previous ones.

 

You sighed as you twisted and fiddled with the empty candy wrapper in your hands, your confusion and bittersweet thoughts quickly turning into disgruntlement. To distract your troubled mind, you reached your hand into the candy bowl yet again and selected a large handful of the assorted confections; dropping them into one of the large pockets of the long cardigan you sported. You hoped your new acquaintances would appreciate the gesture.

 

You didn’t know if anyone else who lived in the hotel liked sugary things, or at least to the degree you did; but it seemed Niffty appreciated any treat given to her. You assumed the princess was also the type to enjoy sweets every now and then. Plus, you at least knew Angel sucked on hard candy, well mostly suckers, a lot when you interacted with him; so luckily you had found a few he might enjoy in the handful you had pilfered through.

 

Once you transported the candy for your acquaintances into your pocket, you looked through the now rather sparse contents of the bowl once more and selected multiple of that specific taffy flavor that sparked your strong feelings from the remnants at the bottom of the bowl. You stowed them away in your opposite pocket with the intent to save them later for your poetry; hoping to study and expand on the nameless feeling you received yet again from the treat once you were able to snack on them at a different time.

 

You also made a mental note to offer to pay Charlie back for the candy you had taken, thinking she could take it out of the paycheck you were allotted. Sure it was free, but you felt bad for greedily hoarding almost the entirety of the bowl provided when it was meant to be handed out sparingly.

 

The thought sparked a recent memory of how the princess reacted when you had offered your assistance to the hotel. You offered to work as a form of appreciation for their assistance in nursing you back to health and providing you with a safe place to stay when you had nowhere else to go. She was exuberantly thrilled and had tackled you in another crushing bear hug. Luckily the majority of your injuries were healed so the experience didn’t cause much damage.

 

You didn’t want to mooch off of the princess’ kindness for long, especially when you were healed enough to be useful. You wanted to show your thankfulness through any means you could, and the only way you could think of doing so was to help around the hotel.

 

Sure, the princess might have been even more excited if you had told her you were willing, wanting really, to give her redemption services a try; but you wanted to wait to let her know that. At least until you knew an angelic rescue party wasn’t coming for you. The hotel would be a backup incase that somehow never happened.

 

But until then, you would at least be helpful and serve the others here so you could continue to train on what Heaven had taught you of your angelic duties.

 

You weren’t a slacker. You were diligent, astute, pretty adroit with anything pertaining to a pen, paper and creativity; and you considered yourself to be a hard worker. That being said, you thought of yourself only in the humblest way possible. That was at least a few things you remembered of yourself. Perhaps you were the same in life as well?

 

You were knocked from your worries when Niffy swiftly came back.

 

“I did a bit of a check up on the stuff you cleaned and everything looked really nice! You did a good job!”

 

“Aw, thanks Niffty. That’s such a high compliment coming from you.” You smiled as the girl giggled.

 

“Of course! I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Can I have that candy now?” In her eagerness, the very petite gremlin of a woman bounced up and down with anticipation. You dug the treat out of the bottom of your pocket, doing your best to not drop the remaining contents in your cardigan out onto the floor as you bent down to present the confection to her with a soft laugh. The girl happily took the item from you and hurriedly opened it. She plopped it into her mouth with a satisfied hum as you both made your way down the corridor.

 

“Oh this is just the best day! I got to clean with my new friend and I even got to eat my favorite candy! Alastor doesn’t usually let me have very many sweets…He says I get too rambunctious when I eat ‘em, but I think that's good because it makes me faster! And the faster I am, the more bugs I can kill and collect!”

 

“Well, maybe you’ll get away with it this time.” You made a mental note to give her candy sparingly moving forward.

 

“Hehe, I hope so! M’kay, I’m off to go hunt for more roaches. They make the absolute best accessories for flower crowns. I’ll have to make you one someday! Plus putting them on crowns keeps them out of the rooms we just cleaned so it’s a win-win!” Niffty excitedly prattled on before looking back up to you.

 

“So, what are you gonna do with your free time?”

 

You continued to roll the cleaning cart in front of you as the two of you strolled, nearing the closest utility closet. That was actually a good question? What would you do in your free time?

 

You knew you wanted to at least continue the search for a notebook but other than that you hadn’t really thought of how you would spend the rest of your afternoon. Hopefully your search wouldn’t take too terribly long so you could invest the time in writing instead of aimlessly wandering around the hotel with the chance of getting lost. Again.

 

“Oh, I may lounge about in the library. I think I saw some interesting reads while dusting a few days ago, so I want to give them a better look. That’s probably where I’ll be.”

 

Your reply wasn’t a lie. You fully intended to visit the library and possibly read, but that was your back up plan if you couldn’t find a notebook and write your poetry. The next best thing to distract you would be to read in a quiet room, getting lost in the novel of your choice. Not your favorite hobby, but it was very high on your sparse list of interests you actually remembered; possibly in the top three after writing and drawing. You thought it would be a good substitute if your plan happened to fall through.

 

“Oh okay! That sounds like fun, I hope you get to read a good book! I can’t wait to hear all about it later!”

 

With that the little cyclops waved goodbye to you and frantically ran ahead of you and down the stairs. Although Niffty was slightly unhinged at moments and had a particularly strange set of hobbies and interests; she was genuinely a sweetheart and you adored her company. You would even go so far as to say she was one of your closest acquaintances in the hotel at the moment.

 

When you had mentioned wanting to work at the hotel, you didn’t really know what you could be helpful with. You did remember, however, that you were always tidy back home and thought that you could perhaps give the little darling a hand in the cleaning department. You felt bad the poor dear had to clean all those rooms by herself, regardless of if she enjoyed it.

 

You were one to always hold the sentiment that company always made chores easier, and though you never really had a chance to put that into practice back home; you wanted to make more of an effort to be sociable and helpful wherever you could. You told yourself friends would come in time. After all, to have friends you had to first prove yourself friendly and trustworthy. Everyone seemed to tolerate you at least, so you felt you were well on your way to achieving your goal.

 

If you could only get over your fear of confrontation and speaking with strangers, you would be golden. After all, strangers were just friends you haven’t made yet, right?

 

Niffty even seemed to appreciate the company and banter the two of you would participate in while you cleaned, so that was promising. At least you thought so. If the maid didn’t, she never said a word of it to you in the time you had helped her for the past two weeks. You took her silence on the subject as a good sign.

 

Even so, it was probably hard to become close with someone when one didn’t know how to address them. That was an issue you were still dealing with. You didn’t know your own name. Remarkably enough, everyone had somehow managed to maneuver around addressing you directly in conversation or had just resorted to calling you random nicknames that suited their fancy. You were sure it was starting to get old, though. Just how long would it take for you to remember something so important?

 

You honestly just didn’t want to be a nuisance or a bother, regardless. Hopefully you would remember your name soon.

 

That may have also been the reason you kept avoiding The Radio Demon. When you tried to thank Alastor for his kindness in returning your radio, you felt like you had inconvenienced him because you ended up forgetting his name. You had even forgotten that you had met him. With that in mind, you definitely made it a point to memorize his name; even going so far as to write it down on a spare napkin. Multiple times. You also gave him a wide berth due to your embarrassment on the issue.

 

Hopefully providing one of Alastor’s servants with one of their vices wouldn’t come back to bite you. You honestly wished you would have known that bit of information about Niffty not being allowed to have confections sooner. You wouldn’t have offered the girl a piece in the first place if you had; but you couldn’t help but find her excitement incredibly charming and a little infectious. Maybe she would be able to get away with snacking on some sweets just this once. At least that’s what you had hoped.

 

Sure, it probably wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but you didn’t want to be on Alastor’s bad side. Especially with how your last interaction with him had ended. You hoped if he somehow did find out that he wouldn’t be too annoyed.

 

Maybe you were just being paranoid and worrying for nothing. Your imagination always tended to get the better of you when it went unchecked.

 

Thinking more on it, within the two weeks you had spent at the hotel, you couldn’t remember interacting with the overlord very much. You only saw Alastor a few times in passing to share quick greetings and pleasantries; or when you had gotten up early enough one morning to catch him finishing his coffee. He had been reading the newspaper at the dining table alone before getting a jump on the day.

 

You hadn’t really made a habit of seeking him out either as you were trying to follow Vaggie’s advice. Come to think of it, Alastor seemed to be the only one you didn’t interact with on a daily basis.

 

Realizing you had made your way to your destination, you opened the utility closet door and placed the cart neatly inside before locking up. You then headed down the grand staircase to see the rest of the patrons of the hotel and give them the confections you had gathered. You hoped it would give them at least a smile or a minuscule reprieve from the hellish realities they found themselves in.

 

It was also an attempt to distract yourself from the crippling sadness and nostalgia that wouldn’t leave you.

 

So if you couldn’t enjoy peace of mind, you were certainly going to do your best to make sure everyone else could.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

You sighed, defeated as you opened the embellished, mahogany door to the library. You had searched nearly the entirety of the hotel and, yet again, you hadn’t managed to find a single notebook. You were brave enough to ask most of the hotel’s residents, but even then your search remained stagnant.

 

Your only other option was to look in the library, but you doubted you would find anything. Libraries held a plethora of books, yes, but blank ones were a sparse commodity in such a place.

 

As you entered the room you were greeted with the musty scent of decaying books on old oak shelves. The room was lined with them, covering the walls as they barely kissed the high dome vaulted ceiling. You enjoyed the faint and extremely calming scent of sweet vanilla and almonds as you continued on.

 

So much information filled the room, and it was all at your fingertips. It was a book lover’s paradise. You would even be so bold as to say it was a tiny slice of heaven. At least for a bibliophile.

 

Continuing to marvel at the magnificence of the library, you headed straight for the back of the room. There was one seat in particular that was calling your name.

 

Tucked away behind a few shelves at the far reaches of the library was a comfy chaise that you revisited every single time you stopped by to read. It made you feel sheltered and privately tucked away even though you were completely out in the open. Maybe it was because the piece of furniture was blocked from view by a wall and shelf. Only someone needing a book from that aisle would see you.

 

A small note could be seen written and tapped to a basket full of fluffy blankets near the sofa in the princess’ handwriting. It stated “please take one” with hearts adorning the bottom of the sticky note.

 

‘Well, don’t mind if I do…’

 

Happily obliging, You chose a blanket that happened to be your second favorite color from the basket provided. Draping it over your seat, you walked away to begin your pursuit of the perfect book to keep your mind occupied. You doubted you would find an empty notebook anywhere, so you went with your next best plan of perusing the aisles and collecting the books you were most interested in skimming through.

 

One of those books happened to be a large dictionary and thesaurus combined. You always got one whenever you read just in case you found words you didn’t know. But it wasn’t just that. The prospect of finding new words excited you. After all the more words you had at your disposal, the more you could use to adorn and flourish your poetry.

 

Once you had your books picked out, You made yourself comfortable in the sofa provided, leaning your back against the cushions as you crossed your ankles and covered yourself in the fluffy blanket.

 

Finally ready to get lost in words and to forget your worries for a while, you opened the paperback novel in between your hands and began to read the book’s contents…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ever since your appearance at the hotel, Alastor had been on edge. He couldn’t help but feel that somehow his unspoken ponderings had subconsciously bubbled over into his interactions with you. Sure, your presence may have brought him memories he hadn’t really cared to remember, but that wasn’t any of your doing. You hadn’t wronged him in any way except for forgetting his name; but that matter had already been dealt with accordingly.

 

In fact, The Overlord hadn’t seen much of you since your little slip up except for the occasional hello here and there. Part of him wondered if his initial reaction to the situation was a tad bit harsh. However amusing your expressions were, he decided he would tone down his treatment of you, if only just a little.

 

After all, It wouldn’t be good to have his newest form of entertainment scared of him to the point of avoidance. At least not without due cause.

 

No, that wouldn’t do at all. If there was an issue on his part, he would amend it and get back into your good graces so he could have you close enough to observe your funny, and strangely familiar, little mannerisms.

 

Alstor made his usual rounds of the hotel, working on projects the princess had wanted him to complete and lending his supervision whenever necessary. His last stop for the day was the library to put away the books and study materials he had borrowed for his personal usage.

 

As far as he was concerned, one never stopped learning. Knowledge was power, especially when it came to making deals. The more intel on the other party and situational awareness one had, the more a promising deal could be struck and the more the dealmaker could have leverage over the situation and come out on top in the end. Perhaps it was a convoluted way of seeing things, but the concept was quite simple to him.

 

Alastor had been in the deal making business for a long time and the prospect and excitement of a new deal never seemed to dull, no matter how many he made. Anything that ensured him that his power and influence was substantially growing was always a good thing in his book.

 

Unfortunately, what he had been reading was anything but exciting. He had collected texts on hotel management, concierge, customer service and the like to learn more on the role he was to play at the hotel and also to brush up on his people skills. Not that he needed any help in that department. He had been gone from the public eye for quite some time, however, so he thought it best to look into the topic further.

 

Besides, if he was to be the hotelier of this joint, then he wanted to be more than competent at his position. No one would catch him looking a fool. Not if he had anything to say about it. He would be sufficiently prepared for whatever came his way. He would make sure of that.

 

As Alastor entered the library, he made his way past all the shelves until he got to the very back of the room. He turned a corner to walk down the last aisle, his shadow in tow, when he saw you.

 

He noticed you were secluded in the farthest corner. You were lounging rather comfortably in the love seat of the tight backed sofa provided. You were also wrapped in a plush blanket, reading with your ankles crossed daintily.

 

Alastor wondered what you were reading. Whatever it was, you were engrossed in the novel in your hands. So much so that you didn’t seem to notice him when he came close. Did you have terrible peripheral vision or spatial awareness? Perhaps your distraction wasn’t caused by either, but was indeed the product of a good book.

 

You genuinely seemed content in your cozy little corner, enjoying the quiet ambiance that the library abundantly provided. Alastor watched as you flipped to the next page, blowing a few stray wisps of hair from your eyes. You pulled them behind your ear and propped your cheek up, continuing to silently read.

 

The more he observed you, the more he noticed a demure smile peeking out from behind your hand as you continued to drown in the contents of your novel, your free hand moving a bookmark down the parchment to keep your place as you read.

 

It was almost a shame he was about to interrupt you. You looked rather peaceful curled up with your blanket and paperback, as if you were in your own little world. Part of him didn’t want to disturb you while you were in the middle of something you were obviously enjoying; but he just needed to know what was causing such a darling smile to grace your delicate features. He was surprised how intense his interest was.

 

“It’s a good read, I assume?”

 

As soon as Alastor’s words left his mouth, he witnessed your shoulders tense immediately and you softly jolted up in your seat before looking up and around for a second; obviously startled.

 

You were so startled, in fact, that you let out a small squeak of surprise in the process and fumbled with your book, nearly dropping it to the floor. You lurched forward rather ungracefully, but successfully managed to catch the paperback before it made impact with the carpet.

 

Alastor inwardly laughed. You were certainly a skittish little thing. He wasn’t very loud at all when he addressed you, but he had somehow still managed to cause you to be alarmed. It truly must have been a good book if it had stolen your attention that much and had you indulged, completely unaware of your surroundings.

 

After spotting him and taking notice of his presence, you relaxed slightly. There was still an air about you that suggested you were keeping your distance as you answered him; but maybe it was just the underlying embarrassment that you were experiencing to be caught off guard and to have reacted in such a way.

 

“Pardon? Sorry, I didn’t really catch your question…”

 

Another grin made its way onto your flushed features, a bit shy and lopsided in nature, but just as sweet. You looked up at him, giving him your undivided attention with your sparkling doe-like eyes.

 

Alastor watched you attempt to poise yourself, twisting the blanket on your lap in between your fingers as you got comfortable in your chair. The sight was identical to one of the many habits his wife used to do when she was nervous. He remembered her shirt sleeves were the most popular victims of her anxiety, sometimes her hair or other items of clothing. Honestly, the poor woman would’ve fiddled with anything she held onto as long as it relieved her silent distress. She did it most whenever she was in public or was required to converse with anyone. Seeing you act in a similar way sparked the memory. The resemblance was incredibly uncanny…

 

The overlord chuckled as he made his way over to you. The shelf of books he was looking for was near your vicinity anyways, so it was the perfect excuse to get closer.

 

As he sauntered over, he traced his fingers over the spines of books that protruded off the old oak shelves. He pushed certain ones back into place until they were just so and were able to rest neatly in a perfect line once again. Alastor’s shadow followed obediently behind him and held the books the overlord needed to return with the utmost care.

 

When Alastor came to the shelf he was looking for, which was directly beside your chair, his shadow handed him the book that rested on top of the stack and peaked over its master’s shoulder. Alastor nodded towards the paperback that laid in your lap as he took the bound document from the dark presence.

 

“The book, my dear. Is it enjoyable?”

 

“O-oh, yes. Quite.”

 

At the mention of your borrowed book, you picked it back up and opened it to the page he assumed you had previously paused on to continue reading.

 

Alastor tilted his head as he pushed the book he was returning back into its home on the antique shelf. The space provided was dense with tomes and other bound documents, so it took more effort on his part to put the book back; but it wasn’t unmanageable. Once his task was complete he reached his hand out to his apparition for another book as he glanced at you once again.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

At his most recent question, you paused once again and placed your bookmark in between the pages before closing it and looked back at the overlord.

 

“Um…” you looked at the faded cover as if you had already forgotten what it looked like before turning it around to show him, “ It’s The Great Gatsby. I’ve had my sights on reading it since I first visited the library. I couldn’t remember if I've had the pleasure to read it before, so I wanted to indulge a little. It’s pretty interesting so far…”

 

You still looked nervous as you spoke and Alastor could tell an awkward pause was on the horizon. To keep the conversation lively and from lulling unpleasantly, he thought to remedy the situation with humor. There was nothing like a nice joke or pun to ease into comfortable conversation and break the ice. Everyone loved them, right?

 

“So you’ve never read anything by Fitzgerald? You’ve gatsby kidding me!”

 

Alastor watched with a proud smile as your own timid one grew more genuine. A giggle bubbled in your throat and you immediately looked more comfortable in the demon’s presence.

 

So puns suited your fancy? He made a mental note, delighted to have found himself in the company of one who shared his refined sense of humor. He was even more pleased when you told a few of your own.

 

“Well what can I say? Reading really tickles me ink. I guess you could say I was so excited to read it that I booked it all the way to the library!”

 

“Ohho, a good attempt my dear, but that one was utterly tearable!” As if on cue his shadow had somehow managed to find one of Alastor’s scrap sheets of paper with useless notes written on it and ripped it in half. The action got another soft bout of laughter out of you.

 

Alastor snapped as a handkerchief appeared in his hands. He took off his monocle to clean it as his own laughter simmered down, leaving you both in peaceful quiet and a more comfortable atmosphere than before. As he finished and placed the eye wear back onto his face, he glanced over to you once more.

 

“All jokes aside, it’s a wonderful choice for a leisurely read. Why, I even remember when it was published in 1925! It was the talk of the town for quite a while. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I did a review on it at one point on my broadcast while topside. My, it certainly does take me back.”

 

“Really? Color me intrigued. I can’t wait to read more of it, then…”

 

“I do hope you enjoy it. It’s quite the literary experience. Feel free to come tell me what you think once you finish.”

 

He made sure to drop in the subtle invitation for a future conversation, wanting to be assured you would no longer avoid him. Hopefully turning up the charm with this brief encounter helped shape your view of him to a more positive degree as well as increased the chances that you would search for him of your own accord more often.

 

Before he bid you farewell so you could go back to enjoying your book, he noticed something peeking out from under the blanket next to you. It looked to be a very dense tome of some sort. He hadn’t noticed it before when he first approached you.

 

“I suppose you plan to do lots of light reading this afternoon? What other book do you have there, doll?”

 

You nodded and seemed to catch the bit of sarcasm in his voice as you looked over to your side and patted the book of considerable size. The spine looked as if it would peel away any minute due to the wear and tear it had experienced over the years.

 

“This? It’s just a dictionary.”

 

Alastor’s ears flicked. Your answer caught him off guard.

 

“Why are you reading a dictionary, pray tell?”

 

He couldn’t understand why, of all things, you had chosen that to read. It didn’t seem interesting in the slightest.

 

That’s when he realized that it could possibly have been for assisting you with the smaller novel you had picked. That made the most sense to him.

 

After all, younger generations didn’t really have very much affiliation with eloquent speech and often opted to make their own senseless words and slang. You had just recently fallen, so it would make sense you would have trouble with such complex words and ideas; especially when reading a book from his time.

 

If that was the case, however, usually newer sinners preferred getting any required or necessary information in a way he abhorred: the interwebs. Didn’t most souls nowadays access it on those tiny, newfangled handheld devices? He didn’t understand the more modern technology nor did he have the desire to; and much to his displeasure, technology seemed to have changed much more in his seven year absence than he would’ve liked or allowed himself to admit.

 

All he knew was that he at least witnessed the princess, the Latina and the harlot use those awful mini machines on occasion, so why didn’t you? It looked like you didn’t have one in your possession, so maybe you weren’t able to acquire a cellular device since you had fallen so recently? Perhaps it was stolen from you before you ventured to the hotel? He didn’t care, of course, but it was strange to see a newer sinner without one.

 

Then again, not everyone had a Philco 70 in their possession like you did, so perhaps you had no need of those detestable contraptions and resorted to find much better use of your time; like how you were now with reading. It was a commendable hobby, and for some reason he found himself relieved that he was in the company of one who shared his sentiments; at least when it came to loathsome technological advancements.

 

Regardless, the answer you gave him was one he was not prepared for.

 

“Oh, I just like looking up words. Y’know, just because. I find it fun…”

 

Alastor quirked a brow. Once again, you had him curious.

 

“Might I ask why you find it entertaining?”

 

“Because words are beautiful and vocabulary is addicting…” you turned to pick up the decrepit dictionary hiding underneath your blanket and opened the cover, flipping through the pages gingerly for emphasis, “And I like knowing the meaning of things. Even if I never have the chance to use the words I look up, it’s still something of value added to my mental library.”

 

A soft pause found its way into the conversation as Alastor felt his shadow leave from behind him and watched it float over towards you. It peered over your shoulder and tilted its head curiously at the massive book of words your eyes were skimming over.

 

You shook your head as your soft laughter broke the silence, which caused his shadow to look at you and then its master; its glowing, stitched smile one of confusion. Alastor had the same thought. Why were you laughing? The moment for jokes has long since passed.

 

“As absurd as it is, this is one of the things I remember I like to do… It’s funny. I can’t seem to remember something as important as my own name, but yet I’m able to perfectly recall an arbitrary and very specific hobby. It’s kind of weird, huh?”

 

Ah, now he understood. Upon your mention of the unique and unfortunate circumstance you found yourself in, Alastor did have to agree the situation was equal parts vexing and hilarious.

 

“True, it is rather odd you only seem to know bits and pieces about yourself; but there is no shame in wanting to be studious and well informed. It's a sign of intelligence and a remarkable quality. It is indeed a more preferable hobby when compared to the frivolous and perhaps lecherous pursuits other sinners tend to have…”

 

You tore your eyes away from the large tome to peek up at him, astonishment written clearly across your face. Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to have given you a compliment? Was it really so strange? He had only described the truth of what he saw: A woman sharpening a valuable tool that was at her disposal, much like the smile she wore. It seemed you knew how to use it well.

 

It was even to the point that he almost felt welcome and warm in your presence. Almost. Your persuasive and seemingly gentle nature was definitely sneaky, a talent all of its own; but he wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

 

But as he silently enjoyed the shock of your expression; he couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he had extended the previous invitation for you to reach out to talk to him…

 

Or was it just because your nature seemed so familiar?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I-I’m glad you think so. Thanks…”

 

You were at a loss for what to say, but somehow you managed to sputter out words of gratitude. You didn’t think this conversation would’ve ended up going so smoothly.

 

As soon as you noticed the radio demon’s presence when he had called out to you while you were reading, trepidation immediately filled your veins. All you could think about was how horribly the experience would go and fumbled through your brain to think of any excuse not to talk to him.

 

At first, you gave him small answers with great pauses in between and used continuing to read as your distraction from conversation; but then he had appealed to your interests and had managed to even make you laugh. Somehow he had successfully managed to open you up out of your shell some.

 

It was a strange feeling; being utterly terrified of someone, but immensely enjoying their company at the same time…

 

You watched Alastor continue his previous task of stowing books and materials away on the shelves they belonged to. He had quite the stack to put away.

 

Remembering when he had told his last joke that he had a spare piece of paper sparked an idea: You could ask him where to find a notebook.

 

He looked like someone who only used traditional mediums when it came to penmanship, so surely he would know where one was located if he personally didn’t have any available. Maybe he could even snap one into existence for you?

 

“Hey…Alastor?”

 

The man’s ears perked up as he turned to look at you. His smile grew into a pleased and expectant one as another book was put onto the shelf.

 

“So you do remember me! I’m glad to see that noggin of yours is in working order after all!”

 

Alastor leaned closer to you and tapped your head with his microphone that had suddenly materialized in his hands. You flinched under the sudden touch as a soft laugh track could be heard playing; reverberating off of the surrounding shelves.

 

Had he just politely called you stupid? The man was peculiar; making you laugh and giving you a genuine compliment only to go and make fun of you minutes later.

 

You chose to ignore the derisive laughter playing from the man’s microphone as well as his patronizing words and his not so subtle jab at your mental situation. Instead you continued to be cordial.

 

“Yes, I’m getting better I suppose; but I wanted to ask you a question.”

 

“And I may be able to provide you with an answer depending on what it is,” Alastor’s smile still remained vibrantly charming as the laughing from his microphone died down, “Ask away, doll. What can I assist with?”

 

“Well, while we are still on the topic of words, I was wondering if you by any chance had a spare book I could borrow? Preferably one without any?”

 

Alastor set the last of his research materials that he held in his hands onto the shelf in front of him.

 

“I may have one of those lying around. Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, I wanted to write a bit of poetry…”

 

You noticed as soon as you mentioned your hobby that Alastor’s ears had perked up and his smile seemed to grow to meet his eyes. You could tell he was definitely interested in what you had to say and gave you his undivided attention.

 

“That’s technically why I came to the library in the first place. I was going to see if there was a place for spare sheets of paper or materials. I searched earlier this week, but nothing came of it and I didn’t want to waste time again looking for something I wasn’t going to find. I ended up deciding to read instead.”

 

“So I am in the presence of a poet? My, How fascinating!”

 

You did your best to contain your blush at his interest in your hobby.

 

“So, with that being said, if you do have a book, may I have it?”

 

“Why of course! I’d be more than delighted to let you make use of one.”

 

Snapping his fingers, a pen and a decently sized notebook dropped into Alastor’s waiting hand. The dark red cover of the journal matched the color of his eyes.

 

You hopped up from the couch and took the few steps it took to get a reasonable distance away to reach for what he was offering.

 

Quickly, he lifted them both away from your reach teasingly before you had a chance to take the items from him and tutted at you.

 

“Ah, ah, ah~! Patience, my dear! I know you're very eager to get to writing, but before I give you the book let’s make an arrangement. Not everything can be free, after all. What are you willing to trade?”

 

A cold promise of dread weighed the pit of your stomach down as you could hear Vaggie’s warning about him in the farthest corner of your mind.

 

'"Don’t make a deal with him, even if he’s kind…"'

 

What could he have possibly wanted from you for a small book, anyways? You didn’t think you had much you could offer him. besides, he hadn’t asked you for a deal, just a trade. Maybe that was still okay?

 

“Oh, um…I don’t really have much but..”

 

You watched as the man’s head tilted as he looked at you more intently behind lidded, calculated eyes. His smile matched his gaze perfectly.

 

“…How about anything I write you can read? And we can trade the book back and forth?”

 

“Hmm…” a moment of silent deliberation passed between the two of you before Alastor replied and lowered the book to peer at it, “Fair enough!”

 

Alastor flipped through the blank pages before he spoke again.

 

“This certainly isn’t a page turner by any means, but it should prove useful for your needs…” As soon as the words left him, a brighter smile graced his features.

 

“Say, that’s what we will call you for now!”

 

“Um…call me what?”

 

“Why, Page, of course! You said that you love to read and write, didn’t you? It’s a clever name for a wordsmith such as yourself, don’t you think?” Alastor said proudly, twirling the microphone in his hand for dramatic effect.

 

“Well, I’m not averse to it..”

 

“Splendid!”

 

With your nickname decided, Alastor snapped the cover shut and presented the dark maroon notebook and pen for you to take.

 

“Then it is settled! I will notify the others, that way we can address you properly until you remember your true name. Sound fair?”

 

“I suppose. It’s cute at least.” You liked how easy it was to say, and especially how easy it was to remember.

 

“Good! I’m glad you think so. After all, you’ve gone without a name for long enough.”

 

You reached for the book and pen. In your excitement, you failed to notice the light green magic sparkling around your wrists, turning into delicate, ethereal shackles before dissipating into the air as soon as your skin made contact with the object of your desires.

 

Once the notebook was in your hands, you hugged it to your chest. You were immediately comforted by having something tangible to hold. You missed the feeling.

 

“Thank you so much, Alastor! I promise to have something interesting ready for you to read every day!”

 

Alastor chuckled at your gratitude.

 

“Oh I’m sure you will.”

 

The man turned his back to you to make his leave. He peeked his head over his shoulder to address you once more before bidding you farewell.

 

“Well, I’m off. Thank you for the delightful conversation, but I’m sure you are itching to get back to reading or writing, or what have you. Have fun. I cannot wait to read your riveting words later…”

 

With that he was off, whistling and humming pleasantly amongst the books as he twirled his microphone in his hand as he walked away.

 

You felt another chill creep up your shoulders and neck as you watched the man’s shadow float out from behind you to follow after its master. It paused to look at you for a moment, its head tilting to the side curiously.

 

You gave the dark phantom a small wave goodbye. As a result, it’s stitched smile widened as it nodded to you before continuing to follow after the radio demon; leaving you alone in the library once more.

 

You sat back down on the sofa and wrapped back up into your blanket. As you looked down at the notebook in your hands, ideas finally started to flow and articulate clearly in your mind.

 

In that moment you felt incredibly thankful. You had just been given two precious things: a name, and an outlet for both your creativity and deep nostalgia…

 

Wasting no time in getting started, you remembered the candy you had taken earlier that afternoon that sparked the strong wistful feelings. You dug deep into your cardigan pocket and unwrapped a piece, popping it into your mouth. You opened your book, meeting the first page with the anticipation to create something that had been building in the back of your mind for over two weeks.

 

You savored the sweet taste of the candy as new feelings and ideas floated to the surface of your mind, then through your hand. You mumbled the words to yourself as you enjoyed the creative process; hoping that the words you wrote would be of substantial worth to your newly acquired audience of one…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tiny alarm bells rung in his mind the moment Alastor heard that you partook in poetry. His curiosity was at an all time high and it needed to be quelled.

 

Just to be sure, he made a tiny arrangement with you to ensure he would be able to partake in reading your words once again. That was if you were who he suspected. It had been weeks since he found those crumbled pieces of paper on the sidewalk. Alastor subconsciously wanted to figure out who his mysterious poet was with continued haste. Now he was about to find out. His anticipation was insurmountable.

 

Alastor was seated in a chair in his broadcasting room as he held the folded poems that he procured from inside his desk. They were still wrinkled, but much less now since they had been smoothed out repeatedly and reread over and over within the two short weeks he had found them.

 

Your poetry book he so graciously gave you was rested next to him, unopened. Alastor hadn’t read your words yet. This was an important discovery, after all. He wanted to savor the tantalizing moments before the grand reveal for as long as he possibly could.

 

He remembered how excited you had been when you received the book, and even more so when you had returned it to him, full of words, like you had promised. You had even mentioned you thought it was some of your best work. He chuckled, enthused. He would be the one to decide that.

 

Finally ready to enjoy the feast of words you had prepared for him, he unfolded the sheets of paper and smoothed them out on his desk before taking the red journal in his hands. There was a band keeping the leather cover closed. He removed it with ease before flipping open to the first page, the excitement of reading your words untamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alastor paused a moment to give the poem the reverence it deserved. The words you had chosen to allow him to read had somehow sent him into a sense of awe. What did your words mean? What were you thinking when you wrote them?

 

Glancing at the unfolded poems laying beside the journal he was reading from, he compared the handwriting of each.

 

They were the same.

 

So you were the person who wrote those poems. Now he was a step closer to figuring out who you were. A pleasant feeling of satisfaction washed over the overlord as he leaned back in his chair and propped his legs on his desk, his smile threatening to rip the seams of his face apart with how enthused he was.

 

With one important piece of the puzzle solved, all he had to figure out now was if you had any correlation with his wife.

 

All he knew was that you wore her face and he wanted to know the reason why. You looked the part, but were you truly her? He knew she wasn’t the type of person to be in hell, she was too nice. Too caring.

Alastor shook his head. You couldn’t possibly be her, you had only fallen recently. If he remembered correctly, nearly a century had passed since he fell. There was absolutely no way you were her. Perhaps a distant relative or descendant?

 

A sad thought popped into his mind that his wife had moved on from him after his death and created a family of her own, but then he found himself shaking the absurdity of it away. Why would he care? How she chose to conduct her life after his earthly departure was none of his concern…

 

No, he wanted to know why you looked like her, and he wouldn’t believe you were her until he had more evidence, not that any more would pop up. It was just a very startling coincidence you had her face, her voice, her mannerisms, her smile…

 

And of course her love of poetry.

 

He wanted to know who you were. He wanted to know so the hope that had been rising in his heart since the moment he saw you could finally die. For good this time.

 

Hope, of course, was a pesky little thing. It never truly knew when to die. It only hibernated. However unwanted the emotion was for him, it would never truly go away.

 

Not until he knew for certain that you held no connection to him or his past…

Notes:

Wouldn't you guys say someone’s in denial~~?

Chapter 7: Her Truth Part One: Trust

Summary:

"Trust starts with truth and ends with truth" ~ Santosh Kalwar

Notes:

Just a heads up that there are some slight spoilers for episode three of Hazbin Hotel for in this chapter. If you haven't watched it yet and don't want to be spoiled, go watch it first and then come back to read :D

Hope you guys enjoy!

You could tell your plan of being rescued was falling through. You knew this, but the hope of returning home had its claws deep in your heart and wouldn’t let go.

 

You had been at the hotel for over a month now and no sight or news of an angelic rescue party was mentioned. Not that you’d have any way of connecting to or communicating with anyone in the great celestial city in the sky. Even so, you thought you would have heard some news by now.

 

With every day that passed, however, came more of the realization that maybe no one would be coming back to retrieve you after all. How would anyone know you had accidentally fallen in the first place? No one was around when it happened. The only forms of company you had that day were your radio, your old poetry book and the stars.

 

Thoughts akin to worry and disappointment were milled over and ruminated in your mind as you exited the library and shut the elaborate mahogany door behind you. You cradled a small stack of borrowed books closely to your chest, aching for any semblance of comfort from your tumultuous ponderings.

 

Within the time it took for you to grow comfortable with your residency at the hotel, a new guest had been recruited. Following Sir Pentious’ arrival, things proved to be rather eventful. You had introduced yourself to the snake demon and continued to make pleasant conversation with everyone, but you weren’t really in the know of what else was happening around the hotel besides your personal interactions. You just showed up to do what was expected of you in your chores everyday and then kept to yourself the rest of the time.

 

As the days continued on, however, you had slowly reclaimed your bad habit of being a recluse. You were content with spending the majority of your free time in the library. Of course, you weren’t neglectful of the occasional pleasantries here and there with the others; but you didn’t know how to open up into richer, deeper conversation. The substantial kind. The kind that made friends.

 

Your creative, poetic little heart yearned for more than daily questions of weather and what time of day it was or short conversations. You craved for in-depth looks into the workings of things, for warm exchanges, for laughs. You craved suitable company, for someone who understood and appreciated the way your mind worked. For friends you could relate to.

 

And sure, the residents proved to be of the interesting sort. Most even sought you out on occasion for a quick chat. The one you talked with most was Nifty, but only because you worked closely with her. She was the closest acquaintance that you had, and you enjoyed interacting with her when you could. Unfortunately, you didn’t really know how to go about engaging in more interesting topics with her and the others without blurting out randomly what you wished to discuss and risk looking like a loon or a ninny.

 

Perhaps you were being too picky, too greedy. Thus why you never actively searched for company yourself. Most of your conversations had been started by someone else.

 

What you wanted was a tall order to ask of anyone other than yourself, after all; and you found that your own company proved more than reliable in that regard. Why would you ask or needlessly bother anyone else when you could fulfill your own intellectual needs just fine? Your imagination was all you needed to be content. If left to your own devices you would’ve been content with just staring at a wall, your mind going rampant with the possibilities of what you could create.

 

That’s why you loved writing and books so much. It was also why you found yourself being secluded in the library more often. The time spent in the company of novels was secure and comforting. It was almost a suitable replacement for the safe haven you missed dearly up in heaven.

 

Regardless of how peaceful your afternoons in the library were, though, you still felt incredibly bad you hadn’t made more of an attempt to better your social skills and the relationships you had.

 

At least with your nose stuck in a book you wouldn’t be disappointed by awkward attempts at interactions with the others, or become a regretful disappointment yourself. Besides, you were quite fond of your alone time and appreciated the peace it brought. You didn’t have to fake happiness with yourself, you could let your mask down and just drown in the words your books would offer you, or the nostalgic creativity your mind so graciously concocted. All the company you truly needed was your brain, your book and a pen. If you had those three items then you were golden.

 

One person, however, may have been an exception to your unspoken rule and a rather welcome reprieve from your own company. It seemed you had found someone who triumphantly rivaled both your wit and vocabulary as well as the need for the peace you often enjoyed. His smile was quite the pleasant distraction indeed.

 

Glancing down at the books in your arms, a small grin made its way onto your face as you thought of the stimulating conversations you had shared with Alastor in the last month. You had taken him up on his offer to speak with him once you had finished The Great Gatsby, and had done so with the other books you had finished within that time as well. It had become a routine for you, much like sharing your poetry with the Overlord every evening or when you had poems available. It was something you looked forward to doing when you had the chance. For once, conversing with him made you almost consider being more sociable; if only for the chance to enjoy enrapturing conversation with him.

 

Your poetry book was in Alastor’s possession at the moment, which was why you found yourself holding a small stack of books. They, once again, were your replacement for how you would spend your leisurely time that afternoon. They were being taken to your room to read later.

 

Before you could escape to the confines of your chambers, however, you heard an extremely chipper feminine voice call out to you.

 

“Oh perfect, just who we were waiting for! Hey Page, could you come over here for a second please?”

 

Looking over to who addressed you, you saw the princess waving to you enthusiastically, nearly jumping up and down with excitement. The princess was always happy, but you wondered just what had her in very good spirits, more so than usual.

 

Charlie was standing next to Vaggie; and as you looked around the room you could see nearly everyone who stayed at the hotel was gathered together.

 

You walked over with a sense of worry sitting heavily in your stomach. Was this some type of intervention meeting to get you to be more sociable? Yes, you struggled with speaking with others, but surely it wasn’t that noticeable to the point the others thought they needed to intervene.

 

‘No, not everything is about you Page. Don’t be so conceited. The princess probably just wanted to chat. No big deal, you can do this.’

 

Tightening your grip on the books you carried in your arms, you took a semi deep breath and headed closer to everyone.

 

“Of course. What did you want to discuss?”

 

The princess met you with a huge grin as she ran up to you.

 

“Well I’m glad you asked! You’re just in time for everyone to do trust exercises together! Doesn’t that sound like a blast?!”

 

“Huh?!”

 

Somehow, the princess managed to get behind you and suddenly you were thrust forward into the middle of the group before you even had a moment to compose yourself. You nearly tripped and most certainly would have if it weren’t for the lanky arachnid that caught you and set you upright once more. At least you hadn’t dropped your books all over the floor. That would’ve been doubly embarrassing. Just imagining it sent a fierce blush directly to your cheeks.

 

“You good, tutz?”

 

Angel still had a firm hold on your arm until you were steady on your feet. Once you were comfortably standing, you looked up at him with red tinted cheeks and an appreciative grin.

 

“Y-yeah, I just wasn’t expecting to be quite literally thrust into the middle of conversation; but I'm good now. Thanks Angel.”

 

“Yup. Don’t say I never did anything nice for ya..”

 

With that the spider patted your back before going to sit with Husk on the couch. As he walked away, you went to look for a seat yourself before Charlie started to explain what exactly was going on. She mentioned that there was some tension within the hotel. Vaggie followed up by stating that in order to continue with the smooth operation of the hotel, the aforementioned conflicts needed to be worked through as a group. You felt sudden relief as they explained why everyone was gathered. There was nothing you did wrong after all.

 

Of course, your anxiety once again shot through the roof as Charlie handed Vaggie the reins on the activity. Vaggie explained that everyone would share something vulnerable with the group before falling off of the makeshift stage that was hastily built in the middle of the room and then proceed to be caught by the rest of the members of the group. Simple in theory, but the prospect of what would happen was terrifying to you.

 

You didn’t know very much of anything about yourself except things everyone probably already knew. The one thing you did not want to share, however, was your most vulnerable attribute and it was that you were an angel; and you were not, in any shape or form, ready to disclose that information with anyone present. At least not yet.

 

However, you couldn’t think of anything else that would be worth sharing. You just hoped you didn’t have to go first that way you could formulate an alternate fact about yourself in order to appease the princess and get the activity over with. It seemed everyone else had sort of the same reaction to the princess’ request. Perhaps everyone present was in the same metaphorical boat as you.

 

Luckily you didn’t have to go first because Charlie herself volunteered to be the guinea pig of her own operation with extreme enthusiasm. As she took her place on the stage, you could see tears forming in her eyes as she gazed tenderly at everyone in attendance and exclaimed her innermost thoughts.

 

“I..I love you guys. Like, really, REALLY love you!”

 

She then proceeded to fall backwards into Vaggie’s arms and chirped happily how good that felt to get that off of her chest.

 

Okay, so that didn’t seem so hard. You could share something simple like how you liked books, or how clumsy you were. This was feasible. You could do this.

 

‘This doesn’t need to be hard. As long as you don’t over complicate things, this should go smoothly…’

 

“Angel, how about you go next?” Charlie leaned her head back while still in Vaggie’s arms and called him out of the crowd. You could hear the Arachnid sigh deeply as he brought himself onto the stage.

 

“Fiiinnne…”

 

Once he was up on stage, he tapped his finger against his chin and looked off to the side as if he was deep in thought.

 

“So you guys wanna know somethin’ about myself, huh? Well how about this? I LOVE to suck on-”

 

“I swear to fuck if you say dicks!!” Husk angrily shouted, swinging his fist vehemently in the air towards the spider in the pinstripe suit. Angel cackled at the cat’s reaction.

 

“-Popsicles! Get your mind out of the gutter, ya sicko!”

 

Angel threw Husk a wink before he fell into the grumpy cat’s arms. You couldn’t hear what he said, but he grumbled as the other male landed. You watched as a smirk appeared on the spider’s effeminate features and made it a point to stare at Husk.

 

“But, ya know, dicks too~!”

 

And with that, the bristling cat plopped Angel to the cold hard ground. You laughed to yourself at the sight. There was a twinge of red in the cat’s cheeks as he grumbled under his breath even more.

 

Angel then told Sir Pentious that it was his turn to get up on stage.

 

With a teary eyed confession, Sir Pentious announced that he no longer wanted to live without his minions. You felt bad for the poor fellow and wanted to give him a hug to encourage him. It seemed he was actually putting in effort to be vulnerable with the group. Though as he requested that no one catch him and cursed when everyone went against his wishes, you couldn’t help but wonder where his cute little talking eggs ran off to.

 

As you pondered on the thought, you heard your name be called.

 

“Page, you're up! We hardly know anything about you, so this’ll be a good exercise for you especially.”

 

Vaggie beckoned to you and pointed with her free hand to the stage. You gulped at the realization that you were actually expected to participate. You weren’t prepared in the slightest.

 

‘What do I even say? I can’t think of anything…’

 

“...If it’s any consolation, I hardly know anything about myself… So I don’t really think I’m qualified to be doing any of this…” you chuckled awkwardly as you sought comfort in the books that were clutched to your chest. You brought them closer to you as you took a step backwards from the stage. You silently pleaded for them not to make you do this. You hated public speaking. You were not good at it in the slightest.

 

“Well, you’ll be less of a mystery to yourself as well as the rest of us after today! It’s alright, just tell us anything you feel like sharing. Anything you want us to know.” Charlie urged as she gently nudged you towards the stage.

 

There was no way you were getting out of this, was there?

 

You nodded, still unsure of yourself. Before you could answer her, Angel spoke up. What he said reaffirmed that you were indeed not going to be let off the hook.

 

“Listen tutz, you can’t weasel yourself outta this one. If I had ta do all this, then you gotta do it too. So get that happy little ass on the stage so we can get this ova with.”

 

“Okay, okay…”

 

Placing your books onto the nearest sofa, you made your way up onto the stage.

 

Once you were on the stage, you looked down at the less than enthused faces, excluding Charlie who had a bright encouraging smile as she gave you two thumbs up. You felt a little better at her encouragement, but you still could not think of a single thing to say. You kept scrapping your brain for a fact about yourself but nothing would come up.

 

You twirled the hem of your shirt around your fingers, willing your brain to come up with something interesting; anything to save you from the world of embarrassment you were in for if you continued to gaze down at everyone all slack jawed and stupid. Saying anything would be better than the silence that surrounded you. You swore you even heard crickets.

 

“I, um…”

 

Why wouldn’t your voice cooperate with you? You had tried to speak, but your tongue was dry, numb and thick in your mouth. It was hard to form words. You swallowed as you heard your ears pop. With every minute that passed, you felt the room get 10 degrees hotter than the last.

 

It did not have to be this hard. All you had to do was say something. Literally anything would do.

 

‘I absolutely suck at this…What do I talk about? Stuff I hate? Stuff I like? What do I even like again? Writing, books, sweets-’

 

All at once, the facts entered your brain. And just as fast as the ideas came, you spoke them into existence, blurting them out in an awkward and almost nonsensical rush into the crowd. You closed your eyes as you recounted the facts your brain threw at you. Everything you knew, everything you hated and liked came flying out of you like word vomit.

 

“I uh…I suck at public speaking, speaking in general really. Everything always comes out like vomit and I can’t control what I say when I'm so nervous. I also really like drawing, writing and reading books and listening to music on my radio. Libraries are some of my favorite places to go and I have a voracious sweet tooth. I like sweets so much that it's probably an addiction at this point and probably not very healthy at all. An obsession, really… I am also terribly clumsy and can literally trip on air, even nothing at all and I knock into things and break things constantly. Also I have no sense of direction and I am always getting lost; and I am horrible at giving directions. So, if you need any, please don't come to me. I could probably help you by pointing at landmarks, but saying stuff like due east, northwest or naming addresses or what have you is not something I am good at. Like, at all. I would probably get you as lost as me, if not more so…And I am skittish and get scared very easily. I would jump out of my skin and scream if someone snuck up on me, or if someone literally just breathed on me. Please don’t breathe on me, I hate that. I like hugs, though. Hugs are okay…”

 

You twisted the hem of your shirt till it threatened to come undone as you finished your spiel, panting due to the amount of effort it took to prattle on as fast as you did. Remarkably, you had somehow managed to say everything in your mind within a couple of breaths.

 

As you reopened your eyes to look at everyone, you were met with multiple sets of wide eyes. The crickets had returned. The quiet in between their metaphorical chirping sent heat to your face.

 

You had spoken too much. You hated when you got like this. Whenever you got incredibly nervous you just blurted out whatever came to mind and there was no stopping what you would say once you got to that point. That was also another reason why you chose to remain quiet and to yourself a lot of the time.

 

Panic shot through you as the others continued to stare at you. You didn't just share one fact about yourself, but literally everything that you could remember.

 

Everything, that is, except for the most important thing that you probably should’ve mentioned.

 

You weren’t ready, though. You didn’t think you ever would be, especially after what just happened. You were for sure everyone would think you were a weirdo now, even more awkward than you usually were. Great. Just freakin’ great…

 

You continued to twist the hem of your shirt and bit your bottom lip. As your thoughts spiraled and turned sour you noticed you were still on the stage.

 

‘Get off of the stage you fool! What are you even doing?!’

 

“I-uh…That's all I got..I’m done…Sorry.” you closed your eyes again and quickly spoke before you abruptly turned around and flung yourself off of the stage. At this point you didn’t care if anyone caught you. You would’ve been fine with landing on the floor with how embarrassed you were.

 

You were pleasantly surprised, however, when you didn’t feel the cold hard ground.

 

When you cautiously opened your eyes, you were surprised to see that Husk was the one to have saved you from falling flat on your behind.

 

Still incredibly abashed about your previous spiel, you gave the tiniest smile and the quietest appreciative ‘thank you’ you could muster in your embarrassment. Husk only replied with a gruff deflect of your appreciation as he placed you back on the floor.

 

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

 

As you were placed onto your feet once more, you could hear slow clapping coming from your right. As you looked over, you saw Angel giving you some applause

 

“Who knew you had it in ya. I don’t think I’ve ever heard ya yap that much since you’ve been here. You sure do have a motor mouth on ya. Makes one wonda what else that mouth can do~!”

 

If your eyes went any wider, they would have popped out of your skull. At your blushing, horrified expression the arachnid burst into cackles as he slapped you on the back.

 

“Relax tutz, I’m just messin’ with ya! You’re not my type anyways! But ya gotta admit, that’s one helluva talent. Are ya sure you weren’t an auctioneer before ya died? Like, damn. For one who claims to hate talkin’, you sure do a lot of it when it actually counts…”

 

You didn’t know if the spider was giving you a compliment or if he was making fun of you. Luckily you didn’t have to answer when Vaggie spoke up. You were thankful for her changing the subject.

 

“Alright, well at least we can say we know a lot more about you now. That was some nice effort you put in, Page. A really nice job. Okay, Nifty, you’re up!”

 

As the girl’s name was called, the tiny cyclops frantically ran up on stage and recounted her hobby of killing mother bugs as a warning to their children to stay away.

 

After she excitedly recounted her beloved pastime, she jumped off of the stage and no one went to catch her. Possibly because the statement she just admitted was a tad bit creepy; but she seemed to like it and ran up on stage and dived again and again and again. It was honestly concerning how many times Niffty purposefully thrust herself off of the stage. Should you have intervened?

 

You glanced over towards Husk and pointed at the tiny female who was in the process of hurting herself. She was continuously flying off the stage while repeatedly muttering the word ‘pain’. Another loud thud rang through the lounge to the point it made your face scrunch in empathy pains, but Niffty didn't seem to be discouraged in the slightest. In fact, she laughed manically.

 

“Is she going to be okay?” your face was full of concern as you looked toward Husk. The cat pinched his brows and sighed tiredly. he waved a hand at you.

 

“Yeah, just give her a moment. She gets like this a lot. It’ll wear off eventually…I think…ugh I need a drink..”

 

You only nodded as the cat walked past you to the bar. You followed in silence until you got to the sofa. They were still where you had left them, safe and sound. Collecting them back into your arms, a soft sigh of relief warmed the cover of the book at the top of the stack.

 

Hearing exaggerated whispers, you watched as Charlie, Vaggie and Angel discussed something privately. Perhaps while they preoccupied themselves with each other's company, it was your best chance to inconspicuously sneak off to the safety of your room. You grinned. once you were in your own chambers you could finally read your novels in peace. If you were lucky, maybe you'd even think of new poems to share with Alastor.

 

Unfortunately, the quiet of your room calling out to you wasn't the only reason you were eager to scamper up the grand staircase. The guilt of not telling the others your heavenly secret was eating away at you. If you could at all help it, you didn't want to blurt any possible sign that you weren't originally supposed to be amongst them. At least, to your relief, you hadn't shared such knowledge with the group in your frantic state on the stage. You stole another glance in the sinner's direction, clutching your books to your chest. You took a soft inhale. Deciding to take your chances, your footsteps lightly ghosted over the hardwood floor towards your personal sanctuary.

 

Before you could execute your plan, however, Charlie spiritedly shouted that the fun wasn't over yet. She squealed enthusiastically, announcing that Angel had an idea to help everyone build trust with each other. The princess called your name and motioned for you to make your way over. A Dejected sigh quietly rolled from your tongue as she continued to explain her plans for a quick trip into town .

 

You walked back to the couch to place your novels in their earlier resting place. Your chance to escape had disappeared as soon as it had arrived. Regardless of what Angel and the princess had planned up their sleeves, you just hoped it wouldn’t be a horrible ordeal to go through…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

What an incredibly wild afternoon…

 

To your knowledge, you had never experienced such heat and color in your cheeks until that afternoon. Not even your earlier mishap with giving facts about yourself could compare.

 

The memory of where the whole group went was engraved into your mind long after the experience, even as you were entering back into the front door of the hotel.

 

Angel’s idea of building trust involved going to a BDSM establishment and having everyone participate in the activities that could be found within said establishment; which you firmly did not want to have anything to do with. You stuck close to Charlie and Vaggie the entire time, your cheeks entirely too red for anyone not to notice. The heat radiating off of you could’ve been used to melt a glacier.

 

And much like you had admitted to the group earlier that afternoon, you jumped when some of the workers at the establishment had snuck up behind you and touched your shoulders and you cringed when you felt more than a few people breathe on you.

 

Of course, you were polite when you declined anything they offered you; but still the embarrassment of being caught in such a debaucherous place was hard to forget. The very thought of you making an appearance there was uncouth. You put on a good face for the rest of the patrons who seemed to enjoy the atmosphere to a certain degree, though. However, you were more than enthusiastic when it was time to leave. In fact, you were the first one to exit out into the street when the group's business was finished with that terrifying place.

 

Then, somehow, you found yourself being thrown off of a roof. The group was forced to fight for your lives in the remains of what appeared to be one of the bloodbaths you had found yourself in when you arrived in Hell. The idea was Vaggie’s. She had claimed that the best bonds were forged when individuals survived trials and triumphed together.

 

But you were not a fighter. You didn’t even have your angelic weapon with you. The group had left the hotel in such a hurry that you weren’t able to grab your satchel before leaving for the planned excursion. No, You were more of a bob and weaver, content with hiding under the abandoned cars that were sporadically spread throughout the “battlefield”.

 

You did, however, manage to throw several large rocks, bricks or random fistfuls of dirt and pebbles at the people attacking your group before ducking back down into your hiding places once again. You even shouted to your comrades when you saw someone sneak up on Sir Pentious Angel, Husk or nifty.

 

Also, with Sir Pentious’ help, You were able to hit a few of your targets by using his tail as a slingshot to fling debris and anything else you could grab at the opposing party. You recalled him screaming “fire!” with an impressive amount of gusto Every time you took aim and let the enemy have it. He even gave you a high five for a job well done when the toughest part of the battle was over and had called you brave. He also had proudly given you the endearing nickname of Soldier.

 

You also made several attempts to make scary looking faces at the people threatening you or your acquaintances whenever anyone got too close. In the end, though, you just ended up making Angel laugh more than anything. Even Husk and Sir Pentious got a few chuckles from your goofy looking faces.

 

That’s what everyone was discussing now as they were seated on the sofas in the lobby of the hotel. Laughter rolled on as Angel continued to recall how ridiculous you were, but he had also mentioned that you had guts and moxie; even if you weren’t meant to be a fighter or handle a weapon, or be anywhere on the battlefield to begin with. You silently agreed with him as you saw yourself as more of someone who would fill the medic role. You had the power to back it up too. That was another thing no one else knew about.

 

As you sat in the middle of conversation, you realized that maybe being in the company of others wasn’t half bad. Of course, you still preferred books and you still had no clue how to properly converse with anyone without blurting out random puns or useless information when you were nervous , but you felt like you were getting the hang of it slowly. Somehow, you could feel that you were slowly warming up to the people around you.

 

Just as the positive thoughts filled your head, they left as easily as they came; and in their place shame and guilt resided instead.

 

The whole day was supposed to be based on building trust with the group that surrounded you. Everyone was supposed to come together in the end and have a better bond than what they started out with. It looked like that was what was happening, but you felt completely guilty. You were lying to them. You weren’t as close as you should’ve been in that moment because you were keeping secrets. You absolutely hated the deceptive feeling that hid in the bottom of your sternum. It wouldn’t leave no matter what you did.

 

Sure, the others may have been keeping their own secrets also as it was too soon to be letting everyone know everyone's business after all. But you still felt like you had to let someone know. You felt you would perish and burst into a million pieces if you didn’t. You had kept your secret for long enough.

 

Even though the very thought filled you with a dread so fierce it had an absolute choke hold on you to the point you could not breathe, It was time to spill the information of what you knew; and you knew just the person to tell.

 

Once you noticed Charlie and Vaggie heading back towards the princess’ office, You excused yourself from the conversation that was happening under the guise that you were getting ready to hit the hay. It wasn’t a lie, you fully intended to go to bed soon. But not without making a quick and important pit stop first.

 

You made your way up the stairs to go put your books away in your room. It was also a pit stop before the pit stop to Charlie's office before going to bed. You wanted to have a few moments to formulate your thoughts and get ready for the big reveal you knew your secret would undoubtedly be. As you thought more on the subject, your mind returned to the thoughts you had earlier in the day.

 

More and more you realized that rescue may never come for you and that you would indeed need to speak with the princess about the possibility of joining the redemption program the hotel provided. You would speak with the princess about that when you also dealt with the daunting task of divulging the truth to her about where you were from and what you were. You thought the princess had proved herself to be a trustworthy individual within the limited time you had known her, and you thought she finally deserved to know.

 

You also honestly just didn’t want to continue to lie anymore. It had surprisingly been easy to conceal your identity from everyone, much easier than you had previously anticipated; but you absolutely hated the deceptive feeling and wanted to be rid of it. Even the thought of what her reaction would be caused you to go into a state of panic. Surely the experience wouldn’t be that bad since she seemed to be so enthusiastic about getting sinners to heaven. You were basically a representative of the celestial city, right? Maybe she would be excited about meeting an angel in training?

 

Still, you didn’t like the thought of lying to her after everything she had done for you. Especially after the exercises you participated in today with the rest of the hotel’s patrons. No, you had to come clean.

 

Plus, Charlie was supposedly your friend; and from your limited experience with those, it was frowned upon to lie about something this important. She needed to know; and it was your most desperate hope that once the princess had the essential information about you that somehow it would be easier to tell everyone else. Once you were able to get to know them better. At least the trust exercises that afternoon may have helped loosen everyone up and even given you something to possibly bond over.

 

You continued to walk in silence to your room as you willed your thoughts to slow in pace and take deep breaths. There was no use in worrying. Worrying and fretting both were like a rocking chair: they rocked your thoughts back and forth and certainly gave you something to do, but they never got you anywhere.

 

You shook your head to clear your thoughts. No, things would work themselves out. Charlie was a sweet and understanding soul. If anyone would listen to you with an open mind and no judgment, it would most definitely be the princess.

 

Feeling a little more positive, you continued on to your room to drop off the books in your possession before making your way down to the first floor to Charlie’s office.

Chapter 8: Her Truth Part Two: Hope and Faith

Summary:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen

~ Hebrews 11:1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hope” is the thing with feathers-

that perches in the soul-

And sings the tune without the words-

And never stops -at all-

~ Emily Dickinson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

Hey guys, there is some spoilers in this one for episode 3 of Hazbin Hotel as well, much like the last chapter. if you don't want to be spoiled then please watch the show and come back to read!

Please enjoy! ^^

Your fist hovered in the air, anxiously waiting to knock on Charlie’s office door. To steel your resolve, you bowed your head and said a silent prayer before knocking. You didn’t dare let yourself in until you heard a response from the other side.

 

The more you waited outside in the hallway for a response, the more your bravery unraveled. The window of opportunity for your socialness was closing and in its wake left the desire to just run to the safety of the library. To the safety of your books.

 

You clenched your fists and gritted your teeth. Why were you so affected by the whole situation? You were only meeting with Charlie, and you knew she wouldn’t kill you.

 

You sighed and knocked once more. You were being utterly childish. This meeting was important and it was going to happen regardless of how you felt. All you had to do was will yourself to just breathe and only focus on making it through the door. You could focus on talking when the time came for it. The whole experience was a simple task, just like it would be when speaking with the princess. Not a big deal in the slightest. You just needed to calm down. Take one thing at a time and breathe. This conversation would not become a disaster like your earlier public speaking incident. You wouldn’t let it get that bad.

 

You heard a faint ‘come in’ from the other side of the door as you partook in the last of your breathing exercises. A small, shuddery breath left you as you obeyed the feminine voice you heard and turned the door knob. It was showtime.

 

You peeked your head into the room first before calling out to the princess.

 

“Hey, um…Charlie? Do you have a minute?”

 

Charlie was seen having a discussion with Vaggie. Both women were sitting at the princess’s desk and they perked up to look towards the door once they heard the soft echo of your voice. Vaggie had to swivel around in her chair to see you properly.

 

Having the attention of both of them made your nerves skyrocket. Not like you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack already. At least it was just the two of them in her office and no one else. You could work with that. Still you couldn’t help but feel you were interrupting something important.

 

“I can come back if now’s not a good time…”

 

Charlie gave you a bright smile. It calmed whatever remained of your anxiety to a slight degree.

 

“No no! You are perfectly fine! Vaggie and I were just discussing future events for the hotel’s redemption program. What’s up?”

 

Vaggie quirked a brow in curiosity. It didn’t seem like she was in the best of moods right then. Perhaps you had interrupted something important? Vaggie had only ever been kind when you had interacted with her, but she was also stern. You were just glad she didn’t yell at you to get out like she would have with the others.

 

“I, uh, wanted to discuss something with you. It’s kind of urgent.”

 

“Oh sure thing! Something wrong?”

 

Vaggie glanced towards Charlie before turning her attention to you again, standing up as she did.

 

“If it’s a private matter, I can leave...”

 

You waved your hand at her to sit back down. You weren’t really expecting anyone else to be a part of the conversation; but it did make sense for Vaggie to be present. She was Charlie’s closest confidant and her literal girlfriend. Perhaps it was convenient she was also be in the room. This way you would be able to reveal your secret to both of them with as much ease as your anxiety would allow. At least it you could check telling two people off of your list...

 

“No, no. You don’t have to worry about leaving. Actually, I wanted to share something with you both.”

 

You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from relieving your embarrassment from earlier that afternoon.

 

“I-I know I’ve already shared a lot today, more than you guys probably wanted to know, but there was something that I wasn't ready to share earlier with everyone…I am ready to tell you two now, though, at least..”

 

Vaggie eyed you suspiciously, most likely confused at what you wanted to tell them. Especially with how you worded everything.

 

Now you had to brace yourself and be brave. No way you were going to leave this room without explaining yourself. Vaggie probably wouldn’t let you and would’ve been too curious and insistent on what you had to say, if you were completely honest. You were most likely sure Charlie would see where you were coming from, but Vaggie? Not so much…

 

‘Just do it…Just tell them you’re a saint, winner, an angel in training...Whatever you want to call it just tell them…They’ll understand, won’t they…?’

 

You heard an awkward cough from Vaggie, an inconspicuous urge for you to finish what you came here for.

 

You were never really good at explaining yourself aloud. That’s why you wrote most of the time. So of course, the more you had thought the situation over in your head, the more jumbled your thoughts and words became.

 

The previous panic in your chest never truly went away, you realized. Now that you finally had to admit your guilt, the truth, your chest had turned into a blaze. That was incredibly weird because your hands and arms were freezing under your cardigan. You hadn’t realized that you were shaking. Breathing became a harder task to control. You had to manually think of every breath you took, which jumbled your thoughts more... you could feel your arms go numb and you were slowly becoming dizzy. What were you going to say again?

 

“I-I um… I wanted to say…” you shifted your feet in an attempt to get your brain back to working as well as keep your balance . You nearly tripped on air as you stood before the two women.

 

You needed a distraction. Anything really. So you grabbed the edge of your sleeve and twisted the already frayed fabric tightly. You were on the verge of tears. Why were you so scared? It was just Charlie. She had a kind heart and disposition. She’d listen to you.

 

‘She won’t kill you..’

 

You glance over at Vaggie who was staring preverbal daggers in your direction. Probably because she was protective of Charlie and the princess was making her way over to you. It seemed the blonde had noticed your silent struggle.

 

‘…but Vaggie might..’

 

Charlie was in front of you now, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. She led you carefully to the extra guest chair next to Vaggie who was still staring at you. Maybe she wasn’t looking at you with murderous intent, but she didn’t look happy either.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything. We’re friends, right?”

 

‘Friends...’

 

The words lodged itself into your brain. What should’ve been a comfort to you had turned into a stab in the heart. With it came the downpour of all the negative thoughts you had tried to keep at bay.

 

You felt horrible for hiding yourself, your heavenly identity from them. The sound of your blood was rushing through your ears. It took everything you had within you to pay attention to the task at hand and not give into the temptation of fleeing to your room or the library. You continued to twist the fabric of your cardigan, desperate for any comfort as your words caught in your throat.

 

‘Oh no this was definitely a mistake…They’ll hate me for sure…’

 

A silent sob fought its way out of you, resulting in a choked squeak that broke the silence surrounding the room. You did everything you could to keep it under wraps that you were on the verge of tears, but as you looked up at the two in front of you, you had a feeling they already knew. At least it looked that way based on their mildly concerned expressions.

 

“Page, are you gonna be okay?” Vaggie asked. Her expression was a lot kinder now. She genuinely looked worried, and poor Charlie looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

 

“Y-yeah...” a sharp pain hit your chest, probably because of the lie you just told.

 

“Are you sure about that? You're literally about to cry…”

 

You tried to nod when another pang stabbed your heart. You didn’t know how much more of this you could take.

 

“Here, blow...” Charlie handed you a tissue and patted your back as you blew your nose.

 

“You can tell us when you’re ready. We're here to listen.” Charlie soothed. You noticed her glance at Vaggie with a bit of confusion mixed in her troubled expression.

 

“Was it that damn spider? The drunk cat? Or that smiling asshole? They did something to you, didn’t they? They threatened you?! I swear if they did anything—“ Vaggie pressed further, reaching over for her spear. She looked like she was ready for a fight and wanting to get to the bottom of the situation. You shook your head softly. If you shook it even harder your head would burst. It was pounding enough already.

 

“N-no. They’ve been civil to me so far…No, this is something completely different…” you stammered. You didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.

 

“Then what is it?”

 

You looked down at your shoes, the guilt eating away at your confidence. You couldn’t let them worry about you any longer. You didn’t deserve it.

 

“I- I’m not from here…I’m not supposed to be here.”

 

You could see relief settle into the princess’ features.

 

“Oh well if that’s all it is, you don’t have to worry one bit! I’ve heard it’s normal for people to react that way once they fall and get here. You’ve only been here a month, right? So you're still fairly new. But hey, that’s what’s so great about my hotel. It’s so we can get you where you need to be, in Heaven! Hopefully. Once we set you up for redemption services, if you're interested, that is. Besides, you did really well with all the exercises today! I wouldn’t worry about it. Things will work out, just trust me!”

 

Charlie seemed relieved as she gently patted your back a few more times before standing up to go back to her desk. Before she could go, you reached for her hand to keep her close.

 

“No, it’s not that. I, um… I’m from….” You point upwards, glancing to the ceiling before glancing back at the two ladies in front of you.

 

“Upstairs…”

 

Charlie still looked confused for a minute before Vaggie immediately stepped between you two and blocked the princess from you in a protective manner. She slapped your hand away from her girlfriend’s. Charlie tried to object, saying that was really rude and wondering why she was so mad. The moth woman interrupted her with a question to you. The Latina wanted answers and she would have them.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

You gulped. No way you were getting out of this now.

 

“I said I’m from upstairs…Heaven…”

 

A long pause traveled between you three as the Latina gesticulated with one hand and firmly grasped her spear in the other. You didn’t realize how imposing the girl could be, and the added effect of the spear in her hands did nothing to soothe your trepidation.

 

“I can’t believe it.. Heaven sent a spy?!”

 

“Now, Vaggie, hold on a minute. Let’s just calm down-”

 

“Charlie.. They sent a spy. A literal spy. Don’t you know what this means? They were able to get on the inside. They sent someone to try and derail all of our progress and ruin our plans for this place. For all we know, they’ve sent an exterminator to our front door…!”

 

Watching this all unfold you held a mix of fear and severe confusion. What did she mean by calling you an exterminator? Didn’t the job description for someone like that mean they dealt with and killed bugs? If that was the case, why would they be so concerned? If anyone was that, nifty seemed like the best role for the job. She was the one who caught and killed roaches all day, everyday. Somehow as you looked at the one-eyed girl, you surmised your guess was completely off from what she was speaking about..

 

“I’m…I’m really confused… What’s an exterminator?”

 

“Don’t play dumb with me! You’re honestly telling me that you don’t know?! You can cut that shitty innocent act right now!”

 

Vaggie snarled as she pointed her spear at you, the sharp edge of the cool metal threatening to make good on its promise for bloodshed as she inched it further into the tender flesh of your neck. you flinched backwards as you felt the cold metal press against your jugular as she continued with her verbal attack.

 

“All you are is just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A liar. A deceiver…And to think we trusted you. We welcomed you to this place with open arms!”

 

“Vaggie, I promise… I-I really don’t know what you're talking about…!” Your voice rose an octave from genuine fear.

 

You knew that when you spoke with the princess this afternoon that there would be a chance of miscommunication. You weren’t good at forming your thoughts out loud, you were much better at writing them and preferred it that way. But you hadn’t expected or planned for a misunderstanding as bad as the one that was happening before you. You royally screwed up. Once again. Why didn’t you rehearse things better? Would it have honestly done any good?

 

Perhaps you should have just written Charlie a letter and waited for her to come to you to discuss things.

 

“Then kindly explain why you spend all your free time with Alastor?! After I specifically warned you about him?! But maybe you already knew how horrible that bastard could be. Maybe that’s why you sought him out! You two, no doubt, are trying to cause destruction to this place. To all Charlie is trying to do here!”

 

That’s when Charlie stepped in and placed her hand on her girlfriend's spear. Surprisingly, her kind voice decided to hold some jurisdiction within, although the way she spoke wasn’t threatening. It was just the right amount of kindness and authority to knock Vaggie out of her protective mindset for a minute.

 

“Vaggie. Let’s just calm down.. I understand that you're worried and that your feelings are completely valid; but let’s think about it a little more...Why would we have found her covered in blood and passed out on the hotel's doorstep if she was a threat? And why would she tell us she can’t remember anything?”

 

“To draw out our sympathy. To make us care for her so she could get close to us and destroy our plans from the inside out..! And for all we know, that blood probably wasn’t even hers! She could’ve been covered in some other poor sinner's blood after exterminating them…”

 

Charlie placed a soothing hand on Vaggie’s shoulder. Immediately at her touch the Latina calmed down to a degree and took in a deep breath. She let out a sigh. She was still seething with rage.

 

“But don’t you think she would’ve been in an exterminator uniform when we found her if that was the case? And even if she was a spy and was trying to be inconspicuous, don’t you think she would’ve done us harm by now? Besides, Alastor wouldn’t have let us bring her into the hotel if he thought she was a threat to begin with. And she was injured, Alastor even tended to her…”

 

“But…”

 

“I know you truly care about this place too and your dedication to my dream genuinely means the world to me.. but maybe we should hear what our friend has to say. She looked really worried when she got here, almost to the point of tears.. Don’t you think that means she was worried about what we would think of her when she told us?”

 

“Or maybe she just felt guilty. Maybe she wants us to feel bad for her so she can strike us where it hurts when we aren’t careful…”

 

Vaggie turned to glare at you which caused you to flinch backwards. She edged her spear further towards you until the metal was even more painfully pressed against your throat, but not to the point that blood was drawn.

 

“Well, even if that’s true, she still deserves the chance for us to hear her out. We did the same for Sir Pentious when he brought in those spy cameras, right?”

 

Charlie takes her hand and gently cups Vaggie’s cheek to turn her face to look at her.

 

“Page came in here and was brave enough to tell us, knowing our reactions may have been unsavory…But she still trusted us. She felt comfortable enough to come to us with something that was bothering her. A guilty person wouldn’t do that unless they were caught, right? She was brave enough to share something that was really personal for her… So, let’s trust and believe in her. Let’s give her a chance to explain her side of things too…Okay?”

 

“Fine…”

 

Vaggie closed her eyes and gave a sigh as she leaned into the princess’ touch before acquiescing.

 

“Besides, this is a really good opportunity to practice what we’ve learned in our exercises today, right?”

 

“...I guess you’re right, hun...” Vaggie opened her eyes to gaze up at her girlfriend tenderly, “You always are.”

 

Charlie grinned back at her and let her go once she was convinced that Vaggie would stay her blade at least to allow you time to tell your side of the story. Hopefully you would be able to clear up the needless confusion that was still bubbling rampantly in the air.

 

Vaggie removed her spear from your person and brought it back to her side. It was on standby, propped up and prepared to attack you again should you say something else she didn’t like or agree with.

 

As soon as you felt the metal being backed away from your skin, you finally let go of the breath built up in your lungs. You were just relieved that Vaggie had changed her mind about attacking you and that you weren’t going to die again…

 

Charlie’s smile brightened at her girlfriend’s attempt to respond to the situation amicably.

 

“Thanks Vaggie. You’re the best.”

 

The only response the one eyed girl gave was the tinge of pink in her cheeks and the small upturn of the corner of her mouth.

 

Looking over to you, the princess pressed her fingers together as she gestured to you

 

“Sooo… Page.”

 

Charlie paused her words as she sat back down in her chair and crossed her legs. Her voice was still chipper, but she took a softer tone. It was an obvious attempt at trying to settle your nerves that had no doubt escalated since you had been berated by the Latina. It was an attempt you appreciated as your heart was still actively hammering in your chest.

 

“Let’s start off with the elephant in the room… You said you're from Heaven. Is that right?”

 

You tightened your grip on your shirt sleeves as you took a quick glance towards Vaggie who still stood very close to you. She seemed much more civil after her talk with the princess, but you could tell she was still trying to actively calm herself down. You were thankful that Charlie was there to keep the peace. You didn’t know what would’ve happened if you had told Vaggie alone. You didn’t want to think about it and instead made a mental note to try not to get on her bad side again, if you could help it.

 

Remembering Charlie had asked you a question, you nodded slowly and took in a shuddery breath to calm yourself. Noticing the princess’ smile widen in glee, you could only assume she would ask you to elaborate, which you did.

 

The two women listened intently as you recanted your memories of how you came to be in Hell in the first place; from writing in your favorite spot just outside of the pearly gates and accidentally falling due to the wind to falling on a dead guy infested with maggots and hitting your head on a dumpster when you landed. You told them about how you ran for what felt like hours trying to find a safe place to hide and how terrified you were. You also mentioned the commercial that aired again and how you stumbled around in the dark with your injuries until you found yourself knocking on the hotel’s front door and passing out due to your arduous journey. You also explained your desire to return back home.

 

Allowing the two females to process your story, you braced yourself for their questions.

 

“So… all that stuff you said about falling is true?” Vaggie dubiously questioned you. She gave you a perplexed look, still trying to wrap her head around the story you had weaved. You had to admit, it did sound like an awfully convenient lie or ruse to fool someone. You probably would’ve doubted your own story if you were in their shoes.

 

“I know it all sounds incredibly stupid and completely outlandish, but I promise I am telling you the truth. I don’t know what I could swear by to convince you…”

 

“Okay…Say we believe you…”

 

“Which we do…” Charlie chimes in, once again ready to keep the peace for as long as possible. Vaggie sends her a glance before looking towards you again and continuing.

 

“If your story lines up, that would mean that you aren’t actually an exterminator…You aren’t, right?”

 

You hesitated, not wanting to rile up the one eyed girl again. Whatever was associated with that word was obviously a trigger for her, so you wanted to avoid it or anything having to do with it. Of course, You didn’t want her to think you were stalling or coming up with a lie so you went ahead and told them what you thought.

 

“Please excuse me if I sound extremely ignorant or rude when I say this, but I genuinely have no heavenly clue as to what you're referring to. Sure, I don't like bugs, but I don't go out of my way to find or kill them if that’s what you are implying…”

 

The two women swapped glances before looking towards you again. Vaggie stared incredulously at you as Charlie cleared her throat with an expression that screamed she didn’t know how to explain the situation. Whatever it was, you could tell it was important just by their expressions.

 

“I’m going to assume that I’m completely off from the correct answer though…”

 

“By a long shot. Let’s just say it’s common knowledge for everyone down here…Regrettably.”

 

Vaggie finally took a seat close to Charlie and laid her spear next to her to allow it to lean against the coffee table. That seemed like a good sign that she was a lot calmer now.

 

Charlie looked like she wanted to speak but paused for a moment, obviously trying to get her thoughts in order. You noticed Vaggie took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as the princess took a deep breath. It was a silent signal of support.

 

“That’s uh… very surprising that you wouldn’t know that. I thought that was common knowledge to everyone in Heaven.. That's both really interesting and really concerning…Wow…”

 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I may be a unique case since I can't really remember much of anything about my past. But from what I can remember from all of my time up in Heaven, I haven't once heard of exterminators going into Hell to kill anybody.”

 

The more you thought about it, it finally clicked with you as to why you found that angelic blade in that discarded body when you fell. An exterminator must have killed that poor individual and left the blade behind as an ominous message.

 

Charlie nodded at your explanation as she leaned forward and propped her chin up with her fist.

 

“Well, I guess the only logical way to explain everything would be to start from the beginning and tell you what I know…”

 

Before the blonde continued, her expression brightened with an idea as she snapped her fingers.

 

“Actually, this all might be better explained with pictures! You mentioned you're an artist earlier, so I'm sure you’d appreciate that a lot better than me just talking! Give me a second, I’ll be right back. I have some already prepared!”

 

Vaggie let the princess’ hand go as she stood from her seat to collect said pictures from her desk and brought them back over. Once she was back, she tapped the stack of papers on the coffee table to make the stack neater before setting them in front of you.

 

“I still have these from my previous meeting with the officials of Heaven. I thought I’d save them. Ya know, just ‘cause you never know when things could be handy again. And I was right, we did need them! Hopefully you’ll appreciate them a lot more than the other angels did… I’m so thrilled I get to use these again!”

 

“Well, I’m sure they’re very lovely. Let’s have a look…”

 

Charlie sent you an appreciative grin as she spread the handmade drawings out on the coffee table. Just from the drawings alone you had a better idea of what she was trying to show you. You saw a much cuter rendition of what you could only assume usually occurred when the extermination happened. The drawings were still very detailed, though.

 

In her whimsical, child-like artistry, Charlie had depicted the gruesome scene of what happened once a year during the extermination. Pictures of stick-figures drawn with wings, weapons and frowns could be seen attacking other scared looking stick-figures. They were pictured making what looked to be sinners bleed with the weapons they had at their disposal. The blood was colored pink, but it didn’t take a lot to know the adorable way the drawings were depicted was a very stark difference to what actually occurred during an extermination.

 

As your eyes skimmed over more pictures of gore drawn in pink crayon and other terrifying instances on the other sheets of paper provided, Charlie began her explanation of what exterminators were and what actually happened during that time of the year. Vaggie would put in her two cents worth every now and then when she had something else to add to back up the princess or had a better explanation, but the majority of the time Charlie explained everything. Her explanation was simple and very easy to understand: Exterminators were very bad news.

 

Luckily you had arrived just after the initial attack according to what the princess had told you. However, if what you had experienced was just an after effect of the main event, then the situation was much worse than you thought. The experience was already horrifying enough.

 

But the worse news Charlie delivered was that another extermination wouldn’t be happening in a year's time like usual, but in less than six months. According to the princess, this was the first time ever that the horrifying event had been pushed up and it was no doubt the reason behind her stress.

 

As she continued with her explanation, you found yourself growing introspective. The new information that Charlie was giving you definitely changed things. There was no way you would be able to continue with your original plan of having Angels come rescue you to bring you back home. That would just be damning everyone that resided in this hotel, let alone everyone else within pentagram city.

 

You were horrified at the danger you brought if the other angels actually decided to come looking for you. Just your presence here alone was potential enough to cause the destruction of all Charlie’s progress and all she had been working towards. This hotel, her dreams. Everything. No wonder Vaggie had been furious when you revealed your secret. To her, you were threatening the person she cared for just by your very presence.

 

Just the thought of what would happen, and what all was at stake, had you absolutely terrified and created a lump the size of a large boulder in the back of your throat. You didn’t think you would be able to express the internal panic you were feeling in that moment as your thoughts continued to spiral.

 

Even if the planned angelic attack wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t help but feel you were partially to blame. Danger was already creeping up on them in the months to come, but even so, you were bringing it even more assuredly with your continued presence in the hotel. You didn’t know how to process the serious situation except give it the deep silence it deserved as you thought of a way to relieve the princess’ worries. You wanted to help her, even if you could only do so to a small degree.

 

The only option to change the fate of everyone involved was to help the princess prove that sinners can be redeemed within the short time frame that Heaven had previously allotted; and you were down a month already. You only had five more left before death would rain from the heavens, quite literally. It was crunch time and there was a serious amount of work to do.

 

Then a thought hit you. You could join her program. You could actively pursue redemption yourself and try your best to help the others achieve it as well. You could support her efforts in the attempt to also gain the opportunity to help yourself with going back home. It was perfect!

 

In theory, of course. There was still an issue with your hasty plan. There was no guarantee that the hotel even worked. All the princess seemed to be running on was dreams of grandeur and determination. No proof was available, and she was running out of time.

 

You supposed that’s where taking a leap of faith came into play, though. Regardless, this was the only action forward that you saw, and even then it was a terrifying risk. If you weren’t able to be redeemed, the next opportunity would happen in less than six months; but that was the worst option on the table. You absolutely did not want it to come to that point.

 

After all, the angels wouldn’t be coming back for anything as innocent as a rescue mission. No, they would be coming back for blood. For vengeance.

 

For a massacre…

 

Regardless of what happened, in order for you to get home it would most likely be at the expense of someone else. Whatever the result, it would be a risk. The more you thought about it the more you realized that it would have to take a literal miracle in order to achieve Charlie’s dream.

 

However, the only thing resembling any substantial worth that you could possibly offer Charlie in that moment was your fealty and the wholehearted support of her cause. She had trusted and believed in you, so now it was your turn to do the same and return the favor. You just hoped and prayed that what little succor you could provide would be enough when the time came for it.

 

The blonde was pacing in front of you now; her explanation growing frantic with the underlying worry in her voice as she gesticulated her hands when she couldn’t find the words to explain how she felt or what needed to be said. As she walked to and fro, you noticed her appearance change slightly as her hair came undone from the two banded ponytail she sported and two red horns made their appearance. She was talking incredibly fast and looked to be on the verge of hyperventilation. Vaggie tried calling out to her but it wasn’t working. She was far too lost in the depths of her own head to be able to listen. You could relate as you found yourself in the same predicament nearly every day, your anxiety working itself up in your mind until you were in a silent tizzy.

 

It was still very surprising to see the princess all worked up, though. Usually she was the epitome of what could be described as a summer child and was the most optimistic person you’d met in your short time in the nine circles. Seeing her so worried struck a chord deep in your chest. She truly did care about this place and her people.

 

“Okay, so we only have like, what, less than six months to prove this hotel even works? Not only that but we also need to think about how to get Page back home too…Wait, no, never mind, we don’t have six months anymore. Technically it would be less than five because the end of the month was a week ago… so we have even less time than what I thought; but it's okay. It’s totally okay. We will just roll with the punches and do the best with the time we were given, and we will do the same when they cut the time in half again, and again and again and–WAIT, that's brilliant!!”

 

Charlie paused, gasping as she made an excited expression and whipped around to look at you with a face that could only be described as exuding extreme exuberance. It was a good thing because if the princess didn’t stop rambling under her breath, you didn’t know if Vaggie would’ve been able to take it a second more. You noticed Vaggie’s grip on her spear increased and it was perfectly matched with the incredibly worried expression she wore. However, she was immediately relieved upon seeing the Princess’ gleeful smile when she turned to peer at you from across the room. Though both you and the Latina were incredibly confused. What did Charlie have planned up those sleeves of hers?

 

Maybe she came to the same conclusion you had earlier?

 

“Um…what’s brilliant, hun?” Vaggie asked, her puzzlement displayed in the furrow of her brow as she sat down on the armrest of your chair. At least the two of you had something you could relate to in that moment and that was both your concern and extreme confusion by the princess’ antics.

 

Charlie was too elated to answer her. To emphasize her excitement even more, the princess jumped up and down in place and squealed before jogging over to you. Vaggie yelped in surprise and nearly fell off of the armrest as Charlie came up to you in such a rush.

 

“Vaggie this is PERFECT! We have an advantage! Something the angels didn’t factor in!”

 

“And what would that be?” You couldn’t keep your curiosity contained as you voiced your interest.

 

“You, Page! You said no one knew you fell right? They wouldn’t see it coming and wouldn’t think that someone from heaven would even be in the hotel. They wouldn’t know someone would be giving us pointers and helping us! You know how to get to Heaven! You’ve made it there once, so surely you have some insight on how everyone else here can be redeemed! You could be our Heavenly ambassador! Ya’know, keep us all on the straight and narrow to make sure we’re doing everything right! You could help me and Vaggie with writing lesson plans, activities; and even help Alastor advertise the hotel with your creative expertise and all that good stuff!”

 

“Hun, I don’t mean to sound like I’m dissing your ideas, but that’s quite a reach. I mean, Page here doesn’t even remember her life. How would she remember what it actually takes to get to heaven if she can’t even remember that?” Vaggie glanced over at you with a hint of regret. It was as if she didn’t think about what she said before she spoke, “No offense.”

 

You waved a hand at her in a silent attempt to remove her worries.

 

“None taken. Vaggie brings up a valid point, actually. No matter how much I want to help, I, uh…I’m not really sure of how much assistance I’ll even be able to provide. I doubt I’ll even be of much use to you…”

 

You looked down at your lap and continued your habit of fiddling with your cardigan sleeves, your brain well on its way into another silent nervous episode. Before your brain could attack you any more, Charlie grabbed both of your hands and squeezed them encouragingly. The gentle action had you look up at the princess and into her pleading, red eyes. She looked at you with such a sincere smile that your nerves seemed to just dissipate into thin air. For once, your mind was completely calm and at peace.

 

“Please Page? We…We really need your help. You may be our only hope of achieving our goal…”

 

How could you honestly say no to such a heartfelt request? It would’ve been extremely cruel to have denied the princess of her dream. You would give it a shot. You would do your best and pray about the rest. Surely everything would fall into place after that? You hoped. That’s what faith was for.

 

“O-okay…I’ll do it, but only on one condition.”

 

“Of course! Name anything you want!” Charlie’s eager grin was infectious, but her willingness to strike a deal concerned you. Someone would end up taking advantage of her one of these days if she wasn’t careful. Vaggie was there to protect her, though, so maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about?

 

“Please let me be the one to tell the others about where I’m from. I-I think it’s something they should hear from me personally. Besides, with all the horrifying stuff you’ve told me about extermination day, I don’t think they would take having an Angel in their presence very well; nor do I think they would want to listen to someone who represents that dreaded event. Even if I have good intentions. It would put a wrench in all of your plans if undue conflict happens and I want to make sure everything runs smoothly for you guys. We are working on a limited time table, after all…”

 

You squeezed the princess’ hands and paired the gesture with the urgency in your tone as you continued to speak.

 

“So, please, let’s keep this a secret. At least until they get to know me better. I promise I will eventually tell everyone, but I want to build trust first. At least with today’s activities I’m closer to that goal…”

 

Charlie’s beaming smile grew exponentially as she squealed excitedly and pulled you into a hug, one that was more gentle than the first one she had ever gifted you. It was comfortable, as if you were wrapped in a fluffy blanket and back in your favorite spot in the library. Her hug made you feel safe and secure.

 

“Thank you for trusting me, Page. I promise we will get you home. You can count on me! I won’t let you down!”

 

Charlie spoke with such conviction and deepened her hug. Her words made you feel hopeful that somehow this crazy idea of hers may actually work after all. You were starting to think you could actually believe in her and her determination to see you home.

 

The blonde’s voice was saturated with reassurance and comfort and you held on tightly to her every word as if it was a fact. She emboldened and bolstered your hope, planting the seed deep in your heart that you prayed would become fruitful through your efforts to help everyone achieve redemption.

 

You would return home. You just had to keep your chin up and put in the work. The princess had made it sound so easy, so possible. You wanted to believe in her cause; and long as you had hope, you and everyone else would be okay. Things would work themselves out.

 

Looking over her shoulder, you noticed Vaggie’s expression had faltered as she turned her head away and crossed her arms. She looked worried, but you just assumed it was still the remnants of her concern about you from earlier still affecting her. You hoped she would be okay and silently said a prayer for her in hopes it would help calm her mind. Still, her troubled expression remained and it bothered you. Even if she had nearly attacked you earlier, you still wanted to cheer her up and support her as well. You decided to extend an olive branch to her in hopes that her secret worries would be relieved, if only just a little.

 

You pulled away from the princess and reached your hand out to Vaggie, calling her to attention. Both the princess and the Latina looked at you as you gave them as cheerful a smile as you could manage.

 

“I do recall saying I like hugs earlier today; and, ya know, there is always room for another person in a group hug…”

 

Charlie laughed at your clever attempt at reconciliation and also joined in with you in extending the one eyed girl an invitation.

 

“She's right! Come on over Vaggie! The more the merrier!”

 

You watched as Vaggie visibly sighed, but a lopsided smile replaced the perturbed frown she had previously worn. It seemed your attempt had been successful and you were glad the situation had once again turned amicable.

 

Somehow you had even cracked a joke and had laughter rolling and conversation bubbling through the three of you long after the hug had ended.

 

In your distracted state, neither of you noticed the black mist with glowing eyes and a stitched smile waiting in the corner of the room.

 

Nor did anyone witness how said phantom had inconspicuously disappeared underneath the office door and into the hallway.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The overlord meeting Alastor attended that morning ended rather abruptly before it even had a chance to really begin. It had been quite the productive and entertaining meeting within that short time, though.

 

Especially when a brazen little hussy in pig tales adorning the most hideous modern clothing he had ever seen walked into the room and caused a disruption. Ms. Camila hadn’t even had the chance to divulge the valuable information she held to the rest of the Overlords in attendance before that damnable dame started yapping. The woman had claimed to be representing the V’s, though he couldn’t recall what her name was. Regardless, it didn't matter. Her name wasn’t important.

 

What was important was the valuable piece of intel the broad had somehow managed to provide. She had, quite literally, thrown an angel’s head on the table for all to gaze upon and went on a tangent about how sinners could finally fight back now that knowledge was out that angels could be defeated.

 

Alastor was only partially paying attention to the rest of her incessant ramblings. He had been much more interested in the angelic head that just so happened to land perfectly in front of him; and what a sight it was.

 

He remembered how congealed, golden blood splattered the front as well as the rounded horns of the exterminator mask of the beheaded angel. He had poked and prodded at it, opting to drench one of his claws into the old blood for a taste test. He wasn’t disappointed.

 

His curiosity was rewarded as soon as the substance made contact with his eager taste buds. It was such an unusually vibrant and decadent taste that it surprised him and perked up his smile. It left him pleasantly content. The rich, metallic flavor was indescribable, though very much different than his usual tastes but just as exciting.

 

The closest thing he could think of to compare it to was the piquancy and earthy undertones of the best venison sirloin he had ever had the opportunity to consume, but in liquid form. It had been years since he experienced such a festive flavor. It made his mouth water, the memory of the subtle but deep savor teasing the back of his pallet.

 

The experience made him wonder just how much more appealing his snacking would be if the head had been freshly acquired and if he were to have taken an actual bite. The thought was riveting. Would it have tasted just as heavenly, or even more so? The idea was food for thought and it certainly satisfied his mind’s cravings.

 

The discovery was almost comparable to the satisfaction Alastor received from the news the tiny little egg creatures acquired for him after the meeting.

 

It was secretly revealed to him that those big, scary angels were much less terrifying than anyone had previously thought. Especially when the angel he had taste tested earlier that day had been slain by the Overlord who had conducted the meeting in the first place: Camila Carmine.

 

An angel wasn’t just killed, but had been defeated by one of them. It was a remarkable discovery, one he would put the remembrance of in his back pocket and save it for a rainy day. He assumed he would need such information at a later time, especially if he would be continuing close dealings with the Princess and her little passion project. Perhaps the information would prove most useful when the time came for it…

 

Upon his return, Alastor ascended the stairs to the second floor of the hotel after successfully returning the useful little minions to that snake demon. He hummed to himself, pleased and comfortable with the sound of his own voice as the expressive, faint notes of swing played from the microphone he used as a cane. He leisurely strolled to his room, more than ready to enjoy some well deserved quiet time in his chambers. It was the perfect way to finish off such an exciting afternoon.

 

Oh, but how would he spend the time? Perhaps he would do a bit of reading or maybe even crack open your poetry book and continue from where he had left off earlier that morning?

 

As he entered his chambers Alastor locked his door and removed his overcoat. He placed his discarded garment on the coat rack next to the door as his eyes spotted the object of his interest; the maroon, leather bound notebook he had lent to you weeks ago.

 

The book was resting neatly on his dining table underneath the weeping willow in the forest environment of his domain. As he sauntered over and took a seat, he noticed a few fallen leaves had made residence on the dark cover of your book. He swiped his claws over its surface to shoo mother nature’s debris away before picking up and opening the tome, eager to reread the contents inside.

 

Alastor snapped his fingers and his favorite coffee mug appeared with the promise of bitter, molten liquid inside. He desperately needed a pick-me-up and thought coffee would do just the thing to give him the energy he needed.

 

Before he could get comfortable enough to finish the first page of your most recent poem, however, the faint and familiar hiss of his shadow could be heard from behind him. The apparition gently greeted its master; opting to speak in static filled hisses and hushed tones of a language of unknown origin to anyone else but he and his shadow. Alastor’s smile widened as he was reunited with the black mist and turned his head to give the same treatment to his phantom.

 

“Well good afternoon, old friend. How were things while I was away? Did anything riveting happen after my departure?”

 

Alastor looked back down at the book in his hands as he flipped to the next page. A pleasant but calculated smile was plastered to his face as his attention was indisposed.

 

“Nothing too eventful happened, surely? I would hate to miss anything interesting; but I do suppose that’s why I left you behind this morning to keep an eye on things for me.”

 

Another page was flipped in his hands as he continued to silently read. The poem on the one previous had been too short for his liking and he needed more content to consume to satiate and stimulate his curious mind. Of course, there was not a shortage of your words as you had provided him with a plethora of poems to enjoy.

 

“And what of our darling little poet? What antics did she get into today? Perhaps yet another cozy day in the library all snuggled up in a blanket? Did she fill her pretty little head with dear words of fantasy again, pray tell?”

 

The overlord chuckled at the thought as he collected the bookmark from the back of the bound collection of words in his hands and placed it on the page he had flipped to. He closed the cover with a satisfying but faint thud. Turning his head to his shadow once again, he acknowledged it as he continued to converse with the dark mist.

 

“How much do you want to bet that she’ll come to us with yet another spectacular review of the most recent read she’s found herself indulged in? I do believe she mentioned she would be reading a bit of Poe this afternoon... Or perhaps her fancy was Shakespeare this week? I can’t recall nor does it doesn't matter... There is no keeping up with that dame’s ever changing interests nor her thirst for knowledge. But I suppose her hobbies are commendable. A bit too tame for my tastes; but at least her interests produce intriguing, thought provoking results…”

 

Alastor reached for his coffee mug, bringing it to his lips as he closed his eyes. He breathed in the succulent aroma of the dark liquid in his cup before taking a sip. His closed eyes had a flutter to them as he continued to drink his fill and ingest the much needed caffeine; enjoying the hot taste of java as he waited in patience for his shadow’s response.

 

Upon the excited hisses and booming static whispering in his ear, Alastor’s eyes shot open as he spit out the contents of the mug he held in a moment of shock and astonishment.

 

Alastor composed himself just as quickly, though he caught wind of the soft eldritch laughter his shadow produced. He chose to ignore the apparition’s audible disrespect, especially since it had just provided him with such compelling and exhilarating information.

 

Alastor cleared his throat after he had finished consuming his beverage and placed the mug back onto its coaster. He snapped his fingers and took the napkin the air around him suddenly produced and used it to dab at the coffee that unfortunately missed his mouth in his surprise. He wiped away the liquid from his face and clothing with refinement and ease.

 

Within the time he had spent sitting, reading and talking, more leaves managed to accumulate on the wooden surface of his dining table as well as the poems you had written. Once he was finished with his face, he swiped the leaves away once again as his smile grew across the expanse of his features. The sharp corners of his mouth threatened to stab him in the eyes with the extent of his unrestrained glee.

 

“You don’t say…..Very interesting... Do continue on, won't you? You have my full attention…”

 

As the shadow continued to hiss and whisper faintly into the overlord’s ear, Alastor’s smile only widened as he nodded in response to the intel he was being fed.

 

“Well, our dear poet certainly has been busy… What a secret…”

 

So his poet was an angel. He knew you were sweet and kind, but it was much more in the literal sense than he had realized. Why had he not noticed before? The more he thought of it the more he realized that it made complete sense for him to have found your poems sprawled across the hotel’s front yard. They had fallen from heaven, much in the same way you had he surmised.

 

It also made much more sense for you to have stumbled upon the hotel’s doorstep in such a bloody mess. So you had indeed fallen. Interesting. He wondered what had made you fall in the first place? Just by your countenance and timid disposition, you didn't seem the type to go against authority or cause chaos in order for you to have been banished from the pearly gates, but he knew from personal experience that appearances were deceiving.

 

After all, everyone knows that you don’t plan murder out loud.

 

So what was your reasoning for descending into the depths of Hell? The more he listened to his shadow recant the details of your private conversation with the princess, the more his curiosity was piqued. With the information he was provided, he formed the realization that your appearance at the hotel was a fluke and that your tumultuous descent was a complete and utter accident. He let out a laugh with his shadow at its retelling of how you had clumsily found your way to their door, tripping and falling and hitting your head on a dumpster. The absolute hilarity of the situation had his boisterous laughter rolling.

 

Alastor wiped a tear from his eye as his giggles died down and sighed with content. The discovery sent pleasant tingles into his bloodstream, his veins threatening to burst with excitement. The information had come to him as such a shock at first; but now that he had time to digest the information being fed to him by his ever attentive shadow, his fascination could not be contained.

 

Though with all of the information he had so generously received, it still didn’t give him the one explanation he was missing.

 

Why was your blood red instead of being the golden hue like the specimen he had the privilege to inspect earlier that morning? Perhaps the color changed if one were to have fallen, much like your case? You didn’t look to have a set of wings or halo attached, so maybe that was it? But perhaps it wasn’t that simple.

 

Alastor was quite good at identifying the anatomy of his victims. He had to be well informed and practiced if he wanted to attain the best cuts of meat for himself in a clean manner. He was the best butcher he knew, after all.

 

Angelic anatomy, however, was a foreign concept to him all together. Oh, but what he wouldn’t give to tear and cut into said flesh if only just to study it and be able to sink his teeth into it. The thought made his mouth water. It would give him a good excuse to go on a hunting spree again, now that he knew they were killable. What an exhilarating chase that would be. If only he could be presented with such an opportunity…

 

“Your report is sufficient. Good work as always, old sport. It was a good idea to leave you behind after all…”

 

He dismissed the conversation once his curiosity was adequately satiated, however the embers of his intrigue stoked fire once more at the most important of his discoveries.

 

Could you possibly be her? He had previously thought there was no chance of seeing his wife again, even if he wanted to, as she was a saint and much too good for the depths of hell. But he supposed he was indeed correct in his assessment of her. There was a possibility that she indeed was a saint; and it was all the more probable that you and her were one and the same. He didn’t know how to process such a likelihood; but perhaps he could let himself believe the glimmer of evidence he was presented with of your identity.

 

He genuinely didn’t think it was possible to see you again. Part of him still didn’t think the situation was real, especially since you seemed to act slightly different than what he remembered. If it was truly you, then the loss of your memories posed a problem. Memories had a tendency to hold one’s personality captive, and that fact was no exception for you. You had indeed picked up on more modern colloquial speech and mannerisms in the time since he had last seen you. You had even lost your use of pet names.

 

Alastor wondered how you would change or react to him if you remembered him and he could not stop thinking about it. Maybe he should put the newly acquired information to good use?

 

What if he offered you a deal to help return your memories? It was a gamble, sure, but if it worked then he would have his answer to truly know if you and her were one and the same; or if you were just some pitiful soul who looked similar with no relation.

 

However, one thought bothered him and put a wrench in his formulating plan: What was he to do if you ended up wasting his time and weren’t who he assumed?

 

Just as fast as the question was mentally proposed, his brain came up with a rather pleasant solution.

 

Perhaps he would find himself being presented with the opportunity to study and sample another angelic delicacy very soon. You seemed to be docile and one of the sweeter varieties; but he hoped your personality wouldn’t affect the taste of your flesh when the time came to partake. If the time came…

 

The Overlord's smile grew to the utmost degree as he continued to ponder the possibility of his future prospects. Regardless of the outcome of his endeavors, it seems like offering you a deal that was successful on his part was very much still in the cards for him. Either his curiosity would finally be piqued and he would discover your true identity; or if you weren’t who he originally thought then he would find himself pleasantly getting a free meal.

 

Oh but what to do if you were who he assumed? And how would he deal with the loss of your exquisite words and poetry if he was given the chance to partake in snacking on your flesh if you weren’t? If that was the case, he would terribly hate to lose getting the opportunity to critique and engage with your work…Decisions, decisions….What to do indeed.

 

Alastor shook his head. Those would be thought of more when he found himself presented with ample enough time. For now, the deal first needed to be struck before fretting on the possible outcomes that may or may not ever happen.

 

With a gamble, there was always a chance of losing what you were playing for; but Alastor never lost. Every bet he had ever made was one that he was assured would bring him victory. This deal he would present to you later that evening would be no different; and he was certain that regardless of whatever outcome occurred he would be thoroughly entertained.

 

However, he was growing rather impatient with not knowing your true identity; especially with every time he had to endure your presence. In order to ensure his little experiment continued on as smoothly as possible, however, he would treat you and his wife as one in the same until you proved you were not. That seemed the easiest route to navigate the situation. At least he was given a slight clue about who you truly were.

 

Still, the situation was quite vexing and continued to bother him every time you sprung into his mind. Just who exactly were you? His poor, pitifully sweet wife or just a darling and brilliant little poet?

 

…Perhaps you were both?

 

Alastor inwardly shook the thoughts away yet again and took in a deep breath to calm the tempest his mind became; preferring instead to think on the plan he knew would succeed in some form or fashion once he offered it to you and set it into motion.

 

At the thought, Alastor sent his shadow away with the express order to watch you and to notify him the minute you were back in your quarters. His shadow wordlessly nodded as it left his side and slipped under his bedroom door in search of you. His grin expanded as his plan grew more tangible.

 

Yes. He would offer you the deal later that evening once your discussion with the princess was over. It was perfect.

 

With his mind more at ease now that a plan was in the works, Alastor opted to remove himself from his dining table and traded it for the comfort of his lounge chair that rested in front of the hearth.

 

He sat back down and reopened the book you had given him, rereading the contents to himself as he leaned back into the plushness of his furniture. Alastor propped his feet up on the ottoman provided with a content sigh as he distracted his dismal thoughts and replaced them with the radiance of your immaculately written words; the beginnings of excitement for the prospects of a new deal whirling in his mind endlessly.

Notes:

Hey guys! Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop a theory or two in the comments or what you're excited about seeing, etc. I absolutely adore hearing from you all!

Also, special shoutout to KiwiCat! Thank you so very much for the lovely fan art of Page!!! I loved it dearly and your art style is so enjoyable to look at!

Chapter 9: His Opportunity Part One: Her Performance

Summary:

"There's no fear when you're having fun" ~ Will Thomas

Notes:

Hey guys, just wanted to wholeheartedly recommend you to listen to "Honey" by Halsey whenever you see the 🎵 icons, if you would like.

Enjoy~

Well, that meeting could have started out a lot better than how it had ended…

 

Your mind anxiously played back the events of your chat with the princess and Vaggie in her office. As you made your way up the stairs to the second floor’s corridor, you raised a hand up to your throat and shivered. You could still feel the cold edge of steel from Vaggie's spear where your fingers met sensitive flesh. You gulped. You could’ve died earlier. Yet again.

 

Thank Heaven above that Charlie was there to be the mediator between you two. Without her gentle guidance, that meeting would’ve no doubt ended in a bloodbath; and with you laying on the floor with a spear lodged in your throat…So, suffice it to say, you were more than genuinely thankful and relieved Charlie had somehow managed to calm the girl down and help the two of you come to a mutual agreement and common goal.

 

Still, the less than stellar things Vaggie had said previously were still bombarding your brain; thoughts on how you should still feel guilty for lying and being a deceiver, and a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You were tired and just didn’t want to continue to think of the countless what-if scenarios thrumming behind your mind’s eye. You tried to remind yourself that everything had ended peaceably between the three of you; but still your mind wouldn’t stop being cruel. It insisted on being a nesting ground for despondency.

 

‘You need to calm down, Page. If you don’t, your anxiety is going to flare up again.’

 

As you continued to give yourself one of the many silent pep talks you’ve had that day, you headed to your room with the intent to get ready for bed. Unfortunately, A racing mind and a pounding heart in a sensitive rib cage did very little to promote a good sleeping environment.

 

Not that you would be sleeping any time soon. It was an active struggle to keep your thoughts organized and focused on good things. Your mind just wouldn’t hush and insisted on ruminating about all the negative aspects of your meeting. Your thoughts kept going in circles despite the best of your efforts.

 

Luckily, the thing your brain decided to fixate on most was somewhat positive:

 

Gratitude.

 

You honestly didn’t know how to thank the princess for not only saving you from a second death, but also giving you more of a purpose behind the hotel’s walls. No, she didn’t just give you a purpose, but a goal as well. Something to work towards with eagerness and excitement. Finally, you felt like you were useful, helpful and needed.

 

Of course, you were still needed when you did your daily chores with Niffty, but that was something she could handle easily by herself. Most of the time she was finished with the majority of the rooms that needed to be cleaned before you even had a chance to get your supplies ready or put on a pair of cleaning gloves. You suspected she let you continue to help her only because she enjoyed chatting with you. Well, more like she enjoyed speaking to you. You played the role as listener in most of your correspondence’s; but that never seemed to bother her in the slightest.

 

Now, however, you had more of an important role to play. After the decision was made to give you a bit more responsibility within the hotel, Charlie had mentioned she would be needing help soon with writing lesson plans and decorating pamphlets to pass around as an alternate way to advertise her program since the previous commercial they aired did little to attract souls; you being the exception.

 

You distracted yourself as you made a mental list of what all supplies you would need to perform your part in the planning process. The original one had to look the best and pop so when Charlie sent it in to be printed things would look presentable. You were excited to start working on it. It had been a while since you had used your creativity for anything else other than writing poetry. You missed how peaceful the activity could be and were very eager to participate in one of your favorite pastimes again.

 

‘Let’s see…What will I need? Paper is definitely a must, Maybe I would need to invest in some of that fancy cardstock rather than thin paper… Colored pencils and markers are also needed too…Uhh…I’ll also need some glue. Knowing Charlie, she’d probably have the fancy pink stuff with glitter like I’ve seen advertised in stationary stores back home... It seems like something she’d have stocked. I wonder if she uses it a lot?…Wait, never mind it doesn't matter. I’m digressing…Okay, I’d also probably need scissors to cut stuff with…Maybe cardboard…Hmm what else? I wonder if Charlie has all this stuff stored somewhere in her office or if we’d have to go shopping for it…’

 

You were so caught up in the plans your mind concocted that you failed to notice how the hair stood up on your forearms; the silent precursors for goosebumps planting themselves along your supple flesh. They thrived underneath the oversized cardigan you usually sported; the first fruits of unease blooming leathally and digging its roots into your bloodstream until your breath had to be manually controlled.

 

You tried not to think about the weird change in the atmosphere as you walked on. What was going on? It was probably your brain playing cruel tricks on you again. It was late at night and the only lights that surrounded you were the dimly lit lanterns that sparsely hung from the walls. Some were even blinking, obviously in need of maintenance. As you looked up at them, you noticed the long shadows that dragged across the hotel’s dated wallpaper and the dusty picture frames that adorned them. The promise of a deep ingrained terror just resting underneath the tattered edges and corners of the corridor had your anxious mind antsy for the relief that only the safety of your room could provide.

 

You shook your head. You were being silly. Your fear was just in your head, like usual. Taking in a deep inhale through your nose, you paused and held it before releasing it out into the atmosphere.

 

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, Page. You’re almost to your room. Soon, you’ll be all snuggled in blankets and drifting off peacefully once you’ve read a few pages in your book, like you’ve wanted to do all day. Just breathe. Everything’s okay…Don’t make mountains out of mole hills. The shadows are just shadows. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s nothing scary about shadows…They’re not gonna kill you…’

 

Urging yourself forward with a bit more caution in your steps than before, you thought you were just imagining things when you caught faint whispers coming in and out of your hearing. The cold brush of wind against your ear startled you as the feeling was accompanied with a soft breathy hiss that sent even more tingles down your neck and spine.

 

Pausing in your steps, you turned your head over your shoulder to see what was going on as you brought your hand to rub the back of your neck. You did your best to stop the hair from standing on edge , but the frigid sensation wouldn’t leave you. It only made you shiver more. What was going on?

 

You looked around to see if there was a thermostat nearby. Maybe someone had somehow changed the temperature of the surrounding vicinity? That wast the only explanation you had because you were freezing. It was a very odd sensation.

 

Your fingers ran along the outside of your cardigan sleeves in an attempt to remove the tingles afflicting you as you continued to walk towards your room, your heartbeat increasing yet again for the hundredth time that evening.

 

Tingles turned into anxious shivers as the noises relentlessly persisted. The faint whispers swirled around you and it felt as if you were being hugged, squeezed, by a frigid winter breeze.

 

Yelping, you flinched harshly when you felt something breathe on your neck.

 

Something. Had. Just. Breathed. On. You…!

 

You whipped your head behind you as you hugged your arms around your torso tighter for both comfort and warmth. All you were met with was the inky blackness that the dark hallway provided. That didn’t make sense though. You swore someone had breathed on you, but no one was there. Seriously, what was going on? Were you going crazy? Surely not. Someone must have been pranking you; and there was only a handful of people you knew who would do something like that.

 

“Haha…V-very funny Angel…But I know you’re there…The jig is up…You can come on out now. A-and please change the thermostat back, while you're at it. It's freezing…”

 

You didn’t receive a response. Perhaps you guessed wrong? The only other person you could think of who would play such a cruel prank on you was Alastor, but you didn’t think he would mess with you for no reason. He seemed like a gentleman after all. Why would he stalk a woman in the middle of the night? It didn’t make any sense.

 

Your unease was going without reprieve as your heart continued treating your chest and ribcage like a testing ground for fireworks. With every boom and pump of blood from your heart, a painful symphony inside your chest awoke anew. It made your lungs ache. If this kept up, you were sure you would get hives. It was already hard to breathe.

 

“…I..I really don’t like this anymore…W-whoever you are…I promise I won’t be mad at you if you just show yourself…”

 

Your timid voice echoed down the corridor. Once again, your meek request for closure was met with a heavy silence.

 

‘Okay. Everything's okay. Just hightail it back to your room and you will be good to go. Just hurry…The sooner you are back in your room, the sooner this terrifying experience will be over…’

 

You turned around and traveled with a bit more purpose in your steps to your room, quickening your pace to a jog.

 

Though, you felt like you had been jogging for an extensive amount of time. Since when had the corridor gotten so long? You didn’t remember it taking this long to get to your room before; but now that you were actively doing your best to travel back there, your door was getting further and further away. Maybe it was just your anxiety dampening your senses.

 

So, to accommodate your growing apprehension, you hastened your steps until you were drawing close to a very brisk sprint.

 

Still, the same sensations you had experienced earlier persisted and quietly pursued you as you continued running to find your room door.

 

You felt stupid, as if you were a poltroonish child fearfully running from their shadow. You knew it wasn’t just your overactive imagination this time, though. No, something was definitely behind you; and the very thought hastened your heartbeat to an unhealthy rate.

 

It was like something of unknown origin was secretly watching, following, even hunting you; waiting for the perfect moment to maliciously strike when you would inevitably stumble on your feet. You were clumsy, after all. It was only a matter of time before you would trip.

 

And trip you did, especially when the voices got louder and turned into an amalgamation of loud shouts, noises and other creepy, animalistic screeches that repeatedly swam through your hearing. Each noise sounded as if it was being distorted, as if you heard them coming through a tunnel or a filter of some kind. They were loud, but very distant. It was strange and terrifying at the same time.

 

Your goosebumps went into overdrive as you jolted forwards when a rather loud hiss came directly from behind you. The freezing sensation you felt earlier even made a comeback. The feeling drowned your senses to the point you found yourself on the cusp of choking.

 

You had managed to lean against the wall to get back onto your feet from where you had tripped and fell earlier. As you caught your breath you continued to book it to your room, not daring to look behind you. More loud hissing could be heard as pops of static mixed in with your terror. You were at the end of your rope. How much more of this did you have to endure?!

 

Finally, by some miracle, you had made it to your chamber door. Through some strenuous effort, you were able to grasp at the door handle before you could fall flat on your face again. Your breath was rushed and your hands shook, fumbling over themselves. In your haste, you heard distant traces of laughter mixed with the ever present sound of whispers and the occasional pop of static as you finally managed to open your bedroom door and shut it behind you and locked it just as quickly.

 

You trembled as you rested your back against the bedroom door, your breath tumbling out of you in a shuddery mess. Your heart still beat double time as you slid down to a sitting position. Your legs had given out from running like a madwoman to the sanctuary your room provided. The tremors along your skin were still very much present. You brought your hand in front of your face to inspect just how bad you were still shivering as you did your best to control your breathing. Your hand jittered; the loose threads of your slightly unraveled sleeve of your cardigan moving with the extent your hand was shaking.

 

‘Definitely adding being chased to the point of terror to the already long list of things I greatly dislike. Especially if it’s by an unknown entity…I don’t think anyone likes that though…’

 

You deeply sighed to release the remaining tension in your body as you laid your head in your hands. You still didn’t know how to process what had just happened except through silent reflection between deep inhales and exhales.

 

Somehow you had managed to successfully evade the invisible creature who pursued you. You still weren’t able to figure out how the whole situation started or why you were being chased to begin with; but you certainly weren’t going to question things. Especially since your retreat had been successful. You just hoped the entity didn’t decide to follow you further. Were you even safe now? The only inclinations that you had been spared from its relentless chasing was that you weren’t being bothered at present. What if it was still waiting for you outside of your door?

 

All you knew was that the incident that just happened was real, regardless of how much your brain was trying to rationalize things and gaslight you into thinking it wasn’t. You knew it was real. You had felt someone breathe on you and you had heard loud hisses and whispers, even distant screams, for Heaven’s sake.

 

You weren’t going insane…right?

 

As you sat on the floor, holding your face with your still shaking hands; you thought it would probably be best to get off of the carpet and attempt to get ready for bed. Key word being attempt. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink right then, not after surviving a supernatural event like what had just happened. Perhaps you could at least manage to relax with your usual bedtime routine as a way to distract yourself from the distressing situation.

 

Taking a final deep breath, you freed your face from the inside of your palms and reached a hand up to the nightstand nearby to pull yourself onto your feet. When you were sure you wouldn’t tumble over due to the extent you were trembling, you cautiously walked across the room to your chest of drawers and opened one to scrounge through the folded fabrics and contents inside.

 

Most of the pajamas provided were comfy modern shirts and pants, so that was what you went with. If you were completely honest, that was what the entirety of your wardrobe was. That and a select few severely ripped jeans and some nice cardigans you switched through when your favorites were in the wash.

 

You wished you had some more old fashioned feminine clothes though. You felt much better in skirts or fitted dresses, but you didn’t want to complain. After all, the clothes you currently adorned and had at your disposal were furnished to you for free.

 

Perhaps you could add getting some new clothing to your mental list of supplies, though you didn’t know when you would have the money for such a luxury. Were there even places like that down in Hell that would be able to furnish something that suited your unique tastes?

 

You pushed the thought aside, of course there would be. Alastor seemed to have some connections and knew exactly where to find the spiffiest of clothing, as he was continuously seen sporting only the best. You would have to ask him for recommendations sometime in the near future. Perhaps he could introduce you to a boutique that provided a selection of pieces for ladies with a bit more old fashioned tastes in mind. He seemed like the best chap to ask, after all.

 

For now, however, you would be content with the outfits that were gifted to you. Nodding to yourself and being satisfied with the decision made, you pulled out the most comfy looking long sleeved sleep shirt and matching pajama bottoms.

 

The shirt was entirely one, dark color. It was embroidered with intricate floral designs along the soft, form fitting sleeves and the pajama pants had a mix between floral designs and what looked to be tiny deer prancing across the fabric. The whole ensemble was adorable and donning said clothes made you feel safe and comfortable, which was a feeling you were desperate for as you were still very restless. Too restless for sleep, anyways.

 

Feeling relieved to a degree, you went to sit at your vanity and procured a hairbrush from one of the drawers. The thought of having your hair played with and brushed was a comfort you silently sought after as you closed your eyes and moved the brush through your soft hair.

 

Somehow in your escape from your invisible tormentor, your hair had managed to gain a few tangles at the edges. Slowly you worked the brush through the ends of your hair; opting to replace your brush with a comb when your hair proved to be especially unruly.

 

Your hand was still shaking, not as violently as before but it was still very much noticeable. Your heartbeat was still too rapid for your liking as you fought with your hair. Still, you were desperate for any sort of relief as you did your best not to get frustrated with yourself when some of the tangles wouldn’t come out. Despite your best efforts, some of the knots still wouldn’t budge.

 

As you sat the comb on the side table of your vanity in regretful defeat, the tell tale signs of your radio sprung to life and softly greeted you with warm static that droned on to a rather energetic tune.

 

You immediately smiled, feeling ten times better upon hearing the familiar sound. Your radio never seemed to fail you; and the upbeat cadence of the pop song it decided to play for you, although very much too modern for your usual tastes, was just the thing you needed to get the remaining jitters, anxiety and disappointment out of your system. It was also the perfect excuse to tucker yourself out enough to feasibly be able to rest for the night when the time came.

 

With each beat the drums provided came the incredible desire to simply move and prance around your room. It was the perfect solution to calming your nerves. It was an even better option because no one would be watching you make a complete idiot of yourself as you danced. You didn’t have to worry about performing for anyone, it was just for fun and just for your enjoyment. It was just for you.

 

For a moment, all of the thoughts you had struggled with that day, from speaking in front of the others, to the meeting with the princess and even your most recent scare in the hallway, dissipated into thin air. All that was left was you, the joy the buoyant beat provided and the pure desire to have fun dancing in your room like a small child. So that’s what you did.

 

You started small, patting your palms against the top of your thighs in time with the tempo the song provided. Then your eyes closed as you bobbed your head up and down and tapped your feet.

 

Somehow, as your voice gained enough confidence to leave your mouth in a happy string of hums, you sprung from your seat and clenched your fists as if you were holding drumsticks. You moved your hands sporadically with the energetic beat and pretended you were a drummer in a hot jazz band, even if the music didn’t match the image in your head.

 

Even so, you were enjoying yourself tremendously and greatly appreciated the peace that decided to wash over you in that moment. For the first time that day, you felt light. You felt like you were floating as your unrestrained laughter surged forward from deep within you, your smile bright and beaming as the room filled with mirth.

 

As the lyrics of the song played, you twirled around with reckless and joyous abandon, even opting to use the ottoman you sat on previously as a miniature stage and your hairbrush that was discarded earlier as a makeshift microphone. You were having a grand ole time within the privacy of your bedroom and you honestly didn’t give a care about what else happened after that moment.

 

For once, you weren’t worried. You just enjoyed the moment for what it was as your radio continued to serenade you with a mixture of the song blasting from its speakers and the warm dated static leaking into the air…

 

What was there to worry about now? You were just having fun, plain and simple.

 

After all, there certainly was nothing wrong with having an enjoyable evening. Plus, with the scary but eventful day you had, you were more than entitled to enjoy a bit of peace from all that was going on inside and outside of your head…

 

Amidst your previous panic and your current euphoria, you didn’t notice the urgent knocking that came from the other side of your door as you continued to dance on…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Not once did Alastor think he would ever have to scold his own shadow as if speaking to a petulant, unruly child. However, there he was waltzing down the long, dark corridor to your room spieling to the ubiquitous dark mist traveling alongside about how it’s actions were less than savory.

 

“You devilish thing you… When I ordered you to alert me the minute the little lady made it back to her chambers, I did not mean for you to go out of your way to stalk and scare her to hasten her return..!”

 

The overlord stole a glance at his significantly quieter companion. The phantom had lowered its head piteously, obviously disheartened by its master’s disappointment as it peeked up at him as well. A confused and rather sad hiss escaped the confines of its stitched smile. Its grin was subdued as its antlers had shrunk thanks to the reprimand Alastor administered.

 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued speaking in a way that would seem less harsh. He assumed his shadow was only seeking to enjoy a bit of a thrill, much how he himself longed for a good excursion to let off his own grievances and stress. He didn’t blame it in the slightest for its unrestrained curiosity. It was an extension of himself, after all.

 

Perhaps that was why the situation had gotten him all out of sorts. His shadow was a representation of something he couldn't control or restrain about himself, no matter how much it vexed him. That curiosity of his was always there, seeking the next thing to take away the worst of Alastor’s boredom. It was useful at times, yes; but when trying to make sure an important deal was struck, well, it was best if that asset of his was not utilized. At least not in the way his shadow sought and wished to express it.

 

“Yes, I know you meant well and I can certainly attest that I am eager to learn of her identity myself; but old pal, we want her in an agreeable mood to take our offer… Now, because of your uncontrolled impatience, you have run the risk of her declining us simply because of her inevitable panic and exhaustion. Now she will no doubt be on edge once we make ourselves guests in her humble abode…For shame! You know better…”

 

His statement only made his shadow shrink lower in submission, soft whimpers and hisses escaping its smile. Alastor’s eye twitched at the sight. Now it was listening to him; and putting on such a pathetic display, no less.

 

Adjusting the lapels of his overcoat and straightening his bowtie, he gave his shadow another sideways glance before closing his eyes and sighing. He decided he would show a bit of leniency for the misunderstanding between them. His phantom was a loyal companion after all and no doubt had his best interest at the forefront of its mind. It had even successfully reported back to him after its task was completed, so what was the harm? Perhaps he would let this one minor setback go. After all, his umbral attendant executed the rest of it’s task perfectly.

 

“...Though, I can’t say I blame you for giving chase. I’m sure it was hard to resist such a temptation…Didn't you state she talked to herself and even tripped before making it to her door?”

 

At Alastor’s prompting, his shadow straightened up with a bit of glee as it recounted the experience, hissing with laughter as its master joined in with a bit of his own giggles. Wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye, Alastor sighed with satisfaction to have ended things somewhat amicably and with a bit of understanding between his shadow. He would’ve absolutely hated to have it following him around with such a sullen disposition, even if its smile never left. He couldn’t have that at all, it would’ve been awful; so it was a good thing he was able to get his apparition under his control once more. He supposed he would have to keep a closer eye on it to make sure it stayed within its allotted jurisdiction…

 

“...What a spectacle that would’ve been to witness. Tell me if you plan on doing that again in the future. Especially with how you’ve described her fear...I would very much like to witness such a sight myself…So, involve me moving forward. Understood?”

 

The only reply Alastor received was the excited nod his shadow decided to extend to him, the embers of static crackling pleasantly around them both.

 

“Excellent…Now, step lively. I’m sure our lovely little poet is bound to be stressed after you accompanied her to her room unannounced earlier. Let’s see if we can’t strike a deal before fatigue settles in and her bedtime becomes even more tempting. Let's give her something to look forward to, hm?”

 

With that, Alastor extended his mic to have his shadow lead the way for once, gifting a sort of olive branch for his shadow’s earlier blunder. He couldn’t have his counterpart feeling down in the dumps on him, so loosening its reins a bit more seemed the obvious way to alleviate any hard feelings between them. He would just keep an eye on it should it prove to be unruly once more.

 

Excitedly, his shadow grinned impishly as it silently slithered across the carpet and in front of your chamber door, turning his head to look expectantly at the overlord and silently willing him to hurry. Alastor chuckled at its childlike insistence and upped his pace to appease his shadow.

 

Readying his microphone to give a gentle knock on your door, Alastor glanced over to the apparition beside him who was seemingly beaming and bursting with excitement and addressed it.

 

“Perhaps you didn’t ruin our chances of acquiring a deal tonight after all. Let’s cross our fingers that we’ll have the element of surprise still on our side…”

 

With that, Alastor gently rapped a few times on your door with the side of his microphone. His ears perked up as an important thought entered his mind. He turned his gaze over to his companion as his ears flicked in the phantom’s direction.

 

“When we enter, you are to be on your very best behavior. We are about to visit a young lady’s chambers long after what is socially deemed appropriate; so we shall represent ourselves as only the finest of gentlemen while we are in her room. Am I clear?”

 

Once again the only response he received was the simple nod of his apparition. It’s reaction was sufficient enough to satisfy the demon’s expectations for the moment, however, so he let the issue rest.

 

“Good.”

 

Looking back to the door, Alastor patiently waited to be let into your quarters only for the minutes to pass him by without an invitation. Alastor’s eye twitched. How rude to make someone wait outside after asking for entry. He had done everything that etiquette had mandated, so why was he being ignored?!

 

Perhaps you didn’t hear him? Maybe the issue was that his knocking was rather soft the first time…

 

To remedy the situation, he lifted his knuckles to the door this time and knocked a bit louder before bringing his hands to adjust the lapels on his overcoat again. He cleared his throat to fend off the growing awkwardness of being left out in the hall in front of a lady’s door. Alastor had come unannounced, yes, but still it was irritating to have been made to wait. Making a deal was something that needed to be done in a timely manner, after all, especially when his curiosity and personal interests were affected.

 

Still, as the Overlord stood outside of your room, he was met with radio silence. Absolutely nothing. Again, his eye twitched as he gritted his teeth within his permanent smile. Just how long did it take for someone to walk up to and unlock a simple door?

 

As soon as he knocked once more with a bit more force than the previous times, it dawned on him that perhaps you had already gone to bed for the night. He was standing outside of your chamber door at an ungodly hour after all. Even if it was still incredibly early for him to even consider getting some shut-eye, it was logical to assume that you, as well as the rest of the individuals residing in the hotel, would already be in bed. It even made sense why he could see light leaking out from underneath your door. After all from the scare his shadow described, you were bound to need the comfort of a light source, much like how a young child needed a lantern on their nightstand or a blanket in their arms to quell the dark imaginations that the night so often brought.

 

Alastor glanced over to his shadow with a pointed gaze, his voice brimming with irritation. It seemed fate was not on his side that evening and that he would have to perform the dreaded task of rescheduling his opportunity for a deal for another time. His curiosity would be absolutely unbearable for the next few days, but he could be patient. Regardless of how irksome that option was…

 

“I don’t believe you’ve crossed your fingers enough…”

 

His shadow brought another hand up and crossed it in response to his master’s compelling gaze. This made Alastor sigh deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose for the second time that evening, his smile strained and his voice clipped.

 

“It’s a bit too late for that now, friend...This meeting will regrettably have to wait for another opportune moment then…Come along.”

 

As he turned to leave and was in the process of addressing his shadow once more about the importance of following orders, the promise of your consciousness whispered to him from behind your closed door. Unfortunately, the sound he heard was not music to his ears. In fact, it was a blatant mockery of anything that could remotely be considered musical.

 

Still he was compelled to stay at your door only by his original interest in speaking with you that evening. Of course, the modern, jumpy noises growing in volume and rhythm that escaped your room still intrigued him, if only in the respect of figuring out how to permanently cease the incessant screeching and booming. The notes grated on his nerves as his ears pulled back at having to listen to such distasteful music.

 

His curiosity continued to only grow in volume, surmounting into the undeniable urge to find a way into your room to inspect just what was going on. The part of him that wasn’t consumed by the grating noises was having a hard time grasping that if you were awake why you would completely ignore someone knocking at your door. What if there was an emergency or what if the princess or anyone else had a need for you? Would you have blatantly ignored them as well?

 

Perhaps you were just too engrossed in whatever you were doing to even hear him. You did have a tendency of being stuck in your own head a majority of the time; and no doubt your earlier encounter with his shadow must have further caused you to cave into your subconscious mind. Still, that was a habit you needed to learn to break, especially if someone was trying to get your attention for something important…

 

Still he needed to know what was going on, even if he hadn’t received an invitation into your chambers yet. His curiosity was at an all time high and needed an immediate outlet.

 

Of course, sneaking under your door wasn’t something he wanted to resort to, but the horrendous music wafting from within your chambers had piqued the very same curiosity he had sought to control that evening. He sighed. There wasn’t much he could do about the situation, and the gnawing feeling that he was missing out on something entertaining just would not leave him. The situation spoke and serenaded to the part of him that was eternally seeking to quell every ounce of his boredom.

 

So, with a final glance and a subtle nod at his phantom, he dissipated into smoke as he entered your quarters through the provided space underneath the bedroom door.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The intriguing but abrasive “racket” continued to pour from the speakers of your poor Philco 70, seemingly to only grow in volume with every continued minute he found himself in your room. A headache was certainly on the rise and was regrettably promised to him if he could not shut the utterly egregious noise off. The sounds were jarring, abrasive even, to Alastor’s sensitive ears. They flicked, flinched and were pulled back in abhorrence as the “music” continued.

 

Perhaps your music tastes had regressed in the time the two of you were apart. How unfortunate. It seemed that your tastes in music had grown accustomed to the more modern way of things within the time you had resided in Heaven.

 

Alastor’s eyes twitched with each note that continued to assault his hearing; but he stayed his hand for a moment when he noticed you twirling and bouncing around with delight. Some part of him felt as if he was invading onto something very private. However, he had knocked like etiquette mandated, so it was your fault for not preparing for his request to enter. Even if it was terribly late in the evening for visitors and even if you weren’t able to hear him.

 

Regardless of how pitifully amusing your performance and dancing skills were, he was about at his limit for the disgraceful noises coming out of your radio. Now if only it has been jazz music, then that would’ve been a sight to see. He may have even joined you himself, though perhaps with a bit more class and style than whatever baseless cavorting, capering or shuffling you were doing in front of him.

 

Despite the horrid sounds screeching from your Philco 70, your movements were quite amusing. Though it was obvious, even if one didn’t have a seasoned eye for dancing, much like he did, that you were in desperate need of lessons. Your dancing was pitiful at best, even if it seemed you were doing so with gusto and a bit of enjoyment.

 

The horrendous music that continued to play choked out his quiet laughter as Alastor continued to watch you. You gamboled around and about your room much in the same way his wife did all those years ago…

 

She was also a horrible dancer, a real dead hoofer, though he never said that to her face. He was a gentleman, after all; and it would’ve been rude to ruin a woman’s sensitive sensibilities. She probably would have cried if he had, if he was being completely honest with himself.

 

Though he remembered she had even admitted her faults to him on one such occasion when they had danced together for the first time. She had been polite enough to warn him, so he thought it best if the subject wasn’t brought up again. He had dug his own grave the first time, so to speak, by asking her to dance and insisting that she’d have a good time; so there wasn’t much to do about the situation except enjoy it for what it was and make good on his promise to entertain the little lady.

 

Fortunately, he remembered that his attempts had been successful. Alastor could recall the sweet sound of her giggles and the way she leaned her head back in glee as he twirled them around the dance floor. She had given him the most darling laughter he had ever heard as he had kept the jokes coming, doing his best to distract the both of them from the mess they were making of themselves on the dancefloor. Even with his rhythmic prowess and natural avidness and aptitude for dancing it was still a struggle. Whatever movements they had managed to do was considered, to him, a travesty to the art of the Foxtrot. It was supposed to be a dance everyone knew how to do back in the day; but even the simplistic movements required to perfect such a dance were above your caliber, unfortunately.

 

Despite the embarrassing circumstances, it was still an entertaining experience; and it came to him as a great comfort to remember that most people in that joint were completely ossified from the makeshift hooch provided. They wouldn’t have remembered the fiasco at all…

 

His mind still repeated her chortles, the breathless and mirthful sound of them bumping and flitting around his brain. Her laugh was such a meek sound, but it had been emboldened by his teasing, the ambiance and the atmosphere of the speakeasy they visited, and the surplus of alcohol she had consumed. It was the first time he had heard such a joyful noise come from her.

 

In all of his time to have known her, she had presented herself with such quiet dignity most of the time, though she never had a “holier-than-thou” attitude. She just had an abundance of grace about her, and a plethora of kindness at her disposal. It was confusing just how much of it was contained in her petite form. Even when she failed horribly at something, she still had somehow made it an endearing spectacle to watch. It was to the point she could get others to laugh with her at her awkward attempts; and she had even laughed at herself on occasion.

 

She certainly was unique. That was the only way he could explain the enigma that his wife was. She was such an odd little bird, a rare breed of human indeed. How he managed to find himself with her company for a year or two while he was topside he would never know.

 

Watching you jolt around and spin to your heart's content in front of him reminded him of that special moment, now long lost to time itself. That laugh of hers, and the smile it came from, certainly was a timeless memory worth killing for in his book…

 

As his mind was swept up in the middle of a silent reverie, he couldn’t help but wonder why the memory was so detailed. It was as if he could see that moment like he was experiencing it all over again in the safety and confines of his imagination.

 

Perhaps the reason was because as you danced around, your laughter picked up with each beat of the drums and escaped freely without restraint from your radiant smile. Your laugh matched the same endearing tones he remembered. It was joyful and hauntingly similar.

 

Coming to your chamber to offer you a deal may have been one of the best ideas he’d come up with as of late. It was such an auspicious opportunity…

 

However, he still couldn’t understand something. If that moment with his wife was so precious to him, why did his mind only now alert him of it? Why did he forget it in the first place? Wasn’t she just someone who was convenient for him to have around and that was it? She shouldn’t have meant much to him. She wasn’t even a friend, perhaps an acquaintance if he was being generous with titles; but she was just a business partner. No, not even that. She was just something to come home to and take care of. Her presence in his home was very much comparable to one owning and providing for a pet.

 

Even if she wasn’t of much use to him, somehow he remembered her presence within his abode was a comfort and made it easier to continue on after his mother had passed. His home wasn’t as lonely when she was residing within it…

 

It was strange to think his wife had shown up in his life only a few months after he had buried his mother. It was most likely a coincidence; but some small part of him liked to believe that perhaps his dear Maman was looking out for him past the depths of her grave. She had always worried about what would happen to him after she was gone, and regardless of how many times Alastor told her he would be fine, she would often reiterate the need for him to “find someone” if not for his own sake than for hers.

 

Alastor genuinely thought he was doing just dandy by himself. However, he kept his mother’s wishes tucked in the back of his mind. The only reason he even sought to marry, other than keeping that promise to his poor sick mother that he would try to look for someone, was because of the horrible nuisance that rumors could be.

 

He remembered how much his mother longed for him to “give her grandchildren” before her passing. At least in theory, he was able to grant part of her requests by getting wed; even if it wasn’t in the way he assumed his dear maman had wished for him… He had tried his best to appease and honor her in his own way and it had worked out in the end as the arrangement with you suited his needs just fine. Why did he think deeper into the matter now? Alastor hadn’t thought of you or the agreement the two of you had made in years…

 

Why were these repressed memories of you only now resurfacing and continuing to do so with each moment he shared your company? Perhaps remembering your time together was an advantage and would prove most useful to him, especially if this deal was successful…

 

As the drums died down, a voice took their place as the lead instrument being presented in the song surrounding him and distracted his thoughts. For once he was thankful for the interruption. His thoughts had become too sentimental for his liking and he needed the welcome reprieve, even if it was by means of trashy modern music.

 

He needed to focus. He had come into your room for a reason and he would see it through. Of course, that would be after he saw the pitiful show you saw fit to give him without your knowledge.

 

So, he would continue to be lenient and allow your “music” to play; but only to see the rest of your endearingly deplorable performance. Though, if your dancing proved to continuously decline, he thought it best to alert you of it. He would only do so if action on his part proved necessary.

 

The lyrics of the song leaked seamlessly from your Philco’s speaker amidst the comforting normalcy of static as your head shook and bobbed with the rhythm it presented; your hair being tousled in the air with your rambunctious effort.

 

🎵 She told me "Open your mouth"

She said "I've got a surprise"

And so I opened it wide

And then she crawled inside

She's on the tip of my tongue

She's on the top of my thighs

And if I searched a thousand miles I'd be dying to find 🎵

 

Your laughter rang through the air as you twirled and hummed along to the lyrics. Your eyes were closed in complete bliss, unaware of his attendance to your private performance.

 

Alastor tilted his head and folded his arms as he watched you continue to mimic movements with your hands that were akin to what a drummer would do when playing. He chuckled. For someone so uncoordinated, you certainly had perfect rhythm.

 

🎵 Between my fingers

She leaves then she lingers

If she's gonna go

Well then I'm going with her

I know that I won't forget 🎵

 

No doubt preparing for the upcoming chorus, you stopped your mock drumming and opted to pick up the hairbrush that resided on your vanity. You then proceeded to use it like a makeshift microphone, doing your utmost to belt out the lyrics to the song that played.

 

🎵 She was sweet like honey

But all I can taste is the blood in my mouth

And the bitterness in goodbye

Dripping like honey

Down the back of my throat and out the front of my mind

And now she's impatient and I'm complacent

With just a little taste of wasting time

Looking for honey

But she stings like she means it

She's mean and she's mine 🎵

 

Your voice was surprisingly sweet and harmonious, exuding confidence passionately with every word you sang. The euphonious timbre of your voice was both a delightful surprise and a drastic difference to the uncoordinated shuffling you were doing around your room and the usual shyness you sported.

 

Alastor mused on the possibility that perhaps you had taken part in the angelic choir up in the holy city before your fall. It would make sense for you to be an avid music lover and singer. Music was just poetry with instrumentals added in, after all. And, in his personal opinion, poetry was something he knew you excelled at.

 

🎵 Out and about

Without a reason or rhyme

And now she's dancing on a table

And she spins on a dime

She's hell in a basket, just making a racket

I love every second, it's fucking fantastic

Good things aren't easy to get

I know that I won't regret 🎵

 

Alastor watched as you spun around yet again. Somehow you had even managed to jump atop the ottoman that rested next to your vanity as you continued to laugh and sing to your heart's content. You even struck poses and did elaborate gestures with your hands as you continued to dance on, providing the ultimate experience for his viewing. He laughed again at the unusual way you decided to express yourself. However horrid your dancing, you seemed to be having a grand time.

 

Just where did you get so much energy? It was as if you had overflowing reservoirs of joy stashed inside your petite form. It was plain to see, if not by your actions, then certainly by the smile that was embroidered into your features.

 

🎵 She was sweet like honey

And all I can taste is the blood in my mouth

And the bitterness in goodbye

Dripping like honey

Down the back of my throat and on the front of my mind

And well she's impatient and I'm complacent

With just a little taste of wasting time

Looking for honey

But she stings like she means it

She's mean and she's mine 🎵

 

However entertaining your endearing voice matched with your inadequate dancing skills were, he could no longer take the abominable sounds coming from your poor Philco 70. It was a shame to have modern pop be the first thing he heard from it after he had taken his precious time to fix it for you. No, he certainly had his fill of your impromptu performance and surmised that he would also have to address your dreadful attempts of amusement. Even if he did get a bit of laughter from your pitiful display.

 

Though, one thing was for certain. If you were going to dance and use your radio, then you needed to do both properly.

 

Within the natural lull that the music provided, Alastor snapped his fingers to cause a calm hush to encase the room and cleared his throat rather loudly; greatly anticipating the reaction you would no doubt give him once you turned around. Your fearful face was nearly promised to him. He could taste it.

 

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Chapter 10: His Opportunity: Part Two, His Proposition

Summary:

"It means nothing to be open to a proposition we don't understand" ~ Carl Sagan

“Well, you certainly have such…Eclectic taste in music…”

 

You yelped loudly as you fell off of the ottoman you were perched on and onto your bum at the sudden interruption. Your hairbrush went flying as a result of your surprise and nearly broke the mirror of your vanity with how much force the glass was hit with.

 

You turned your head to a laughing Alastor, his great amusement being displayed by the faint laugh track that accompanied his own. He took a step closer to you as he gave you a small round of applause, the laughter from his microphone changing to whoops and cheers of the celebratory kind.

 

“My, What a peculiar performance! Bravo! It nearly threw me for a loop to witness such a feat of strength come from one so petite. You sent that hairbrush flying and then took a trip yourself! Ha!”

 

He extended the end of his microphone to you once he was close enough to you, chuckling as he offered it to you in assistance to get up from your place on the ground.

 

“You are quite a trepidatious little thing, aren’t you?”

 

‘Well, who wouldn’t be? Almost anyone would be startled at having someone come into their chambers completely unannounced. There is a reason why doors have locks on them, after all…Wait…Did I even lock the door?! Surely I did. I didn’t want that...That thing chasing me again, whatever it was…’

 

You looked up at Alastor completely mute for a minute, your mind going crazy with all the words that would remain unsaid. You were still very startled and dazed from the scare that he had subjected you to. Once you were somewhat composed, you grabbed the other end of his microphone and hoisted yourself to your feet.

 

“Yeah, haha…Um…Th-thanks for helping me up…”

 

“But of course…”

 

To make sure you didn’t make the moment even more awkward than it already was, you turned around to go find the brush that was tossed across the room at full velocity. You did your utmost to not think about the fact that Alastor had not only come into your room unannounced and had watched you prance around but had seen you in your pajamas. Thank Heaven above you weren’t still in the process of getting dressed.

 

The heat in your cheeks rose to an even higher degree. Your hair still had those blasted tangles in them. So, not only were you not expecting company, but you looked a horrid mess. You felt you weren't presentable enough for guests, let alone mentally prepared. Especially for someone of the Radio Demon's caliber. Subtly, a glance was stolen as your eyes landed on his grin. His teeth were hiding behind the confines of his teasing grin. For once.

 

Your mind had no trouble in formulating the catty, deriding remarks the overlord could come at you with. Not giving him a chance to act on any plans your mind concocted, you turned to collect the item you "dropped". You kneeled down to reach for your missing hairbrush only for it to be handed to you. Flinching back from the unnatural nature of your hairbrush floating, you looked up to see Alastor's specter gingerly offering it to you .

 

Cautiously, you took it from the ubiquitous creature. Immediately upon touching the antique brush, your fingers froze. The metal handle was absolutely frigid; and there was a deathly chill surrounding you. Breathing became a struggle, snowflakes seemingly collecting in each inhale your body indulged. Making haste, apprehension made an appearance along your arms in the form of goosebumps underneath your cardigan sleeves. Fingers gripped around as you observed the shadow’s face.

 

“...Thank you…”

 

Alastor’s phantom tilted its head at you as you slowly stood and spoke, its lopsided grin growing in curiosity as it observed you. You swore you could hear breathy whispers and pops of static coming from behind the stitches in its mouth. The sounds only added to the eldritch effect its presence had upon realizing that the sounds it was making were terrifyingly familiar.

 

Your face blanched upon realizing that it was the one that had been your pursuer in the corridor. So you did have a right to be afraid of the shadows in the hallway. You were being pursued by one, and it was none other than the Radio Demon’s own phantom.

 

You pointed a shaky finger in the mist’s direction.

 

“So you were the one following me! Don’t you know that you nearly gave me a heart attack?!”

 

Upon seeing your heated reaction, the noises you were hearing amped up in volume as traces of laughter were added in, fading in and out of your hearing much like before. So, the creature thought that chasing and terrifying you nearly to the point of death was amusing. Figures. It was the shadow of a serial killer, after all. Why did that fact surprise you?

 

Though, as the phantom continued to laugh at you, you realized that in the light provided by your room the sound wasn’t as scary. What you assumed to be its voice and way of speaking was still severely creepy; but it was also endearing, strangely enough.

 

Once the shadow had enough of its fun, it floated around you and enveloped you in frigid air once again before going to return to its master.

 

“Try not to hold a grudge against the poor thing, will you? You may end up hurting its feelings. We wouldn't want that, right? After all, It was only trying to have a bit of fun…”

 

Alastor tutted as you looked over to him yet again. Your free hand tightly gripped the hairbrush still remaining within your grasp due to your new found indignation.

 

“In order to have fun with someone, isn’t there an unsaid requirement to let the other party know that they are being involved in a game?! It was a horridly cruel and terribly rude prank! Were you involved in this?!”

 

Alastor placed his claws against his chest; acting aghast as if you had injured his pride and feigned being offended.

 

“Well, aren’t you tightly wound this evening? No dear, I would never dream of stooping so low…”

 

Even if he acted innocent, you could tell just by the snarky smirk he was giving you that he 110% would, in fact, dream of tormenting you in such a way.

 

“So, please don’t be so dramatic. Besides, even if I did happen to be involved, no one died, so what’s the harm?”

 

His shadow floated back over to its rightful place at Alastor’s side. The Overlord looked at it and pet the top of its head with a proud smile.

 

“I’m sure the experience wasn’t that bad.”

 

“Not that bad? I could have died! Again!”

 

The Radio Demon turned his gaze from his shadow to you and tilted his head. His grin was mischievously smug as his eyes squinted in amusement.

 

“Did you though?”

 

“W-well no…”

 

“Then there’s nothing to worry about! So try not to get yourself into a tizzy, or furrow your brows so much. You’ll get frown lines. Plus, it takes double the muscles in your face to frown than it does to smile. Smiling's simply easier, no? So cheer up! There’s no reason not to!”

 

Alastor flicked his hand at you in dismissal of the topic as he sauntered over to your bed and made himself comfortable on your duvet. He smoothed out the wrinkles in your sheets with his hands before pointing at you with yet another smug smirk.

 

“Also, you're still pointing. If anyone is being rude it's you…”

 

‘Says the person who’s also pointing back…’

 

“Besides, I do believe there is a famous phrase concerning that. Does 'what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger' ring a bell?”

 

‘More like what doesn’t kill you turns you into an anxious mess. Or in my case, even more of one…’

 

You mentally grumbled as you stopped pointing, opting instead to cradle your hair brush in your arms as you folded them. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying any of your thoughts or anything else rude out loud and sighed once the urge to make a strong rebuttal subsided. You did manage to roll your eyes though, unbeknownst to your uninvited guest.

 

Regardless of Alastor’s denial in his involvement with his silhouette’s prank, you assumed the creature was obeying strict orders from its master to follow after you, for whatever reason. You sighed as you looked over to Alastor’s umbral servant, who was still very much laughing at you and jeering at your misfortune to have been practically scolded by its master.

 

You sighed. What an odd little shadow. It was a mischievous little miscreant, a terribly sweet gentleman, and an utterly terrifying phantom all in equal measure. As you looked over and watched Alastor’s calculated grin grow, you thought it matched its master’s personality to a T. It was frighteningly perfect. They were two peas in a pod.

 

You watched as Alastor sighed as his attention left you and opted to land on your Philco 70 that rested on top of your antique chest of drawers.

 

“Though, you’re honestly making me regret ever fixing that radio for you. If you're going to use it, then you should learn to use it properly.”

 

Quickly, Alastor snapped to tune into a different genre of music than the one that had been forcibly drowned out into static upon his entry. Not to your surprise, the dial was tuned to something that sounded akin to swing or jazz.

 

“There, now that’s much better. See? This is the type of music your Philco was made for, not that rubbish that was playing before. Why not use it for its intended purpose, hmm?”

 

Even if Alastor had changed the subject, your mind was still wrapped up in your embarrassment, the knowledge that you truly weren’t insane, and his presence within your room. Your mind was focusing primarily on the latter two thoughts. Why was he there to begin with? Why in Heaven’s name did he not knock?! You would’ve let him in if he had only done so like a normal person.

 

“Not that I can control what comes on the thing, but okay…What I want to know, though, is why you thought it appropriate to not knock and just let yourself into a lady’s bedroom?! I’m sure you're a gentleman, so you should at least know how!”

 

“It’s quite late in the conversation to be hung up on that fact now, don’t you think?” he mused aloud, his eye twitching slightly. His grin was still poised in the amused curve it was before.

 

“Even so, the question still remains. Why didn’t you have the common decency to knock?! For all you know, I could’ve been getting undressed. Or worse, completely naked!”

 

Alastor quirked a curious brow as he folded his arms, his microphone nestled in the crook of his right arm.

 

“So, dancing naked in your room is a common occurrence for you, dear? My, how scandalous.”

 

You froze. The remainder of your words died in your throat as the hue in your cheeks deepened. The only sounds that were heard were the jaunty tunes of your radio and a faint laugh track coming from Alastor’s mic.

 

“Though I would hardly count whatever you were just doing as dancing. Perhaps flouncing or baltering about, at best.”

 

Taking off his monocle, Alastor breathed on it and wiped it on his jacket sleeve before holding it up to his face for inspection. Once it was to his liking he rested it neatly back onto his face.

 

“Oh, and I did knock. Thrice, actually.”

 

No matter how much you wanted to explain or defend yourself, you didn’t have a retort ready. Anything you thought of would’ve just dug you a deeper grave, so instead you remained mute, seething at your inability to come up with an adequate comeback. You pondered that once he left your room you would be able to think of the perfect thing to say back to him. Unfortunately by then it would’ve been too late.

 

You sighed. The very thought of dancing naked like a floozy in the confines of your room was lewd and uncouth; and you certainly did not consider yourself a woman that would participate in things that implied you were of easy virtue…

 

You sighed inwardly. You may not have been able to think of anything to combat his snarky remark, but you did manage to send a disgruntled glare his way until he lifted his hands in fake surrender with a teasing laugh.

 

“Of course, it doesn’t matter to me. What you do behind closed doors in the privacy of your own room is none of my concern.”

 

‘Are you sure about that? Because you certainly made it your concern when you made yourself an unexpected guest…’

 

“…Well, could you at least tell me why you came into my room? It’s quite rude to come into someone's room unannounced at such a late hour…Even if you knock…” you said, the tone in your voice suggested you were both embarrassed to have been caught dancing by yourself and exasperated to have been interrupted.

 

“Why, I was just stopping by to pay you a little visit..” he smirked mischievously as he continued to take up residence on your duvet, crossing his ankles as he placed his microphone sideways in his lap. The sound of his claws tapping against his mic reverberated around the room and mixed with the lively tunes your radio was continuing to play.

 

‘Well that’s obvious…’

“But if you simply must know, I was just dropping off our shared book. I thought you may want to do a bit of writing before bed.”

 

Upon stating his purpose in your room, he snapped his fingers and your poetry book landed in his hands from out of nowhere.

 

Calming down to a less agitated state, you came to the realization that he was only returning your belongings to you. A task that was innocent enough.

 

“O-oh. Well, thank you. You, um…You can put it on the night stand then.”

 

You gave him a grateful nod as you turned your attention away from him to both hide your embarrassment as well as to finally put your hairbrush back into its designated place in one of the top drawers of your vanity. To distract your mind from forming any more negative thoughts about your previous interaction or the current one you were involved in, you glanced over at your vanity mirror to inspect if your hairbrush had managed to scrape or make any cracks in the glass. You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, only a few smudges. Good.

 

You breathed on the glass and rubbed your sleeve across the surface of your mirror. For some reason the smudge wouldn’t come out so you continued on in your task, completely unaware of how Alastor was looking at you from the other side of your room. You heard him clear his throat.

 

“The poems you saw fit to present this time around were as radiant as always. Most interesting indeed. I suppose one could even say they were…Heavenly…”

 

You paused your cleaning, immediately on edge with the way Alastor phrased his compliments. It was nothing surely, just a coincidence that he chose such words to flatter you with, right? You convinced yourself that's all it was, so your reply to him reflected your sentiments as you tried to continue your task.

 

“Thank you, but I don’t think they're that great. Writing poetry is just a hobby, after all. I’m not a professional by any means, but I do appreciate your kind words…”

 

“No, really dear! You are just simply blessed with talent!”

 

Once again, the all too familiar beginnings of panic made its way into your bloodstream and had managed to physically manifest in the beads of sweat forming on your brow.

 

‘No…No he couldn’t possibly know…’

 

“And I'm sure that you could write beautiful sonnets, even lyrics, worthy enough for the highest ranking participants in the holy choir to sing up in the pearly gates…Your voice certainly could be comparable as well. It is truly angelic.”

 

“W-well thank you..” again you were unsure of how to respond to him, the worry of what he was insinuating becoming too much for you to handle.

 

“I am curious as to how or why a dear saint such as yourself would even fall and be sent to Hell in the first place. You seem innocent enough…”

 

The panic in your veins had transformed into pure terror as you abruptly stopped cleaning the mirror and looked at Alastor through the glass you painstakingly cleaned.

 

“What are you referring to, exactly?” you asked him, doing your best to control the variance in your voice.

 

“You certainly are far away from home aren’t you?”

 

You watched Alastor tilt his head at you through your pristine mirror, choosing to ignore your previous question with a devious grin. It looked as if he was simply enjoying the terror going on behind your eyes. What did you look like to him? Whatever it was, you assumed he sensed your unease. You had to change that. Fast.

 

‘Keep cool and deny. If you act as if you don’t know anything, surely he will move on to a topic more suitable and interesting to him…Deny it Page. Deny as if your afterlife depends on it, because it most likely does!’

 

“T-technically isn't everyone? This is a hotel, after all…”

 

The satisfaction of your witty comeback died before you could enjoy it the minute you remembered how your voice wavered. You were a stuttering mess, your tongue numb and fuzzy against the roof of your mouth. You had to keep calm and collected and act as if your insides weren’t exploding from genuine fear.

 

Of all people, you did not want someone as powerful as the Radio Demon to know about your identity just yet, if you could help it. You were only reminded of the fact as you noticed Alastor’s umbral companion smile menacingly. Demon’s hated Angels, right? Especially the exterminators. Everyone knew that, according to the Princess. If you failed to contain your secret, you could kiss your afterlife goodbye.

 

Though, with each continued second the topic remained in the air, you could tell Alastor’s interest was only growing.

 

“...You are correct about that, but even so. One can only assume how a soul such as yourself ended up bloody on our doorstep and somehow miraculously was able to heal herself within the span of a few days. For most sinners, it takes at least two weeks to recuperate from such injuries…”

 

He was not going to let this topic go, was he? You were screwed. You were a goner. The heartbeat in your chest continued to only pick up in pace as you did your best to control your breathing. You weren’t bested yet, however, and continued to remain reticent of your origins from the celestial city. You didn’t feel like dying that evening, after all; but you knew one wrong move on your part and this demon would devour you.

 

But you did need confirmation for your own suspicions. You needed to know just how much this demon knew about you, and so you dauntlessly fished for the answers you sought. Boldly, you displayed your wit and poise with your next statement, demanding your thoughts to continue to be as cool and composed as the smile that was plastered to Alastor’s face.

 

“Speaking in riddles and theories is not going to make me understand what you're implying any quicker, you know...”

 

“Whatever do you mean? I was certain that of all people you would just adore my creativeness; but alas you’ve taken my fun. Such a spoilsport you are. Fine then, however boring it is to do so, I suppose I should say it in simple, layman’s terms…”

 

Once again you attempted to feebly make sure every single speck of dust was removed from the mirror in front of you as you actively did your best to ignore the ominous gaze he was sending your way. If Alastor’s red eyes were a physical weapon, you would’ve been long gone by now.

 

“I know your secret, dear.”

 

The words you desperately did not want to hear from him swam through your ears and nearly stopped your heart. If you were alive, you would have absolutely died from the fear his words produced in you.

 

Finally having had enough of looking at him through the mirror, you turned to him. Your breath was ragged and your expression horrified.

 

“Was that plain enough English for you?”

 

Alastor squinted his eyes in a silent question as he gave you a snide smirk. He looked extremely pleased with himself as he witnessed the downfall of your delicately constructed confidence.

 

The demon was now lounging across the foot of your bed, kicking his feet in the air to and fro behind him. He was visibly tickled pink as he clutched his microphone close to his chest. It was as if he was the living embodiment of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. That was the only way to describe the smug, toothy grin he was gifting you.

 

“Though I dare say I’ve never had the pleasure to meet or converse with an angel before…”

 

Alastor paused as a chuckle left him.

 

“Well, I take that back.…At least not one from Heaven; and not one so harmless at that...”

 

Once again you were stunned. How had he managed to get his claws on your secret? The only people you had chosen to tell were Charlie and Vaggie. That conversation was supposed to be private. There was absolutely no way he could’ve known, he had been away from the hotel on business all day.

 

“H-how…?”

 

It wasn’t the most eloquent question you could’ve asked, but your brain was filled with too many questions and concerns to voice at that moment. A one word question was all you had the ability to muster. Your brain was at max capacity and emptying your thoughts was too much effort for what it was worth. You needed time to process your situation.

 

“Oh, I think you know.”

 

At that, Alastors umbral shade squinted its eyes and waved to you slowly. It seemed the demon had a little spy, one to execute the least entertaining of his dirty work.

 

“But since you've been oh so entertaining this evening, I’ll be kind enough not to leave you in the dark any longer.”

 

The Radio demon rolled onto his back and propped one of his legs atop the other; tapping his foot in the air as he folded his hands on his chest. He leaned his head back off of the edge of the bed to look over at you, his ears flicking and twitching with how gravity saw fit to tickle them with his hair. His smile was an upside down crescent and you realized that seeing him upside down was the only way you would ever see him frown.

 

“My dear, nothing in this hotel goes unnoticed by me. I have my ways. Why do you think this place is so secure? Besides sheer, absolute boredom, there is also another reason why I am here…Surveillance and security. You seem to be a smart girl, so surely you don’t need me to help you put two and two together?”

 

So you were right in assuming his shadow was responsible for notifying him of your most personal, restricted information. But that still didn’t explain his presence in your room. You knew he had an ulterior motive other than to gloat about how he knew something extremely confidential about you.

 

“It makes sense for your shadow to have stayed behind while you went out into town this morning, yeah. I get that part, but why else are you here? Specifically in my room? I know it's not just to return my book, otherwise you wouldn't have made it a point to imply you knew my secret…Do you really see me as such a threat that you felt the need to not only have your shadow follow and terrorize me, but for you to come into my private chambers to erase me from existence?”

 

You tightened your fists and glanced towards your bedroom door, poising yourself to make a quick exit if it was needed. You didn't feel your combat skills were adequate in the slightest, but you did know you could run and hide. That was something you were decent at and had proved to yourself earlier that day. So, if he was going to attack you, you felt you had some what of a chance to escape. you had managed to outrun his shadow earlier that night, perhaps Alastor was just as slow?

 

Alastor looked at you a bit owlishly for a split second, obviously not expecting your question, before a hefty bout of jaunty laughter left him as he reared his head back even more off of the edge of the bed and wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. Just his laughter alone confirmed how much of a threat he thought you posed to him: Nada. Zilch. Zero. Absolutely none whatsoever. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or completely offended by that audible confirmation.

 

“Heavens no! Not in the slightest! Besides, if I truly wanted you gone…”

 

Immediately Alastor dissipated into shadow to appear in front of you, his smile malicious and his antlers growing. You didn't have the time to be offended, nor the time to react to his presence as he towered over you, static buzzing around the two of you. You stepped back and nearly tripped over the same ottoman from earlier as you could do nothing else except stare into the irises that turned into radio dials above you.

 

“̴Y̴o̵u̶ ̴w̸o̵u̸l̴d̸ ̷h̷a̸v̵e̴ ̶n̴e̶v̴e̷r̴ ̴h̶a̷d̸ ̸t̴h̷e̸ ̷o̸p̴p̷o̸r̴t̶u̸n̵i̶t̶y̶ ̷t̵o̴ ̴m̸a̴k̸e̵ ̵i̸t̷ ̷i̴n̴t̴o̷ ̶t̸h̵i̶s̵ ̶h̴o̸t̶e̶l̷ ̸i̷n̷ ̷t̵h̷e̶ ̷f̷i̴r̴s̷t̷ ̶p̶l̸a̷c̵e̵…̶”̵

("You would have never had the opportunity to make it into this hotel in the first place...")

 

Yeah, hell no, scratch your escape plans. Your previous idea to out run him if things turned amiss would have failed horrendously.

 

You continued to look up at him. His malignant presence combined with the thought of your pitiful failure if you were to try to flee caused a terrible fear to cling to the marrow of your bones. How had you completely forgotten that he could literally dissipate into thin air and teleport?!

 

Just as quickly as his demeanor darkened, however, Alastor resumed his usual persona and patted you on the head as his features returned to normal and his manic smile became less sinister.

 

So...he wasn't going to kill you?

 

The silent question that plagued your mind was answered as you continued to watch Alastor make his way to his previous seat on your mattress.

 

“Of course, there’s no need to worry about that now. After all, I saw fit to tend to you myself. You should be honored!”

 

So he was the one who tended to you upon your arrival at the hotel? Remembering your previous shoulder injury, the morning you had woken up in your room it was back in its socket. And your face was bandaged, among other things. You just assumed that Charlie or Vaggie were the ones to doctor you up, but you never thought it was Alastor who attempted to nurse you back to health.

 

You supposed in a sort of ironic and possibly demented way that it made sense. He did seem to be someone capable of ripping joints and bones apart, so perhaps the opposite could be true to putting shoulder sockets back into place.

 

Somehow the revealment of his generosity and care to your situation when you had arrived on the hotel’s doorstep sent a soft, fluttery feeling into the pit of your stomach. It mixed with your anxiety and left you lightheaded, but in an almost dazed state. The feeling was unnamable and difficult to pinpoint what type of emotion it produced in you, but at least it eased your current fears. Perhaps it was just the soft embrace of relief enveloping your heart as you realized your afterlife would be spared.

 

Just as quickly as he showed up in front of you, Alastor turned his back to you to walk towards your bed once again, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he sauntered away with a hum in his voice.

 

Alastor may have been a composed individual, but with how he moved around your room every few minutes, there was somehow an antsiness about him you didn’t quite notice before. Perhaps he continuously got bored with where he sat or couldn’t be bothered to just stay in one place and spontaneously felt the urge to move around. You couldn’t blame him as you sometimes did the same thing, especially when you were deep in thought.

 

Even so, you wished that Alastor would stop moving around so much. Trying your best to keep up with him zipping around all over the place was giving you whiplash.

 

“You are as sharp as a tack, though. Yes, there is something else I’d like to discuss with you. I have, as it were, a proposition for you, dear. That is if you are inclined to hear it.”

 

“In what regard?”

 

Alastor turned to look at you over his shoulder and sent you a sweeter, more favorable grin. It was a pleasant contrast from his previous terrifying expression. He was obviously pleased you didn’t hesitate in asking him about what he had to offer.

 

“I was wondering if you would be interested in making a deal this evening.”

 

Your eyes widened at his words, but immediately you pondered why you were so surprised or why you didn’t figure out what he had wanted earlier. It was common sense. That’s all demons seemed to want, contracts and deals; to bind someone up in their clutches forever in order to support their own pursuit of power. Of course Alastor would want to offer you a deal. From just his earlier bout of laughter alone, you knew he saw you as no threat and most likely as easy pickings to make a quick power grab with.

 

You sighed. Why did you feel so hurt by the fact that he saw you as weak? It was stupid to feel such a way; especially when common sense stated that you were in fact terribly timid, reticent and extremely meek. Still, why did his words make you feel almost…ashamed?

 

Thankfully, your thoughts let up in their confusing swirling to allow you to pay attention to Alastor’s next words, and with good timing too. You didn’t want to think about how much of a wimp you were, or how anyone else perceived you anymore.

 

“You seem rather intent on keeping that secret of yours safely guarded, and for good reason I'm sure; but I’m also sure you are just dying to truly know more of yourself. For lack of better words, you’re longing to remember…It's quite evident in the poetry you create…”

 

Once again you were stunned by his words. Was he insinuating what you thought he was?

 

“Are you saying you…You can return my memories?”

 

Alastor calmly stepped behind you and gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze. You looked over your shoulder and up at him, ready to hear more of his supposed plan.

 

“Well I can certainly help point you in the right direction! And for the right price, my assistance is yours for the taking.”

 

“...What would you want in return?”

 

Upon your question, Alastor’s ears perked up at your willingness to humor his interest. He removed one of his hands from your shoulders to poke your nose playfully as he made his point verbally. You flinched at the unexpected action on his part as his laughter continued to ring throughout the room.

 

“I am so glad you asked! All it would take from you is letting me ask for a favor of my choosing at any time in the future.”

 

“Just a favor?”

 

Alastor nodded.

 

“Yes, just a favor!”

 

You looked down at the carpet to gather your thoughts as Alastor moved away to stand in front of you yet again. Just how much were memories worth? How could you put a price on such a thing? That thought alone scared you at what Alastor could possibly ask for. You were both incredibly relieved and surprised he didn’t ask for your soul; but not knowing the favor he wanted was even worse…

 

“For something as intangible and unique as returning memories, it sounds like I would be doing you a massive favor...”

 

“Well, my dear, everything comes at a cost. It all just depends on how badly you want your past uncovered..”

 

Oh, you wanted to remember terribly. The bitter sting of nostalgia and the desire to know who you had been was a bothersome thorn in your side ever since entering Heaven's gates all those years ago. Now that you were presented with the opportunity to finally figure out what your life had been like, who you had been, it was almost too good to be true.

 

But why was Alastor the one wanting to help you out? From what little deduction skills you possessed, it was almost as if he was insinuating he had known you for some strange reason. That couldn’t have been true, though. You had only met him a month ago…Right?

 

The more you thought about it, the more it bothered you. If you two had only just met when you fell, then why would he be offering you the deal at all? He would have no way of helping you figure out who you once were as he would have no leads to personal experiences you could have participated in. He obviously had to have had a personal connection with you while alive. There was no other explanation you could think of…

 

It did make a semblance of sense the more you thought about it. You had been in Heaven for quite a while. So long, in fact, that you had lost track of how many years you had been deceased; and you were sure Alastor had to have been in Hell for around the same time or longer in order to surmount such a notorious reputation.

 

“How…How do you know so much about me? If your offering such a deal, common sense dictates that you must have known me in the past, right? But, You could be mixing me up with someone else entirely…What makes you so sure you'd be able to help me?”

 

“Those are all very good questions, my inquisitive little lady; but I suppose that’s only for me to know and, of course, for you to find out should you take my offer…”

 

“So…you did know me personally, then?” you quirked an intrigued brow, doing your best to gently fish for information. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. The tantalizing desire to know and figure out your past and what Alastor seemed to know was eating you alive.

 

Still, you were hesitant. This was a massive decision, one that needed multiple hours to mull over, but you didn’t have that. It was very much a “get while the getting’s hot” type deal.

 

“Who’s to say?” He gives you a cheeky smirk, knowingly avoiding the questions you provided him, “Perhaps, I did at one point in time, but perhaps not. There’s only one way to truly know for sure, now is there?”

 

You sighed. You should’ve known better than to think he would directly answer you. He was a deal maker, he knew how this game worked better than anyone. No one who had valuable information would give it away freely unless there was something they already wanted in mind from the other party. But what could he possibly want from you? He had said he wanted just a favor, for whatever reason; but what could you offer him that was worth the return of something possibly precious or priceless? Just what would he ask of you? Was getting your memories back really worth the risk of what he would request once the time had come to make good on your side of the deal? You shivered at the thought.

 

“So? What do you say, darling? Do we have ourselves a deal?”

 

Upon Alastor uttering those words and him holding his hand out to you, something incredibly strange happened. Sudden flashes of someone else’s face took residence where Alastor’s used to be. For a split second, he looked like a completely different person, with piercing amber eyes, dark wavy curls and nicely tanned skin.

 

He looked almost…human.

 

But that signature smile of his never left.

 

And then in an instant, the mystery man was gone, as if your vision had never happened to begin with. If you were completely honest, you had been spooked yet again just by the intensity of your supposed hallucination.

 

‘Wh-what in Heaven’s name just happened?! Was what I just saw real?!’

 

You grabbed at your forehead, placing your face into your palm as you took in a deep breath to calm yourself.

 

“Doll? Are you alright?”

 

You nodded, not wanting to alarm your guest. Not only that, but you were so shocked by what you had just experienced that you couldn’t form words. All you could muster was a simple nod and a shaky breath.

 

You couldn’t think; and making a deal with a very powerful being required all of your brain power to make sure you weren’t screwing yourself over something terrible. At least, not as bad as what it could be if you were to negotiate all willy nilly and without much thought. Tonight was not the night for you to be making such important decisions and you decided to let Alastor know this.

 

“Yes, I-I’m fine…B-but, I don't think I’m in the mindset to be making negotiations at the moment so I believe I’ll have to decline–”

 

“Now, let’s not be hasty. It’s late and I’m sure you’ve had a very strenuous evening, so why not just give it a day to think things over, hm? I’m sure you would be most interested in my offer once you've had ample enough rest and time to ponder. Does that sound fair?”

 

Your hand was still pressed against your forehead as you looked back up at him, only managing to speak out a breathless whisper as you massaged your throbbing head. Another headache was on the rise. A big one. You could tell.

 

“I…I can do that, at least…”

 

Alastor tilted his head at you, confusion taking residence in his features for a brief moment before his usual expression came back.

 

“...Excellent! It’s rare that I offer extra time for such matters, after all, so I’m sure you’ll find my offer to be most agreeable. Charitable, even.”

 

You nodded silently as he continued to speak.

 

“Now, I am aware that patience is a virtue, but do keep in mind that one can only be lenient for so long. If I don’t hear from you before this time tomorrow evening, my offer will no longer be open to you. The information I have is undoubtedly something you will want to take advantage of, though, so I hope you will deeply consider it.”

 

Again, you nodded wordlessly. Despite your growing fatigue, you did manage to give him a small grin to show that you understood his terms and were appreciative.

 

He seemed to get the idea that you were no longer in the mood to converse as he inclined his head to you politely and opened your bedroom door.

 

“Well, you have your book now and I’ve said my piece, so I will leave you to get some rest.”

 

Turning from you to make his exit into the hallway, he paused a moment to look over his shoulder. His expression suggested that he had thought of one final thing to mention.

 

“Oh. This goes without saying, but this discussion stays between us. We can’t have others delving into our private matters, now can we?”

 

“No, I guess not…”

 

“Good. Glad we could agree.”

 

Alastor lifted his microphone and tapped you gently on the top of your head before giving you a dazzling grin. You were surprised, yet intensely grateful, that him hitting you over the head with his mic didn't trigger more of a headache.

 

Just as fast as he flashed you his golden incisors pleasantly did his smile turn into a grimace, obviously finding whatever he was about to do to be extremely distasteful.

 

“... Allow me to return your music to you, if one could even consider it that. Perhaps you like the jumpy and abrasive nature of it though. Regardless, you may continue on as you were. Have a pleasant rest of your evening, darling. Farewell.”

 

With a snap from him, your Philco 70 came back to life with the bright tunes you had danced to earlier before he left you standing alone in your doorway, still very much dazed. The sound of Alastor’s humming serenaded the dusty picture frames that adorned the walls as you continued to watch the man dauntlessly saunter away into the dark expanses of the hotel.

 

As you closed your bedroom door to finally be alone with your thoughts, the dissonance of the fast paced song that entered your hearing and your inner world was palpable. The jumpy music that wafted from your radio that had brought you so much joy before was now severely out of place, becoming an unpleasant and needless backdrop for your enervated mind. Still, you listened to the music your Philco deemed worthy enough to play for you, only now with a much more sullen and exhausted disposition.

 

🎵 Between my fingers

 

She leaves then she lingers

 

If she’s gonna go

 

Well then I’m going with her

 

And I know I won’t forget🎵

 

🎵 She was sweet like honey

 

But all I can taste is the blood in my mouth

 

And the bitterness in goodbye

 

Dripping like honey

 

Down the back of my throat and on the front of your mind

 

And well she’s impatient and I’m complacent

 

With just a little taste of wasting time

 

Looking for honey

 

But she stings like she means it

 

She’s mean and she’s mine🎵

 

Going over to your chest of drawers to put your Philco to rest for the evening, you switched off the dial on the front as you were still deep in thought.

 

You were terribly conflicted. You didn’t know what the right choice to make was. Should you honestly consider taking Alastor’s deal? He had been generous enough to give you time to think, but still. Was it even worth the amount of worry that it would cause you thinking about what he would ask you in return? Vaggie’s warning on how it wasn’t in your best interest to interact with The Radio Demon swirled on repeat in your head and wouldn’t leave you. The more your mind ruminated on her words, the more you wanted to just forgo his deal and not have to worry about it and go to bed.

 

Still, what if you never got another chance to recover years worth of memories again? You had been waiting for an opportunity to delve deeper into the memories your mind cruelly caged from you for years. You desired to remember everything the officials in heaven said was needless and unimportant. But it was important. You were missing substantial pieces of yourself and you felt you had the right to finally know them all, after years of being told your feelings on the subject were better left not being acted on.

 

Was the temptation to finally remember your past really something you wanted to gamble with, though? Alastor said he only wanted a favor from you; but even that could be asking a lot when it came down to it.

 

How would this affect your standing with attaining Charlie’s goal for the hotel and seeking redemption for not just the others, but yourself? If you chose to walk down the path Alastor offered, there was a chance that it could negatively impact and hinder you just as much as the promise of the deal going well. What were you going to do?

 

Regardless of what you decided, you had a major deliberation on your hands and you only had until the next evening to make a decision.

 

Of course, that was a problem for future you as your brain had already started the process of shutting down for the evening. You were on the verge of collapsing and wanted nothing more than to listen to the sweet, beckoning song of sleep your bed was composing.

 

Before slipping underneath the silk sheets of your queen sized bed, you opened the drawer on your nightstand and collected the bottle of pills residing within. You popped two into your mouth and went to go get a drink from the sink in the restroom. You did not want to deal with the repercussions of the headache that plagued you; and knew if you didn’t take anything for the pain that it would only get worse throughout the night. You didn’t want that. You wanted to at least attempt to get a good night’s sleep. It was needed in order to give adequate thought to Alastor’s proposition.

 

Besides, an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, especially in this case.

 

Being Sufficiently medicated, you turned off all of the lights to your room. All of them, of course, except for the lamp that dimly shined on your nightstand. You were still spooked from the chase you endured as well as the hallucination you had experienced earlier and didn’t wish to be enveloped completely in darkness just yet.

 

As you made your way over to your bed and tried to get comfortable, you spotted your borrowed library books as well as the poetry book Alastor had left on your nightstand. For some reason, looking at their crisp spines only made you more tired. You were not in the mindset or mood to do any more thinking, creative or regular. However dismayed you were to not be able to read the books you had borrowed that morning, your favorite pastime would have to wait until the next day when you were much more coherent to have a decent thought to write.

 

Satisfied with your decision of forgoing anything creative for the rest of the evening, you turned on your side and snuggled deeper into the comfort of your covers with a small sigh. You closed your eyes, the lingering but fuzzy memory of rich, amber irises and a dazzling smile becoming your chaperones that evening for the slow, arduous journey into your dreams…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The lure was set. Now all you had to do was take the bait.

 

Of course, Alastor had not planned on the possibility of you declining him, even when his shadow had made that more of a likelihood by harassing you in the dark. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you would forgo his most generous offer. No one did that. Everyone he had ever made agreements with were all exceedingly desperate individuals who needed his intervention and strategic benevolence in order to continue on with their mesley afterlives. You were no different, even if you carried yourself as a capable young woman. You were as lost as the rest of the poor wretches he dealt with. You were lost to yourself, whether you wanted to admit it or not. You needed his help, he was more than convinced of it.

 

Perhaps that was why he had extended the time frame for you to make your decision on his offer? It made sense. You had given him a good show and several laughs that evening, so what was a little more time to decide on your fate? It was the least he could do for one who had given him much entertainment within such a short expanse of time.

 

Besides, his curiosity would not be squandered all because you had almost declined him. No, he would resort to other, possibly unorthodox, ways of finding out who you were should that happen. You were not going to escape from him so easily.

 

Of course, he wasn’t opposed to taking such measures; but he didn’t want to take them so soon. So, for your own sake, he genuinely hoped you would be more inclined to say yes to him after having ample rest and time to think things through.

 

It should be easy enough for you to come to the obviously right decision, after all. Especially since you’ve already had a small agreement with him before concerning your borrowed book. That instance wasn’t technically an official deal, but perhaps an essential stepping stone for one. Maybe in light of seeing that he was more than capable of following through on his end of a bargain, plus the extra allotted time he had so generously gifted, you would be more receptive to what he was offering.

 

For now, however, the success of his experiment was resting on the one affirmative your tongue would produce. He could be patient for one more day if it ensured your enthusiastic compliance.

 

Calling out to his shadow to pick up its pace behind him, Alastor continued down the dark corridor. He hummed merrily along and thought of ways to secure your memories, not realizing that the lyrics to the detested song he had the misfortune of hearing earlier had permanently made residence within his subconscious. The meanings of the lyrics he heard were emboldened by the depth of his eagerness and curiosity.

 

Chapter 11: Her Lesson

Summary:

"A lesson without pain is meaningless..." ~ Hiromu Arakawa

What were you going to do?

 

You were sweating bullets as you paced around your room for possibly more than thirty minutes. mind heavy with the weight of your silent deliberations.

 

What was the best course of action to take? You were confused and had gotten lost inside of your anxious mind. Did you even leave your room at all that day? You couldn't remember. All of your concentration had been focused on whether or not it was stupid to take Alastor’s offer from the night before.

 

Why were you even considering making a deal with a demon in the first place?! Didn’t that automatically negate any positive progress you could remotely make to assure your way back home? Was it worth it to possibly be subjected to the bottomless pit for all of eternity in exchange for your memories?

 

You glanced at the small analog clock resting next to the lit lamp on your nightstand; squinting when you couldn’t make out the numbers the little hands and big hands of your clock were pointing to. You assumed you still had plenty of time before you had to make your answer known to Alastor, though. The time was still the same as it had been a few seconds ago when you had looked earlier.

 

You had been anxiously glancing at that clock repeatedly ever since you had gotten up that morning. You couldn’t help it. You had such a big decision to make and you absolutely didn’t know if you were walking into the biggest mistake of your afterlife or the greatest blessing that had ever been offered to you. You couldn’t tell, and the continued lurches that your stomach made you endure didn’t feel like a good sign…

 

All you knew was that this decision would be an important one and it was worth all of your focus to decide.

 

Thus you hadn’t managed to do a single thing that morning besides pace around in your pajamas and worry, weighing the pros and cons of every possibility that could come from you accepting a deal from The Radio Demon. You didn’t think you even brushed your teeth or ate anything, and you had already been up for the past three or four hours. You would need to eat something soon as it was already a little after lunch time.

 

Still, despite the troublesome gurgles your stomach kept accosting your hearing with, your mind wouldn’t shut up. If you did take this deal, you would be going against the advice Vaggie had entrusted to you in your first few days at the hotel. If you agreed with Alastor, you would be proving Vaggie’s fears right. If you took this deal, you would be connected to Alastor’s schemes for the hotel in some way. When your time came to make good on your end of the bargain, you would be forced to deliver upon his request. Heaven only knew what he would ask of you.

 

You gulped and clenched your fists. You would just have to keep one step ahead of him and make sure he couldn’t ask anything of you that would make you endanger this hotel or the folks within.

 

The more you thought, even if the cons were heavy when weighed, you were starting to think maybe you could work the situation to your advantage. Alastor hadn’t bound and damned you to an eternity of being an indentured servant, he had asked for just one simple favor. Even if it was terrifying to think about what he would ask of you, you still could control the parameters of your deal. Deals usually came with stipulations, right? Surely terms could be negotiated.

 

No, he wouldn’t force you to do anything against this place or the friends you were slowly starting to make here. You had promised the princess you would help her keep everyone safe on their journeys to be redeemed. If you took Alastor's deal, you would make double sure to keep your word to Charlie and protect her dream and the people it was for.

 

You nodded to yourself, coming to somewhat of a decision. You could state your terms, just as he had the night before. If he declined your requests, then you would just forgo his. It was as simple as that. There was no need to make things overly complicated and focus on all the what ifs and hows of the situation. Analyzing every minute detail of what could go wrong in itself would’ve been an eternal commitment and your brain wasn’t built with the endurance required to do so.

 

Feeling a bit better after allowing yourself to come to a nearly decided deliberation, your brain fostered new imaginations; ones thankfully more pleasant than the previous.

 

Just who was that man you saw in your thoughts yesterday? Why did you get such a mixed feeling of wonder and dread upon his sudden and brief visualization in your mind? You had seen him for a split second, but the vision of him was so vivid that you could even make out the faint scars along his dark arms as his maroon colored sleeves had been rolled up.

 

You had to admit, the man was handsome. Devilishly so. You closed your eyes as you pictured him, sitting pretty in a booth in a restaurant of some kind as he held onto a whiskey glass. You remembered from your vision that the gentleman was nothing but smiles. The memory of the way the corners of his lips curled inwards and transformed his smile into a mischievous smirk sent a deeply painful, wistful ache into the depths of your heart. For the afterlife of you, you couldn’t understand why…

 

Countless more questions poured into your brain upon thinking of your mystery man with the dark curls and amber eyes. Each thought you pondered over was more confusing than the last:

 

Why did that man look so much like Alastor? Why were his features so familiar? Why were their smiles the exact same?

 

Even more rapid fire questions assaulted your curiosity the more you dwelled on the situation. Could this possibly be a memory, a look into your past? If so, why and how did Alastor’s words trigger such a thing? Did he somehow use magic to give you a sneak peek of what he could do for you should you agree to his terms? Was Alastor telling you the truth? Was this something you wanted to look into yourself? Was the desire and curiosity to know your past that had been building in you for a century finally something you would let yourself pursue?

 

You were almost convinced until your thoughts took a nosedive once again into negative territory.

 

What if your past was something you possibly shouldn’t remember? Wasn’t there a reason you had forgotten your memories in the first place? Surely if you couldn’t remember it in heaven then there was a good reason, right? Was your past truly that terrible that it could’ve been considered a mercy to forget? What if your past was filled with nothing but horrible memories? If you remembered and that was the case, then you would be plagued with that knowledge forever…

 

Was that really something you wanted to delve deeper into?

 

Wasn’t it better to continue to be enveloped in the bliss that came with ignorance?

 

You took a deep inhale and shook your head, silently sorting your thoughts as you released your breath. Regardless of how much thinking you did, you already knew your answer. It had been apparent all along.

 

You glanced at the analogue clock on your nightstand once more, taking note of the time. Before hurrying off to your wardrobe to get dressed for the day, you mentally prepared the answer you would present to Alastor.

 

You just hoped you wouldn't live to regret the decision you chose…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Just how long did it take to think over a simple deal offer?

 

The Overlord was seated alone in the dining room at the head of the long elaborate mahogany table. Lunch had come and went and the rest of the patrons had left to tend to their respective hobbies or responsibilities for the afternoon. Alastor was poised gracefully in the chair provided, sipping on his fourth cup of coffee.

 

Alastor hadn’t slept a wink the night before, having spent the majority of his night in the library searching for any information that would be beneficial to his endeavors to help you. The evidence of his restlessness was clearly seen in the bags under his eyes hidden beneath a small amount of makeup.

 

He was used to sleeping at odd hours regardless, but mulling over the what-ifs and possible things that could put a wrench in his plans for you was exhausting work. He was too preoccupied with formulating and planning activities to ensure the return of your memories; and all that was only if you had said yes to him. He hadn’t even factored in what he would do if you declined him. The very thought of receiving a negative answer irked him.

 

Alastor’s eye twitched. It was a sign that his patience was wearing terribly thin as he straightened out the newspaper in his hands he was currently pretending to read and cleared his throat. His ears twitched every so often as the continued thrum of the bottom of his shoe hit the floor repeatedly in an effort to release the impatience stored within his body.

 

Yes, he remembered that he had given you a deadline by that evening to report back to him; but he didn’t think you would greedily take his generosity for all that it was worth and actually use that time. It was a nicety in verbiage only.

 

The deer demon clenched the edges of his newspaper. His claws threatened to tear through the parchment as he tried to skim over the page. His thoughts clouded over with annoyance. Alastor could feel his shadow curling around his ankles, the static in his umbral companion's voice rising in severity. The sound was very much akin to how his own musings increased in incessant volume.

 

‘If that woman continues to take her sweet time to decide only for her to give me a negative answer, I swear I will rend the flesh from her bones, flay her skin and devour her on the spot…!’

 

Silent words rapidly flowed between his ears as he brought a gloved hand to his chin, giving a soft “hmm” in thought. Regardless of his impatience, his mind had delivered to him a fruitful concept to linger on while he waited.

 

‘I wonder how she would taste? Would the red coloration in her blood make a difference in the flavor? Perhaps not, since she still is of divinity and angelic lineage… Oh, but she is such a fragile little thing. Perhaps her flesh is just as tender and delicate to chew…? There is much to consider… The most important question, however, is how would I savor her…?’

 

Alastor’s mouth watered as his mind was swept up in silent deliberation; weighing the pros and cons of what to do with you should you decline his offer and waste his precious time.

 

‘Perhaps I would need to sample a taste, raw, first and then decide if she would be better consumed with a bit of spice. Maybe she would be paired best into one of Mother’s recipes? Yes, I could stoke her over the fire or have her simmering in a pot of roux on the stove. Surely I could try an assortment of recipes. She is a rarity after all. It is most probable that I would enjoy her in a bit of everything…’

 

Before he could come to a decision, his sensitive hearing caught wind of movement from behind him. He flicked his ears towards the sound as he heard the door to the room he inhabited click open. Turning his head to address whomever came into the room, his countenance brightened upon seeing the individual who consumed his every thought.

 

‘Well, speak of the devil…’

 

The demure little darling that he had been impatiently expecting was peeking through the entryway into the dining room. Your head hesitantly turned to and fro until your vibrant eyes met his.

 

Inclining your head to him politely, you gave a shy grin as you made your way through the door. Alastor caught a glimpse of your usual fidgeting habit as your fingers deftly twirled around and into the edge of the frayed cardigan you sported.

 

You took cautious steps towards him. Your eyes remained low and slightly unfocused. It was as if you were deep into the confines of your imagination.

 

Pleased to have his little poet finally make her appearance, Alastor folded the newspaper he had leafed through and set it aside on the table.

 

“Salutations dear! I do hope you weren’t feeling peckish. The kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid. Our dear Niffty’s just cleaned it and wishes for it to remain that way. She certainly does rule her kitchen with an iron fist, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

With a chuckle in his voice, Alastor lingered his gaze over you as you pulled out the closest chair to him and greeted him quietly. You smoothed your cardigan underneath you before taking a seat and rested your hands on your lap; once again beginning your famous nervous habit of pulling at your clothes.

 

Alastor’s ears flicked as he secretly studied you. He could hear the shutter in your breath as you inhaled softly. Perhaps you needed a silent moment to collect your thoughts.

 

A devilish smirk threatened to stretch his face apart when you weren’t looking. You were too occupied with ripping your poor cardigan to pieces one tiny thread at a time to even notice him staring. You were nervous. He could tell. Your agitation was promising, your worry bountiful. Fruitful. Beautiful.

 

How delicious.

 

“I-I suppose I wouldn’t blame her. It’s hard work trying to keep everything here spick and span...”

 

The stutter in your voice had Alastor’s mouth watering. Apprehension was coming off of you in thick waves to the point he could taste your unease. It was feeding him in unspeakable ways and allowed both his mind and his hunger to roam freely.

 

Alastor flapped a hand at you before entwining his fingers and resting them comfortably underneath his chin, compelling his tempting thoughts to cease for a moment.

 

“Yes, well, Niffty is a very capable little lady. You’ve personally held witness to her work a plethora of times.”

 

He received yet another nod from you, noticing the bouncing of your leg to relieve the tension within your body. You even rolled up your cardigan sleeves to keep your silent distress at bay, revealing your tender flesh from underneath the fabric. You were terribly nervous indeed. More so than usual.

 

Alastor could feel his shadow bristling with excitement, mimicking his own as it left its place underneath his chair to venture closer to you. You visibly shivered upon its presence behind you, the sign of your weakness etching Alastor’s smile even further into his face. He had to take a sip of his coffee to hide the change in his expression as he listened to you chatter away timorously.

 

“I honestly don’t know how she does it. S-she usually has everything clean before I can even help her…”

 

Alastor’s ears flicked once again, his jaw tense and his teeth gritted as his mouth stretched the most dazzling golden smile he could muster. His impatience was driving him to the brink of insanity.

 

Tantalizing as it was to flit over the elephant in the room, however, it was equal parts frustrating. He was having a very hard time keeping his composure. What was your answer? Would you agree to his terms? Did the two of you have a deal, or no?

 

Would he aid you or continue to plot your demise? Alastor’s benevolence would depend on if he was pleased enough with the answer you provided. Making him wait any longer for your reply wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

 

Alastor cleared his throat as he inclined his head, his chin still nestled atop his folded hands pleasantly as he gave a subtle nudge into moving the conversion along. He spoke to you with the last remaining calmness he possessed.

 

“Oh yes, I agree with you there, my dear; however, I’m sure discussing our darling maid is not the only reason why you’ve made your way to come find me this afternoon, is it?”

 

Alastor’s fingers thrummed over each other as he tilted his head at you expectantly.

 

“So…Have you put any thought into my proposition?”

 

You nodded. Your eyes glanced away from him as your lips remained reticent and demure. The silence you were putting him through was such madness. Alastor had to mentally remind himself to keep his voice level, smooth and good natured, considering any other type of reaction from him would ignite the fear resting underneath the surface of your soft features. However much he enjoyed seeing you flustered, fearfully breathless and glossy eyed, now was not the time for such sweet torture.

 

The overlord gestured to you with one of his hands.

 

‘…Have you come to a deliberation?”

 

“I-I have…”

 

Alastor’s smile widened, the golden daggers within his mouth glistening. He nodded expectantly, urging you to proceed. You were putting him through utter insanity with each moment you continued to withhold your answer.

 

“…And? What’s your verdict, doll?”

 

His shadow edged closer to you, hissing and hovering over your shoulder with desperate intrigue. The sounds his ubiquitous servant made caused another series of soft shivers to swim through you, goosebumps forming along your arms to the point that he had watched you readjust your sleeves to cover your skin once again.

 

“I…”

 

A hesitation, full of silent promise, escaped your lips. Your words, or the lack thereof, had Alastor on the edge of his seat. He gritted his teeth. His sharp smile was at full capacity as he stared at you to the point he could’ve bore holes into your eyes with just his focus alone.

 

What did you decide?

 

Yes or No?

 

“Well, dear?”

 

Life or death?

 

With the close of your eyes and an exhale you delivered your verdict with a delicate stutter.

 

“I-I will take your offer…”

 

Ah. So you had chosen life.

 

How fortunate for you.

 

Alastor’s grin was unrivaled as he closed his eyes and nodded with understanding, taking in the overflowing amount of satisfaction your reply had just supplied to him.

 

‘Excellent. All according to plan…’

 

“So…Do we have ourselves a deal, then?”

 

Alastor opened his eyes and stretched an eager hand out for you to take, tilting his head to regard you enthusiastically. Green magic and archaic symbols swirled ethereally over his wrist as he regarded you with manic glee.

 

Instead of returning his gesture to seal the deal, you held up your hand and requested for a pause.

 

“Let me finish…”

 

Alastor blinked, not expecting that reaction from you as the magic in his hand faded into nothingness. He motioned to you once more, biting into his tongue to hold himself back from a sharp rebuttal; the pain helping to keep the last shred of patience he had intact. With a soft sigh, he spoke to you gently with the subtle clench of his jaw as the taste of iron flooded into his mouth.

 

“Proceed…”

 

“I…I will take your deal, but I want it all in writing. Not saying you would or wouldn’t do anything sketchy, but I don’t want to risk anything going wrong… A-and I have stipulations…”

 

‘Clever girl…’

 

Alastor leaned back into this chair, relaxing his smile and taking another sip of his coffee to rinse his mouth of his own blood. He didn’t wish to continue to converse with you only to have the reminder of what could’ve become of you everytime he swallowed. The taste of blood was enjoyable regardless of whether it was his or not; but the flavor only encouraged troublesome thoughts. Alas, your reply to his offer mandated that he extend mercy to you for the time being; and the inner workings of his mind needed to cooperate in order for that to happen.

 

No, imagining you on a platter would not help in his attempts of being courteous to you; nor would they be helpful in ascertaining your identity. He needed to be on his best behavior; regardless of how fun it was to imagine what dish you would taste best in.

 

Alastor mentally shook the thoughts away. He wanted to keep his end of your agreement; and the only way to do so was to not tempt himself. It was a terrible challenge to keep his curiosity in check, but he surmised that it would prove to be such an enjoyable one should he succeed.

 

Taking an extra sip of his coffee, he enjoyed the remnants of steam gently rolling from his drink before placing his favorite mug back onto the coaster next to him. Alastor flitted his gaze over to you once more to see if he could decipher your expression. You were expectantly looking at him, your face fragile and easy to read. You were making a sorry attempt at dominance with your continued stare; though as the seconds passed with him providing his own silence, your meekness usurped your bravery. You glanced to the side, forfeiting your title to victory in the tacit, wordless game the two of you played.

 

Alastor chuckled, feeling generous enough to allow your request, no matter how much the fine print of such arrangements annoyed him. They were always so tedious, which is why most of the time he used a handshake to seal a deal instead. No other soul contracted to him, at least for a long while, had ever requested for their deals to be put into writing; but Alastor supposed that was just your uniqueness shining through. You were indeed a fan of words, so it wasn’t a surprise for you to request for the terms of your agreement to be expressed with ink on parchment.

 

“Alright, I suppose a little negotiation is applicable in this case since we were unable to discuss things in detail last night. What are your terms, dear?”

 

You gave him a soft grin, relief evident in your features. Did you think he would decline you? He may have hated the tediousness that came with going over paperwork, but this was a business transaction. A little negotiation was to be expected. It was unavoidable.

 

The Overlord watched intently as you cleared your throat and closed your eyes, reciting your request of him.

 

“I won’t condone the injury or humiliation of others and I will not mentally, emotionally or physically hurt, maim, torture, endanger, humiliate or kill another soul for you in your said favor. Also, I would like my secret of being a citizen of Heaven to remain between you, Charlie, Vaggie and myself. At least until I see fit to tell the others. I will dictate when that happens, of course.”

 

Alastor paused, allowing your words to filter through his subconscious. Of course you would make such a request. Only a saint would put the needs of others above their own, the exception being the Princess. Regardless, your request didn’t bother him. As long as you gave consent to his deal, he couldn’t care less about what your stipulations were.

 

“Well, you certainly have thought this through, haven’t you? You strike a hard bargain; but I commend you for your meticulous efforts. Very well.”

 

The Radio Demon snapped his fingers. Managing to weave around your chair to face you, his shadow presented to you the embodiment of your commitment: a faded, golden scroll adorned with maroon script and an X with a long line at the bottom. The paper unfurled as it floated in front of you and a fountain pen was excitedly ushered towards your hands.

 

“Besides, I hardly think you would be the type to do any of the aforementioned things anyways. You don’t seem capable of committing such enjoyable atrocities.”

 

You took the elegant pen as you glanced over to your contractor with a surprisingly happy grin. However grateful he was for the upturned curvature of your lips, Alastor was still curious as to why you were grinning like a fool at him considering he had just insulted you.

 

“Well thank you.”

 

“Ha! Thank you, she says!” Alastor’s exclamation was accompanied by the sound of uproarious laughter being delivered from his microphone, followed by his own.

 

“You sure do know how to keep the laughter rolling; but no, dear, that wasn't a compliment.”

 

You only shrugged at him as you fiddled with the cap of the pen his shadow had lent to you, sliding your thumb up and down along its surface to create a delicate clicking sound.

 

“Maybe not to you; but I suppose whether or not you meant it as one does not make a difference to me. For a saint, it is one of the best to receive, in my personal opinion, and I will take it as such. ”

 

Alastor snickered. Such a devout little soul you were. He wondered if your prolonged exposure to the cruelty of Hell and continued interaction with Heaven’s outcasts would change that.

 

“...Touché. I suppose you would see it that way, wouldn’t you? Well, even if the rest of Hell does not share your compunction, at least you are polite. Now, going back to the task at hand…”

 

The overlord’s shadow pushed the scroll towards you, quietly urging you to make your mark on the page presented. Alastor’s grin was a mixture of mischievousness and excitement as he peered over at you.

 

“...I do believe it’s time to sign.”

 

You hesitated for a moment, but carefully took the document from his shadow and stared down at it as you continued to click the cap of his pen. One of Alastor’s eyes twitched as he watched your gaze move back and forth across the page, your lips muttering faint, incomprehensible words.

 

“Might I inquire as to what you are doing?”

 

You spared him a quick glance before going back to staring down at the paper in your hands as you quietly answered him.

 

“Reading…”

 

“There is nothing else to read. Only what we’ve just discussed, dear.”

 

You spared him another glance.

 

“Even so. I’m not about to just sign an important document without knowing full well what I’m jumping into. The fine print is always important. You're a deal maker, aren’t you? Shouldn't you know better than anyone about how these things are done?”

 

‘Oh such a clever girl, indeed…’

 

Alastor let a low chuckle escape him, the corners of his grin curling pleasantly as he regarded you.

 

“True. Very well, take your time. I’m sure you will find everything is in order…”

 

With the overlord’s permission, you once again looked back down to review the page held in your hands. With each faint word uttered underneath your breath grew his irritation, but for some reason he couldn’t understand why he was so bothered. It was normal for someone to want to discuss agreements in the business he was in. Was he truly that desperate to make your deal official? Was his curiosity that insatiable, to finally know if you were his wife? Surely not.

 

To even prove to himself that he wasn’t in the least bit affected by your insistence to painstakingly skim over the paperwork he had prepared, Alastor remained silent and watched you read until you were satisfied.

 

Finally, his attempts at patience paid off when the pen in your hands ceased its incessant clicking and instead replaced the sound with ink drenching and scribbling into paper.

 

Alastor watched as your face reflected the green illumination of magic that surrounded the scroll you held; confirming your compliance with the contract he had created. It was done. His grin widened.

 

Now the fun part could begin…

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

You sighed, a strange feeling of relief washing over you. The hard part was over.

 

Your hand was still shaking from the remnants of your anxiety as you stared at your nickname saturating the bottom of the document in red. You couldn’t back down now, the evidence of your agreement was still freshly stained into the paper. The ink had barely any time to dry before you witnessed the letters of your acquired nickname glow a fierce, vibrant green and singe themselves further into the document.

 

Even if Alastor didn’t ask for you to sign your soul away, you still felt as if you were making a horrible decision as you continued to observe the ethereal green glow on the page. Perhaps that feeling was normal though, regardless of if it was just for a simple agreement or for something as important as giving up your free will to another, more powerful being.

 

Regardless of if your deal with alastor wasn’t the latter, you still felt the need to skim over every single word printed on your physical agreement with him. You did not wish to commit to anything unless you had all the facts presented to you. You weren’t going to screw yourself over, nor Charlie’s dream for that matter. You made her a promise, and you were going to keep it.

 

Before you could truly realize what you had committed to, the scroll disappeared from your grip and magically ended up in Alastor’s hands. He pulled aside one side of the lapels of his overcoat, stuffing the rolled document inside a secret pocket. Once it was safely tucked away, Alastor patted the outside of his coat for good measure.

 

Looking at you, the Overlord’s smile seemed unusually bright, even for him. He certainly was tickled pink about the whole arrangement. There was no sign of hesitation to be seen on his part. You doubted he would show any sort of weakness regardless, but it was a bit strange at how eager his smile had become.

 

“Now that everything’s settled, why don't we start moving things along?”

 

Disappearing from his seat, Alastor immediately materialized beside you and extended an arm to you. Once you managed to stand and entwine your arm securely with his, he led you towards the door and down the hall in the direction of the main lobby with a hum nestled in his voice and some pep in his step.

 

“Wait, now?!”

 

“But of course! There's no time quite like the present, after all! The sooner we start, the sooner you can get back to remembering!”

 

Alastor continued to pull you along with him, his strides smaller to accommodate you and synchronize your steps.

 

“Now, the deal with memories, dear, is that they are quite finicky to coax out of the subconscious. Don’t be discouraged or dismayed if things don’t automatically come to you.”

 

Alastor glanced down at you and pulled your arm closer to his person as the two of you neared the front lobby. He accompanied his gaze with an encouraging grin; the warmth of his smile mingling with the warmth of his closeness.

 

“It’s nothing you should worry over though, dear. With my guidance, that noggin of yours will get back into working order and your memories will return in no time at all! I am sure of it!”

 

You nodded up at him, wordlessly agreeing as he continued to jauntily give instructions. He seemed so sure of himself that he was capable of helping you. Perhaps you could believe him?

 

“I would advise to take it easy and let things come naturally to you, however small the memory. There is no need to put pressure on yourself; otherwise you will cause your body undue stress and we wouldn’t want that. No, we need you nice and relaxed to ensure your brain acclimates to the process.”

 

Alastor spared you another glance. It was obvious he wanted to make sure his captive audience of one was still paying attention to him. Despite the nerves your body was secretly fighting off, you gave him a sincere grin to silently let him know he could continue on his spiel and that you would listen intently.

 

“Perhaps we should begin with something simple? I think having a drink would be a good place to start as it is a common pastime for most souls. Besides, simulating an experience you may have had in the past could possibly trigger an inkling of a thought and allow for subtle neurological connections to take place.”

 

“Drinking? B-but it’s in the middle of the afternoon…”

 

The bar was within sight as Alastor continued to escort you, peering down at you for a moment at your question. His brow furrowed in confusion but the smile he gave you suggested a hint of amusement as your slight resistance.

 

“Is that a problem?”

 

You shook your head ferociously.

 

“N-no! Not at all, I was just…”

 

You grew quiet as heat bloomed across your face, not sure of the word you were looking for to describe how you felt. Alastor seemed to notice your unease as he started up the conversation yet again.

 

“Hmm. Partaking in a bit of day drinking would be good for you, I think. If nothing else, it would allow you to loosen up. You are much too tense at present, dear. That simply won’t do. We need you pleasantly eased and comfortable in order for our efforts to succeed, after all.”

 

“I guess you're right…That makes sense.”

 

“But of course! Besides, there is no better company to drink with than I, darling. In fact, this was one of my favorite pastimes we would indulge in together…”

 

His voice trailed off as he gave you yet another dazzling smile. Did he mean to sneak in a hint about your past in conversation? You weren’t going to complain in the slightest though. If he was going to throw you a bone, then you were going to run with it. You did want to confirm your suspicions, however, and slipped in an innocent question.

 

“So…You did know me personally…?”

 

In response, Alastor gave you a jovial laugh. At least he was willing to accept your curiosity. That was good.

 

“Ha! Yes my dear, and if you are anything like how I remember, then trying this again will be just as entertaining. You were a lightweight, after all. Actually, I believe it was your first time tasting Whiskey, let alone consuming any alcohol, just on a whim.”

 

Was that joy you heard in his voice? The way he spoke suggested that it was a fond memory.

 

“Of course, I could go on and on about what I recall of you; but it would be utterly useless until you actually remember yourself. So we will start small. And this is what we will start with.”

 

Alastor went up to the bar, with you in tow beside him, and scooted out a stool for you to take a seat. You thanked him quietly and made yourself comfortable.

 

Once the two of you were situated, Alastor tapped the bell on the bar with his microphone and gave a few more dings for good measure to make sure his presence was known. The sound reverberated through the air and alerted the cat who had his back turned.

 

An annoyed Husk looked back at you both over his shoulder and gave a deep sigh as the bell on the counter continued to ding due to the repeated pressing Alastor was doing. Throwing the towel he had in his hands over his shoulder, he leaned his elbows on the bar and rested his cheek on his paw with an exasperated sigh and a dour expression. With his free paw, he placed it over the bell and stopped the dinging. Wordlessly, Husk gestured towards the tall man with the face full of grins and gave the overlord the attention he was loudly requesting.

 

“Husker, my good man, pour me one of your finest!”

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

The cat sighed and removed his paw from the bell only to reach for his booze bottle. His sour mood was evident, and you supposed that the incessant dinging provided by Alastor wasn’t helping matters. Perhaps Husk had a rough night and was still not mentally ready to deal with Alastor’s antics? Maybe he just didn’t want to deal with anyone, for that matter. Thinking more on it, you couldn’t recall ever seeing him in a good mood.

 

Alastor blinked. It was evident he was not prepared for the bartender’s response; but he quickly recovered as if the statement hadn’t taken him aback.

 

“Oh, Husker, you wound me so. Fine then, if you won’t pour it for me, then how about for this lovely little lady, hmm?”

 

At his words, Alastor wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to his person for emphasis. You flinched, looking up at the Overlord with slightly wide eyes. You were surprised by his closeness but didn’t say anything. Alastor didn’t seem to notice your change in countenance or expression as he continued to stare at the bartender.

 

“Pour her something strong perhaps? Something that’ll give her a real kick, like that fine whiskey behind you. On the top shelf, to the left.”

 

Alastor lifted and rotated his microphone in his other hand, it still pointing at the drink in question.

 

Husk gave you a side glance, obviously weary of Alastor’s overbearing nature. He was being pushier than usual and even the cat seemed to notice.

 

“Are you sure? It’s strong, and you look like you haven’t had a drink in your life, or afterlife for that matter. How about I make ya something sweet? Fruity? That’s what I make Angel, anyways. He probably has a palate similar to yours.”

 

Before you could speak, Alastor spoke for you.

 

“No, she’ll have the whiskey. Neat.” his voice sounded pointed, irritated that there was even a discussion about it.the crackle of radio static was present in his voice.

 

Husk grumbled, his fur bristling as his wings fluffed up.

 

“Look. I ain’t makin’ the drink for you, it’s for her.”

 

Husk looked back to you. His voice, although still very much gruff, wasn’t as abrasive as it was with Alastor when he spoke.

 

“So, what’ll it be?”

 

You weren’t really sure. The whole reason you were even considering having a drink was for the possibility of some of your memories returning to you. There wouldn’t really be a point to all this if you didn’t go with Alastor’s recommendation. After all, he had said you had ordered whiskey your first time drinking with him. You thought you might as well experience it for the first time again. Although, thinking more on it, the cat was right. You did have a sweet tooth.

 

“I think I could try the whiskey, but do you have a sweet version?”

 

Husk gave a small snort at how you described it, obviously amused with your inexperience.

 

“The only thing we got that’s closest to something like that would be a peanut butter whiskey. It’s like a liqueur, but not. You might also like it better “up” rather than “neat”, but whatever.” Husk grabbed the bottle he mentioned from the top shelf, climbing on his stool to reach the drink easier.

 

“Is there a difference?” You were curious, and you didn’t really know what Husk meant. You weren’t familiar with the terms he used.

 

Husk gave you another look, this one much more incredulous.

 

“Uh, yeah? Up means you want it chilled, shaken, or stirred with ice but no ice in the glass when ya drink it. On the rocks means ya want ice in the glass. Neat just means you want it straight from the bottle, room temperature, with nothin’ else added. Not even ice.”

 

You nodded, thankful he took the time to explain it to you.

 

“Ah okay. Thanks.”

 

Husk silently regarded you for a moment before giving a deep sigh. He ended up getting two bottles from the shelf, one of a rye whiskey and one of the peanut butter bourbon he mentioned.

 

You glance back at Alastor. He still wore the same smile as always, calmly looking at his claws. Husk poured him some of the rye whiskey and slung his glass across the bar to him while the Radio Demon wasn’t looking. He grew irritated when Alastor caught the drink without even batting an eye. His reflexes had been quick, much to the cat’s obvious dismay.

 

“So you changed your mind and decided to pour me a glass? I’m touched.”

 

Alastor looked at Husk, feigning an emotional reaction before swishing the alcohol around in his glass. He brought it to his nose to smell, appreciating the aroma. Only then did he take a sip of his drink, his smile never leaving his face.

 

Husk just rolled his eyes before looking back at you expectantly.

 

“I guess I’ll try the peanut butter whiskey…up? Please?”

 

Husk went to the refrigerator behind the bar to grab a chilled glass and got to work on your drink. You look over at Alastor once again, who was absentmindedly swishing the dark reddish-gold liquid in his glass. He looked disgruntled behind his calculated smile.

 

“That’s not exactly what you ordered the first time, but I suppose for this little experiment it doesn’t really matter. Maybe the shock of the drink itself will still help, since consuming alcohol isn’t something you are accustomed to.”

 

“Well only one way to find out, I guess.” You nervously laughed.

 

“Yes, indeedy! Of course, I’m sure you can work your way up to the stronger drink. After all, this could take multiple attempts.”

 

You looked down, discouraged at the thought. Exactly how long would you be at this?

 

“Now, don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I am determined to recover those memories, one way or another. They won’t be locked up forever, I promise.” Alastor tapped your head with his microphone a few times for emphasis. You didn’t know whether to take his words as a promise or a threat.

 

“Here’s ya drink.” Husk gruffly spoke, setting the chilled glass in front of you. He also slid a cup of ice cubes next to it.

 

“The ice is for if it’s too strong. Just dilute it or whatever if you don’t like it.”

 

You smiled and thanked him as you took the first glass in your hands. The intricate details of the frost and frozen condensation on the outside of the glass cooled your palms pleasantly. It was a nice contrast to the darker liquid in your glass that would inevitably burn your throat.

 

In any case, you were appreciative of Husk’s attempt at making the drink easier for you to stomach. Upon receiving your gratitude, He just shrugged as he slung a dish towel over one of his shoulders and walked away. He swiped the half empty booze bottle from off the bar and carried it with him before taking a swig and announced that he was going on a break.

 

You watched him leave, the sound of the ice dropping from your extra glass returning you to the task at hand. Turning your head to your companion, Alastor met you with an eager grin as he flapped a gloved hand towards your drink.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go ahead and drink up.”

 

Glancing back down at the chilled glass in your hands, you inspected the contents and swirled a finger around the rim of the glass, the small action creating an echo and causing soft ripples to dance through the spirit inside. You took the drink in your hand and gulped. You were stalling as you weren’t ready for the burn your throat would be subject to, but didn’t want to waste anymore of Alastor’s time. He was looking at you and nodded to you expectantly, silently urging you to give it a go.

 

With a soft sigh, you brought the drink to your lips and turned it back, taking the liquid in like a shot. You assumed that was how you were supposed to drink it as you only ever saw angel and Husk consuming copious amounts of alcohol every night in the same fashion. They drank with gusto, so you assumed you had to do the same.

 

However, You should have known to take it a little easier on the first drink as your only example on how to consume liquor was a seasoned alcoholic and a pornstar experienced and high on the night life. Of course you wouldn’t have been so lucky as to drink it gracefully. As soon as the liquid met your tongue, the burn attacked your palate with a fiery vengeance. The heat was excruciating and absolutely unbearable. It was as if someone had put a scalding, branding iron to your tongue and held it there.

 

Alastor had mentioned that this was a favored pastime of his, but the fact of why anyone would find an experience like that enjoyable was lost to you. Perhaps your sentiments were the same when you were alive? Regardless of what belief you held back then, the present experience was horrid and you were tempted to forgo the drink all together.

 

It was only by an absolute miracle that you didn’t choke or get anything on your clothes as you managed to swallow your drink. You were hacking your lungs up to the point of tears and your mouth was on fire. The burn still persisted and so did the pain, emboldening the paroxysm of coughs you were experiencing. You knew before the night was over that your throat would be raw. There was not a doubt in your mind about that fact.

 

You were met with laughter as you somehow managed to open your eyes through tears and look over at Alastor. His eyes were closed in glee as he hid his mouth with his hand, cackling as if he had just heard the funniest joke in history. If you weren’t busy manually thinking about keeping oxygen in your lungs, you would’ve stopped to admire just how beautiful his genuine laughter was. The thought would’ve sent blood rushing to your face if your current circumstances hadn’t already done so.

 

As your coughing died down, a scarlet handkerchief was presented to you by Alastor’s shadow as the Overlord’s happy giggles continued on. You looked at the ubiquitous black mist and thanked it as sincerely as you could before bringing the fabric to your face to wipe away excess and unwanted liquids from your eyes and lips. The only reply you received from the Phantom was a tilt of its head before it returned to float behind its master. You were just glad the eldritch mist wasn’t insisting on tormenting you again. It had been nice all day and you hoped it would continue to stay that way.

 

A satisfied sigh was heard from beside you, small giggles and cracks of static mixed within.

 

“Oh, you are an utter delight, my dear! My, what a show!”

 

You glanced over to see Alastor taking off his monocle, encased in fog, and cleaned it on the sleeve of his overcoat before putting it back on his face. Remnants of his laughter still clung to his voice as he spoke.

 

“Though, I do hope you know that you ingested it the wrong way just now. It's not a shot, dear. It's meant to be carefully enjoyed and savored.” Alastor took a slow, ginger sip of his own drink to demonstrate as he eyed you down above his glass. His smug smile was distorted and refracted in the clear glass pressed to his lips as he gracefully enjoyed his drink.

 

You begrudgingly let him have his fun as you twirled the handkerchief previously gifted to you in between your fingers, giving a huff of displeasure. He just loved seeing you make a fool of yourself, didn’t he?

 

“Don’t you think that would’ve been good information to have given me before I started drinking?”

 

Another small bout of Alastor’s jaunty laughter filled the room as he absentmindedly swished the alcohol in his glass.

 

“Ha! Now, where's the fun in that? Like I said, if I told you everything beforehand then there wouldn’t be any authenticity to your discoveries. You would just be chasing after an expectation, not a memory. Your reactions wouldn’t be as genuine, and that's what we need, dear. As I've stated previously, memories are fickle little things and we must take every precaution to ensure they are as accurate as possible. Surely you understand…”

 

You nodded as you looked down at the remaining liquid swirling in your glass. Alastor did have a point.

 

“And I do recall mentioning that you were an inexperienced lightweight, yes?”

 

You nodded.

 

“Did I do the same thing in life?”

 

“I don’t know. Did you?”

 

Alastor’s voice carried a teasing lilt as it was paired with a mischievous smirk. He propped an elbow on the bar and leaned his head on his fist, crossing his legs and tapping one of his feet in the air. Great amusement was attached to his knowing smile as he continued to look your way.

 

The Overlord certainly loved his riddles; and it was obvious that he knew something but he remained tight lipped. It seemed the longer he kept you in the dark, the more enjoyment he gained. Did you honestly expect anything different, though? Alastor was a mystery on the best of days. That fact shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

 

Hearing the overlord’s low chuckle had you glancing up to meet his enthused gaze, breaking you from your internal ponderings.

 

“You should be asking yourself that, dear. You're the one needing to remember, not me.”

 

You sighed inwardly as you looked back into the depths of your glass. Alastor was enjoying your mental conflict a little too much for your tastes.

 

“Well how am I supposed to remember with all of these faint hints you're handing out? It’s like finding a needle in a haystack…I-I don’t really know where to start…”

 

“Hmm…I suppose you do have a point. Perhaps providing you with a lesson will clear your mind and help you focus on what is truly important. Though I am surprised…”

 

Alastor took a swig of his drink as he peered over at you above his glass. You returned his wordless gesture with a look of confusion.

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Well, surely there are bars and drinking establishments in Heaven? Didn’t you have opportunities to learn or socialize there?”

 

His question earned him a small laugh of your own as you scooted your glass around the bar to allow the liquid to gently slosh around inside.

 

“You’d be correct in assuming that, but I never was one for the night life up there, nor did I ever make a habit of seeking places like that out. I always preferred curling up to a book by the hearth in the privacy of my own home instead.”

'...I didn't have very many friends either. Why would I want to go to those sorts of places alone?'

 

“Ha! Figures. You are a homebody. That’s to be expected, I suppose.”

 

Alastor took another sip of his whiskey, finishing off what little remained.

 

“Well, at least we have a starting point we can bounce off of. It seems you are still aware of your time in Heaven, but not of your time whilst you were alive. I would be correct in assuming this, yes?”

 

You paused a moment to reflect on the question he audibly pondered before giving him a soft nod to confirm his suspicions. You were confident in thinking that memories of your afterlife so far had not been tainted or lost, but nothing remained from before your death.

 

“Hmm. What a curious set of circumstances. Quite odd…In any case, perhaps a lesson would be beneficial…”

 

Before he could reach across the bar to procure another drink for himself, Alastor’s shadow presented the unattended bottle of Rye to its master. Alastor gave a brief thank you as he held out his empty glass. His phantom poured until the Overlord was satisfied and received a dismissive nod. With a flick of his ear, the shadow disposed of the bottle and placed it beside its master on the bar. He once again glanced over to you with a look of excitement.

 

“Of course, there’s no need to fret, little darlin’. I will remedy the situation post haste; and will be your tutor on how to properly enjoy whiskey with a bit of class and style!”

 

A round of applause came from Alastor’s mic and greeted your hearing, following with multiple whistles and cheers of celebratory glee. Alastor rested a hand on his chest as he dipped his head to you and waved off the imaginary crowd with his free hand. His microphone continued to provide background noise and the sound of a joyful, simulated audience going crazy for their radio host.

 

“Oh, please, no need to thank me. You are most welcome. I can already tell you're just bubbling over with anticipation! It would be my greatest pleasure to teach a gal like you.”

 

You giggled at his dramatic showmanship and obliged his offer as you motioned towards your glass. His imaginary audience died down as you began to speak.

 

“Okay, okay! So, since you're the expert, how would you consume this glass of…Spicy juice?”

 

“Why, only with the utmost decorum and refinement, of course. As I stated before, this drink is meant to be savored. Observe.”

 

Alastor wordlessly lifted his drink to eye level, swirling the contents inside with ease as he held the glass with an experienced yet delicate hand and assessed the dark liquid. Once he was satisfied, he held the drink to his nose and closed his eyes; taking an inhale as he gently wafted the aromatic scent of the drink with his free hand. He opened one eye to peer back at you.

 

“Appreciating the aroma is a very important step, my dear. It allows you to identify flavors you wouldn’t normally detect by mere taste alone. Next…”

 

Alastor closed his eyes and brought his drink to his lips.

 

“...Take small sips at first to truly appreciate the drink and the flavors within. To reach maximum efficiency and take in all the possible savors, swish and allow the drink to linger in your mouth. It may take a few tries to taste everything; and it is sure to burn at first, but that is part of the process.”

 

After his explanation, he gave you a demonstration and took a sip. You watched as the drink entered his mouth, lingered for a moment before being consumed with the rise and fall of this throat. You couldn’t help but notice how the fabric of his bowtie gently moved against the soft looking taupe fur peeking out from his collar as he indulged himself with yet another sip.

 

He opened his eyes and sat his glass on the bar before turning to you with a content grin.

 

“The finish is what we are after. After the bold taste of alcohol, the more nuanced flavors will linger for a moment before fading away. Some may even linger more than others. Now, why don’t you give it another go?”

 

You gripped your glass and swirled the drink before bringing it to your nose, the chill of the glass now turned into condensation in your warm hands. You wafted the scent of the bourbon and inhaled, catching the strong scent of alcohol at first. The explosive scent had you dazed for a moment as you made a visible reaction with your expression. You glanced at Alastor again for reassurance. His only reply was a simple nod and an adversary tone as he observed you.

 

“Good. Continue with a bit more gentleness, hm?”

 

You only nodded. You smelled again, trying your best to pick up any other aroma other than liquor. You were somewhat successful, but the second attempt left you as dizzy as the first. The sensation blurred the smells you sought after in an overwhelming frenzy, creating a thick fog in your senses. You couldn’t detect one specific smell and every scent assaulted your nose. It was a confusing experience to say the least, but all you got from it was a headache.

 

Thinking it better to move on to the next step so as to not overload your sense of smell again, you brought your glass to eye level to assess the dark liquid as your companion had before. You then lowered the glass to your lips and glanced at Alastor again. Another silent nod of approval came from him.

 

“Now, go ahead and taste. Don’t forget to really savor it, even through the burn…”

 

Reluctantly, you followed the Overlord’s instructions and allowed the molten liquid into your mouth. You were instantly filled with regret as soon as the boldness of the liquor landed on your sensitive tastebuds. All you tasted was fire and the faintness of smoked wood.

 

The immediate urge to spit out your drink was enormous, the burn eroding away everything behind your teeth. You shut your eyes even tighter and furrowed your brows, creating a strong fist that hit the bar a few times to relieve your pain in any physical way. The bold spirit continued to swirl around your tongue, setting ablaze anything in its wake.

 

Another low snicker was heard from beside you before an audible command.

 

“Swallow…”

 

You clenched your fist again as you did as instructed, your face contorting in pain as you felt the drink go down your esophagus. Why did people say alcohol ‘went down smooth’? You didn’t understand the phrase, nor did you think you ever would. If anything, your drink fought you tooth and nail before conforming and succumbing to you. Even then, you assumed you would have a stomach ache later and made a mental note to have a snack after finishing the task at hand.

 

As soon as the remaining liquid disappeared down your throat and you were set free from its affliction, you coughed yet again. In a way your pain was released to a degree just by that action alone. Thankfully, it wasn’t as much as before.

 

As your second taste testing experience came to a close, you realize it was more successful than your previous one. Once the burn on your tongue was alleviated, you noticed subtle lingering notes of vanilla, caramel and of course peanut butter.

 

You took the now wrinkled handkerchief and dabbed at you lips again, coughing into the fabric as you turned to search for the approval hiding within your companion’s eyes. Was your attempt sufficient enough, or did he want to see you suffer more? You blanched at the thought.

 

Luckily, Alastor gave you a pleased grin as the last of your coughs continued to extinguish themselves into the handkerchief his shadow provided. He reached over and gave you a few gentle pats on the back as you continued to gain your bearings from the experience.

 

“Good. Very good. Does anything seem familiar yet? Is there anything you can recall?”

 

You paused for a moment as you wiped your mouth again. Had you remembered anything? You didn’t really think you had a chance to as you were more focused on not having your whiskey burn a hole in your throat. Even if you did, your brain was exceedingly overstimulated with the experience itself. It was already having a hard time registering the flavors you tasted, let alone the memories behind them.

 

Thinking it better to just give him a short and simple answer, you shook your head wordlessly to signify a negative response. For some reason, the intrigued expression he gave you dimmed as you did. Why did he look so disappointed?

 

“Well, it is still the first day of our experiments, so that's is to be expected. At least you’ve shown some improvement from before. Do you feel you have the hang of it now?”

 

“I-I think so…”

 

“Wonderful! Then I shall leave you to practice. Once you have adequately appreciated the craftsmanship of such a fine liquor, only then can you enjoy it with a bit more liberality. Try to assess the specific flavors you manage to taste while you finish the rest of your drink. After, drink one more for good measure. Let me know the minute you have an inkling of anything you recall in that noggin, alright?”

 

Standing from his stool, he tapped his microphone against the ground as he gave you yet another of his famous chipper smiles.

 

“Ta-ta for now. Best of luck to you!”

 

With a final, dismissive wave from him he turned on his heel and sauntered off further into the lobby in the direction of the grand staircase. Alastor’s shadow stayed behind, opting to float behind the bar and procure the peanut butter bourbon for you. Silently, it poured you yet another glass. The phantom speedily slid it to you across the bar, much in the same fashion Husk had with Alastor’s drink previously.

 

With a wicked, mischievous smile, the entity nodded once it was pleased you had managed to catch the glass it had acquired for you. Giving a soft thank you to it, you set the second drink aside and took another sip of your current one. You clenched your fist and braced yourself for the wretched burn that would no doubt attack your throat again. Several more coughs escaped you once your assumption was proven correct.

 

Looking to the shadow, you shook your head and motioned to the drink in your hands.

 

“How can your master enjoy this? Maybe he likes torturing himself too?”

 

The phantom gave a shrug of its shoulders as it continued to look at you. Surprisingly, It seemed just as confused as you were. You shook your head, a soft sigh entwined with your voice.

 

“Figures. Why did I think I'd get an answer from you? You’re just as tight lipped as your master…”

 

The Radio Demon’s shadow tilted its head at you in silent curiosity, furthering your theory along.

 

“I guess you better go. We wouldn’t want Alastor to lose his shadow, would we? Thanks for the extra drink, though…It was kind of you.”

 

Your only reply was the rush of cold wind mixed with hisses and soft laughter surrounding you as Alastor’s umbral companion swirled around your shoulders. You took the action as a silent farewell as the phantom floated across the floor in pursuit of its owner.

 

Watching the phantom leave, you sighed and looked back into the depths of your glass. Alastor was all too pleased to leave you drowning in the “homework” he had left to you. Your throat was in for a world of hurt yet again, which was a shame as it had finally started to feel less raw. You still couldn’t understand how anyone could willingly consume the liquid staring back at you, even if it was supposed to make you feel good in the end. Was the journey really worth the destination?

 

“Seriously, how does anyone like this? It just tastes like burnt wood to me with a sickly sweet aftertaste…”

 

“Once you're used to it, it's not that hard…”

 

Your shoulders immediately sprung up as you nearly fell off of your bar stool and your heart hit the front of your ribcage with intensity upon hearing an unexpected voice come from behind you. Turning around with surprisingly quick reflexes, your wide eyes landed upon the dour expression of the feline who served you your first drink that evening.

 

“You goin’ to be alright, kid?”

 

“Yeah, just…You just surprised me is all…” You placed a hand on your chest to calm your rapidly beating heart, and taking in long, slow breaths to regain your composure.

 

“I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you scare easily yesterday…”

 

You nodded with a nervous laugh.

 

“Y-yeah, you could say that haha…”

 

You assumed Husk’s break time was over as he came back to continue to man the bar, unfazed by your startled state or your awkward banter. He grabbed the towel from off his shoulder and sat on his stool, absentmindedly wiping at the bar as he propped his cheek up with his spare paw. He spared you a look of concern.

 

“...Hey, listen kid…I don’t know what you were discussing with boss earlier; but if I were you, I’d be careful not to get too close to him or that…Whatever the hell that thing is…”

 

You played with your drink, pushing the glass to and fro against the bar as you looked at the cat. For some reason Husk’s words both made you curious and sent a shiver of apprehension down your spine. You recalled that was the second time someone had warned you about Alastor while you’ve been in the hotel; and you couldn’t help but be intrigued. Sure he was capable of scaring you, and constantly seemed to make it a point to do so when he was around, but Alastor had never physically harmed you or ever attempted to do so. Thinking back on the deal you had just made with the Overlord, you only asked those stipulations to be included in your contract to protect yourself. He wouldn’t actually force you to hurt anyone, would he? Regardless, you wanted to make sure that would never be an issue, even if you didn’t think he would require that of you.

 

“Oh, he was just showing me how to drink whiskey, per his words, ‘“ with some class and style.’”

 

You made a jazzy motion with your hands for emphasis to copy Alastors jaunty persona. Somehow your actions had Husk’s face soften in relief. Was he worried for you? You couldn’t imagine why. Alastor’s company that evening had been nothing less than enjoyable, even if he did laugh at you while you nearly choked on your drink.

 

“So…You obviously know Alastor a lot more than me, and don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your concern; but I can’t help but wonder if he really is such a horrible guy. I mean, I’ve heard some stories about how he rose to power, but he’s never attempted anything like that while I’ve known him…”

 

Husk sighed and placed the towel onto the bar before motioning to you with a paw, his expression severe and his voice stern.

 

“Just because he hasn’t attempted anything yet doesn’t mean he won’t. You just said you’ve already heard stories that he’s a corrupt, powerful being capable of destruction on a catastrophic scale; so you’d do well to remember that.”

 

You gulped, your eyes wide with anxiety. Just by the tone of Husk’s voice you couldn’t help but be wary. Just who were you spending your time with?

 

Just who had you made a deal with?

 

“Is…Is he really that bad…?”

 

Another exhausted sigh escaped the bartender as he collected the empty glass Alastor had left behind.

 

“You haven’t been down here long enough to really know, so I get why you’d be curious. Still, he’s not a pushover or a good person, for that matter. I would know.”

 

You looked back at him with a curious glance, hoping he would elaborate on what he meant. He returned your silent question with a receptive sigh.

 

“Look, I’ll spare you all the sordid details and just say I know him from personal experience…He’s not someone you want to mess with. Trust me…”

 

You nodded, sensing the wisdom behind the cat’s words as you watched his expression change into a grimace. Part of you wanted to ask what happened between them and why Husk was working for Alastor in the first place if he wasn’t very fond of him; but you didn’t think it was your place to pry. You were just thankful he had told you anything at all.

 

Still, you didn’t want to condemn Alastor just yet. Even if he was a powerful Overlord capable of such evil, he hadn’t done anything to you personally. He was offering to help you, even; and you weren’t the type of person to extend judgment to someone who was doing you a kindness. Still, you appreciated the guidance the feline felt the need to share. You would keep that warning in the back of your mind along with Vaggie’s. You hoped his words would never have to be adhered to, but that they were just a precaution from a concerned friend.

 

“...Thanks for the warning Husk. I’ll be sure to keep what you’ve said in mind. I really appreciate you looking out for me. Truly…”

 

“Don’t mention it. Just be careful. Wouldn’t want a sweet soul like you getting fucked over.”

 

You returned his words with a grin as he went to set the bottles of booze back onto their respective shelves. He turned to look at you over his shoulder.

 

“...Look, you can take what I’ve just said with a grain of salt; but just do me a favor and don’t forget where we are. Everyone’s down here in Hell for a reason, kid. Some reasons and motives are plainer to see than others…Not everyone is kind like you or the princess…”

 

You gave a simple nod and another expression of thanks for his advice as your mind was full with the silent ponderings the cat had fueled your imagination. Struggling down the last remaining sip of your whiskey and reaching for your second glass, your thoughts continued to ponder on just what Alastor had the propensity to do. If he had been terrifying those few times when you first met and the night before, Just the thought of what cruelty he was truly capable of sent another set of chills down your spine.

 

Though, one silent question still lingered above the rest:

 

Would Alastor ever hurt you?

 

You took another swig of your second glass of whiskey, the burn still as prominent as your first sip, worried thoughts and what-ifs still swimming behind your eyes.

 

You hoped you would never have to find out.

Notes:

Fun fact, my first drink of Alcohol other than a very sweet wine (Which I despised) was Peanut butter bourbon XD I haven’t had anymore since because it burned my throat so much. I liked the sweet taste once the burn died down. However, I am much more of a fan of Dr. Pepper (regular and strawberry, preferably)

What about you guys? What was your first alcoholic drink, or what’s your favorite drink of choice? ( alcoholic or non alcoholic) Feel free to answer in the comments if you want! I'd love to hear from you!

Chapter 12: Her Distraction

Summary:

"The anxiety I feel when I'm late is nothing like the anxiety I feel when I'm on time..." ~ Sade Adu

You were late.

 

Running to the point of exhaustion, you had somehow managed to clobber up the stairs with as much grace as a dying whale in your useless pursuit of punctuality. Labored breaths escaped you as you paused at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.

 

Your meeting with Charlie earlier that morning had run a bit later than you would have liked. She was an excitable girl and was a tad long-winded on the best of days, but you didn’t want to make her feel rushed to get her point across. So, despite the fact that her speech was cutting into the time you had allotted for your daily meetings and memory experiments with Alastor, you didn’t interrupt and let the Princess continue on her spiel until she was satisfied.

 

Of course, Charlie had finished twenty minutes after your designated meeting time. So, with as much courage as you could muster, you mentally prepared yourself for a stern lecture when you met the tall fellow. You didn’t think he would have much lenience.

 

Picking the pace up again, you continued your brisk sprint down the long corridor. Turning around the usual corner, you could make out the tall silhouette of the Radio Demon. You watched him absentmindedly twirl his microphone. His presence fit right in with the dark, antique wallpaper and dusty picture frames adorning the walls. The Overlord's body dwarfed in comparison to the large, elaborate design of his bedroom door.

 

As you came close enough to see the intricate detailing in the fabric on his overcoat, you noticed Alastor’s ears were already turned to face you, flicking occasionally. It was obvious the Overlord was alerted of your presence far before you had a chance to get even remotely close to him. It didn’t take much to hear you, you weren’t making much of an effort to remain quiet. With how much his ears were flicking, you assumed you were making quite a ruckus. Perhaps you had given him a headache? You hoped that wasn’t the case.

 

“Ah, if it isn’t my little poet. Greetings. I was wondering when you would show up this afternoon…Didn’t we arrange a time we would meet, dear…? Or is that noggin of yours still producing problems?”

 

Alastor turned his head to look down at you, annoyance visible in his sneer. You were bent over with your hands on your knees, exhausted from the several sprints you forced yourself to endure. You raised a hand in between your deep gulps of air, letting him know you needed a minute before you could speak. You didn’t want to know just how pathetic you looked and you hoped he wouldn’t mention it. He had already reminded you of your shameful ignorance of his valuable time…

 

Finally able to catch your breath better, you looked up to the demon in front of you.

 

“I’m…I am so, so sorry for…for being late! The meeting I had this morning…With Charlie ran a bit longer than I anticipated and it…Just now ended… She… had a lot of points she wanted to discuss…”

 

You looked back towards your knees to steady yourself as you tried to prevent the tiny black dots in your vision from multiplying. Blood was rushing in your ears and it was hell to continue standing, shivers dancing through your legs in your attempts to remain upright. You shouldn’t have sprinted.

 

Despite your struggle, you swore you heard a scoff as he replied tersely. There was an edge in his voice that suggested his disapproval of the current situation.

 

“You should know that I’ve killed men for less than this…”

 

Your eyes widened in horror for a moment, whipping your head up to look at him. You nearly gave yourself whiplash just from the abruptness of your actions. Your heart was bound to give out, if not due to your brisk excursion, then due to the fear Alastor had just produced in you.

 

That was until the Radio Demon's calculated smile was replaced with a satisfied smirk and a soft laugh as he patted your head upon your reaction.

 

Wait, was he teasing you?

 

“But it can’t be helped, I suppose. The Princess is indeed a chatty Cathy and often finds herself afflicted with a bit of the gab…Still, you’ll have to learn to add some bite to that bark of yours. The others will simply continue to step all over you, otherwise. A simple, firm statement indicating that you were needed elsewhere should have sufficed at getting your point across…”

 

Alastor took his hand from your head after a few more moments of ruffling your hair, making it a point to ruin the placement of your hair ribbon. You resituated the bow and smoothed down your hair, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Alastor wasn’t cross with you. Surely you had earned his ire in your attempts to be polite with the Princess.

 

“I-I guess, but I didn’t want to be rude. She’s royalty, after all…”

 

As soon as you voiced your concern, the fact that you had still been rude was evident to you. Regardless of how hard you tried, you still managed to fail in your time management. Your priorities for the day had been pushed to the side as easily as sand sifting through one's fingertips. It was all in lieu of extending your kindness and allowing more access to yourself than what was necessary. You were too kind, too accommodating. That nature would be taken advantage of if you didn’t keep it in check. Adequate boundaries needed to be put into place. Perhaps that was the point the overlord was trying to make.

 

“Well, as long as your tardiness does not become a habit, I shall be lenient this once. Besides, seeing you rush up the stairs to the point of breathlessness was quite the treat. I dare say the show you provided deserves a bit of clemency.”

 

Amusement sparkled back at you from within the depths of the Radio Demon’s ruby stare.

 

“You are pardoned, dear.”

 

Relief swarmed through your chest like a flock of birds taking flight, light and airy in its descent. The feeling was quick to wash over you, replacing the guilt of your late arrival. Part of you couldn’t help but think this was a rarity from the fellow standing before you. You assumed that mercy was unheard of for one of Alastor’s caliber. At least the conversation you had with Husk a week previous implanted that impression into you.

 

Perhaps the demon's mercy was only due to the expectancy that you would continue on in your prior agreement. It made sense. He would be the type to preserve any form of interest that suited him. Even to his detriment. As long as it ensured his favor would be granted, perhaps his leniency was capable of being stretched to a larger degree than normal. The theory buried itself in your heart. Regardless, that wasn’t an excuse to let down your guard or continue to gamble with his generosity.

 

“Now, as much as I enjoy conversing with you, let's not waste any more time dawdling in the hallway, hmm? Come now! There is much work to be done...”

 

Led by the desire to amend your previous mistake, you moved towards the entrance to his chambers. Unfortunately, before you could enter, Alastor held his microphone out to block you from getting any closer to the door. You looked at his microphone for a second before glancing up at him, bewildered. He had just stated the importance of urgency for the activities he had planned and now he was stopping you?

 

Before you could object or question him, Alastor held a gloved finger to his golden grin. It seemed he knew of your silent concerns and revealed in the chaos your mind was no doubt concocting. Perhaps he was giving you a dose of your own medicine? It made sense, you had made him wait for a considerable amount of time, and now it was your turn.

 

“I know you must be eager to get those memories back, but have patience. There is a process for these things...”

 

Looking closer you realized his door looked completely different than a few moments ago. It looked rustic, and slightly run-down, nothing like the fancy hotel door he had previously. It was quite odd.

 

You were even more surprised when Alastor knocked on his own door with his microphone.

 

A tiny slit in the top of his new door opened, the telltale signs of his shadow’s eyes peering back at the both of you.

 

“After all…”

 

Giving you a side glance, your companion greeted you with his sharp, golden incisors before looking back to his door. He brought his hand to his mouth and leaned into the entrance of his room to speak something privately. What were all the theatrics for?

 

The answer you wished for came in the form of the slot in the door closing and hearing the lock unclick. The radio host spared you another playful glance.

 

“It’s all about the presentation and timing…”

 

The door was opened to the two of you as Alastor held out his arm for you to take. You gave a shy grin to him as the two of you linked arms and entered his chambers. Your fervent heartbeat was finally slowing.

 

Upon entry, you immediately noticed the subtle grandeur of his private quarters. The same wallpaper in the hall was present in his chambers as well. The golden flames from his fireplace cast the room in a warm glow. Your eyes spotted several knickknacks adorning his hearth, some of which included spare packets of bullets, skulls sitting atop delicately knitted doilies, and several empty picture frames. You assumed he hadn’t the time nor desire to fill those.

 

The main attraction, of course, was a cathedral radio that very much resembled your own Philco 70. You could tell that it had recently been polished and was now ready to play for its master whenever it suited his fancy.

 

Despite all the antique design that caught your eye, there was one important and rather prominent detail missing. Alastor didn’t have a bed.

 

Where you assumed the Overlord’s bed went, however, was a bar stocked to the brim with a wide assortment of liquor. It was very much akin to the one Husk manned downstairs in the parlor.

 

With a dramatic flourish that made the bottom of his tailcoat flap in the wind he created, Alastor turned to you as he spun his microphone to position it behind his back. A wide, expectant smile was seen taking residence in his features, being accompanied by the intrigued, curious crease of his brow.

 

“Well, whaddya think?”

 

You looked around once more, the absence of the Radio Demon’s bed more jarring than what you would’ve cared to admit. The wide space it left behind seemed out of place.

 

“I’m…I’m going to assume that this isn’t your normal bedroom…? There isn’t a bed, so…”

 

Alastor gave a quick laugh. It was obvious he found the thought of inviting anyone into his private chambers laughable if it weren’t already transformed. Perhaps such an idea was scandalous to him?

 

“Ha! Yes, well, you would be correct. I don’t do much sleeping, but my nightly habits shouldn’t be a concern for you at the moment. The subject is neither here nor there...”

 

Turning, Alastor gazed at the opposite wall of his bedroom. He spoke as he admired the knick-knacks that accumulated over the years that were placed on full display.

 

“...Besides, I thought a bit of a scenery change would do you good. Unfortunately, the lobby was unavailable for our use. As I’m sure you are aware, Ms. Charlotte had reserved it for hotel activities later this evening, so I’ve had to improvise. I hope our new location is to your liking?”

 

You nodded wordlessly, once again taking in the extravagant detail of the room as a whole when you noticed your most gracious host had paused to admire some of his decorations. Turning around, your eyes took in the plethora of deer heads mounted on his wall. Most were taxidermied, some were skulls, and you did pinpoint multiple sets of antlers. The occasional, impressive sight of a ten-pointer caught your eye.

 

Underneath what you assumed would be some of his prized possessions was the proud display of a hunting rifle, encased entirely in glass. No dust could be seen anywhere on the casing. It was an obvious sign that it was something he considered precious. The sight didn’t make sense though. The design of his room seemed as if it was tailored to what he would’ve enjoyed during life, not what most would expect someone of his current occupation to enjoy. Honestly, you didn’t know what to expect; but the homeliness you were presently experiencing wasn’t it.

 

“Good. Atmosphere is everything, after all, So I’m glad it is sufficient. ”

 

Listening to Alastor’s phrase provided you with a bit more clarity. It made sense, you were trying to remember your past; so anything displayed in his room presently was a strategic nod to what you could’ve experienced before.

 

Walking further into his room and closer to the fireplace, you reached your hand up to ghost your fingers over the lampshade at the top of the hearth. You smiled gently; allowing the fringe dangling at the bottom to glide through the spaces between your fingers. Satisfied with the feel of the fabric in your hand, you turned to acknowledge your companion; voicing yet another inquiry that was burning on your tongue since entering into his domain.

 

“Is this supposed to represent somewhere I've been before? Did we go somewhere like this together?”

 

“Perhaps…” A teasing grin pulled at the edges of Alastor’s lips, the enjoyment of your obvious confusion hidden within, “Why don’t we find out?”

 

The demon sauntered towards you with a hand extended in your direction. The edges of his bob swished to the side as he nudged his head toward the booth provided across the room and allowed you to move in front of him. His touch was absent, but you could feel the heat of Alastor’s hovering hand present on the small of your back as he guided you from behind to your destination. Only once you were comfortably seated in the booth did he attempt to take his own place on the opposite side.

 

“How about some music? For a setting like this, a bit of ambiance is called for…”

 

With the snap of Alastor’s claws, the radio on his mantle crackled to life with faint, soothing notes of jazz. You watched as his eyes skimmed over to view your reaction to the tunes he saw fit to present. However, he would find nothing but agreeableness from you. His selection was enjoyable to hear and no qualms were had.

 

With no objections, your idle gaze found itself glued to the pair of empty glasses on the table. They were small and simplistic in design, crystallized fragments of the lights above reflected on the smooth, wooden surface. Just looking at them reminded you of your previous failed experiment. The only successful thing about said attempt was the excruciating headache and debilitating nausea it produced in you the next day.

 

“Didn’t we already try this method…?”

 

Taking the glass in front of him, your question was answered with yet another of his signature smiles, sly and collected. The tiniest hint of amusement sparkled back at you from within his dark red eyes. His voice was enthused. Teasing.

 

“Patience, dear. It's all part of the process… Things will become clear in a moment.”

 

Still confused about what the demon seated across from you had planned up his sleeve, you reached out to take your own glass. Curiosity escaped through your fingertips in the occasional absentminded fidget.

 

“If you say so…”

 

Before you could reach over to retrieve the one closest to you, his shadow appeared by the table to fill your glass with some type of alcohol. You didn’t know what type it was. You assumed, by the shape of the bottle and the color descending into the glass, that it was Alastor’s preferred beverage.

 

Watching his shadow carefully pour an adequate amount of liquor into your glass, you took notice of the tiny red bowtie your eldritch server sported. It very much resembled the one your companion wore. It was unusual to see such a soft accessory adorning a phantom rumored to be capable of such malice, but it was a very welcome sight nonetheless.

 

“How kind. Thank you…”

 

You nodded to the shadow as you retrieved your glass. The simple act of pulling your drink close created a pleasant ripple effect inside the golden liquid residing within your cup.

 

Your observations were interrupted only by gentle hisses and faint whispers as The Radio Demon’s shadow returned to him. Perhaps that was its way of saying you were welcome.

 

“Now, I do believe it is time for business…”

 

You looked up from your glass to the tall fellow addressing you. He had his own drink in hand, gingerly upturning the glass to his lips for an enjoyable taste. Alastor paused shy of his first sip when he noticed you hadn’t made a move to try your own.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go on. Enjoy your drink.”

 

At Alastor’s behest, you swished the liquid in your glass before taking a sip; glancing at him ever so often to make sure you were doing it correctly. He didn’t audibly correct you.

 

You finally took a sip. With a bit of caution, you drank a smaller amount compared to your first time; but the liquid scalded your mouth all the same. Despite the desperate urge to spit or swallow the burning spirit, you allowed it to sit on your pallet for a few more seconds before consuming.

 

The taste of this whiskey was different. It was much stronger, not as sweet. The faint smoky undertones of oak, caramel and surprisingly citrus enveloped around your tongue before fading away slowly. The burn of the liquor lingered and scorched most of the moisture from your mouth.

 

As you looked back at Alastor when you were finished, a pleased smile decorated his face. He hadn’t corrected your attempts this time, so perhaps you had tasted the spirit like it was made to be consumed. He most likely wouldn’t have given you a hint anyways; choosing to be content with watching you fail yet again.

 

“Well?”

 

“It tastes similar, but it’s more…sharp? Dry? And…it still burns...”

 

“Yes, that’s to be expected. What else did your pallet detect?”

 

You paused for a moment, compelling the right words to the forefront of your mind.

 

“Um…The flavors were sort of similar to the bourbon, but this one was a lot spicier. Peppery? Maybe? There was also something akin to charred oakwood. I think I even tasted citrus…”

 

you were given a simple nod as you continued to list off the myriad of flavors your inexperienced tongue sampled.

 

“Good. Did the taste remind you of anything?” With a tilt of his head, Alastor finished sipping on his own drink; swishing the remaining contents of his glass absentmindedly. His expression was relaxed as he rested his cheek on the back of his hand.

 

Had you caught onto anything? You couldn’t recall, but the scent and taste of smoke strongly lingered long after the other flavors had dissipated off of your tongue. For some reason, you couldn’t get that word out of your head. Smoke. It was loudly repeating and banging at the walls of your mind to the point the letters confused your tongue. The more you thought, the more it didn’t sound like a word at all.

 

That was another word. Loud. Why did those two words seem to subconsciously float in your mind? It didn’t make any sense why or how they would correlate together. It just made your hazy brain even more confused, the beginnings of a massive headache thrumming dully at the base of your skull.

 

“I…I don’t know if it’s important or related—”

 

“Everything you remember or think you remember is of importance, my dear. No detail is too small, even if it doesn’t correlate to the subject at hand. Nothing is off limits.” Alastor interrupted you as he folded his hands together and rested them under his chin, his expression eager. Inviting.

 

Witnessing the twitch in Alastor's grin had the vision of your mystery man flooding into your imagination. The mental image of him was more vivid than the first time you had ever seen him.

 

Intrigue drenched the man’s visage as he swished his whiskey around and leaned the glass up to his lips. His gentle curls were rich, the shadows of his hair contrasting perfectly with the bourbon shade of his eyes. His irises were twin flames, bright and ephemeral prisoners behind the confines of his round spectacles. The lively, colorful sight of them was comparable to the poised puffs of smoke that came from the end of the lit cigarette between his fingers.

 

You mentally shook your head, the heat in your cheeks rising as your imagination took flight. Choosing instead to focus on the flavors retreating from your tastebuds, you cleared your throat to continue your explanation.

 

“Well…The smokey taste keeps lingering and it’s like I’m hearing the words “smoke” and “loud” in my head. O-of course, I’m not hearing them being spoken, per se. I’m not crazy…It’s just…It’s more like the words describe or resonate with a feeling, as if I may have been in an environment that caused me to experience the meaning of them? I-I don’t know how else to describe it...”

 

You did your best to ignore the bewildered smile the Overlord sent your way. You closed your eyes. Collecting your thoughts, you tried to summon the right verbiage to the tip of your tongue that would release the demon from his confusion and make the most sense to him.

 

“It’s just a really weird feeling, as though I’m staring into murky water and I can’t see my reflection. Every time I try, the water just gets darker and more distorted than before…”

 

‘The only thing of substance I can even remotely hold on to is visions of…That man…I don’t know if I should tell Alastor though…It might just be a result of a hallucination or just his magic influencing my mind…”

 

As you thought more on that prospect, something in you still remained confused. You didn’t wish to make an assumption and be wrong, ending up being left with empty answers and japes from your dear host. You weren’t in the mood to be mocked that evening..

 

‘Perhaps I should wait it out and see if I can remember anything else…If nothing else comes up sometime soon, I’ll tell him…’

 

Deciding instead to see if you would naturally make progress about recalling anything, you glanced back up at your drinking companion. You tilted your head to display your intense confusion and need for reassurance that he understood your struggles.

 

“Does…Does that make any sense, or have I just completely lost you?”

 

“I suppose I can understand where you are coming from…However, might I suggest a bit of a distraction…?”

 

Glancing across the room towards his fireplace, Alastor’s coy smirk upped in magnitude. The Overlord closed his eyes and counted down on his claws before gesturing to the radio that rested there.

 

“Perhaps this will suffice…”

 

Around the time he pointed, the faint sound of swing that wafted gently around the room grew in volume and splendor. roaring to life with saxophones and drums and all other manner of beautifully playing instruments common to the music genre. The sounds were joyful, and it was hard to stop yourself from tapping your feet to the smooth rhythm that swam through your ears.

 

“Right on cue…”

 

Alastor opened his eyes to look at you with an expectant grin, a silent question poised within his teeth. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know what it meant:

 

‘Charmed, I’m sure?’

 

All at once, the vividness of it, as well as the rest of him, disappeared into shadow only to reappear at your side with an offered hand. His enthused, excited gaze flooded over you, infectious and adamant.

 

“This music is too lovely to not take advantage of. Let’s not waste a second of it.”

 

You glanced down at his offered hand before looking back up at him, hesitantly placing your own hand into his waiting one. A sense of satisfaction leaked into Alastor’s expression as he gingerly pulled you from your seat. Quietly, he led you out into the empty space in his room. You assumed it was supposed to represent a makeshift dancing hall; the rustic carpet that once clothed the floor was now replaced with only the finest of maple planks.

 

“Just trust the process. All of this is for a reason. Now, won’t you dance with me…?”

 

The combined gentle clicks of his oxfords and your flats on hardwood echoed around you as he answered the silent questioning expression you sent his way. His pleased expression grew as he took great pleasure in delivering a jab directed at your dancing skills; mischievously poking a bit of fun at you.

 

“Besides, I do believe you are in desperate need of a proper lesson. If I remember correctly, you were jouncing around your room to that abrasive racket you happily called music only a week ago…”

 

A stark blush threatened to deepen the shade of your cheeks as you, for once, managed to combat his playful sass with a soft rebuttal.

 

“Hey! I’ll have you know I believe myself to be somewhat adequate in the art of dancing, thank you very much…!”

 

“…Are you sure you’re remembering correctly?”

 

Alastor responded with a teasing lilt as he pulled you closer to his person. He gently slid your hand over his shirt sleeve to let it rest on his shoulder, your fingers barely ghosting over the folds in the expensive fabric of his over coat. Once you were in the proper stance for dancing, he sent you a curious look, his brow quirked.

 

Your voice failed upon his closeness as you continued to looked up into his compelling irises. He was close. So very close you could breathe in the cologne he wore; catching faint notes of coffee, spices, and a nameless but pleasant scent that was dark and decadent to your senses.

 

“M-maybe… Actually, let’s be honest…I-I’m horrible and have two left feet...”

 

The Overlord chuckled softly in reply. You knew he could tell your confidence had disappeared. You just hoped he didn’t know it had been by just his scent and proximity alone. He seemed to thrive with the hidden knowledge that he had affected you in some way.

 

Gently, he squeezed your other hand. Was it a sign of reassurance, or was it to snap you out of your anxious brain again? You couldn’t tell, but you were thankful for his silent attempt at distracting you from producing more troublesome thoughts.

 

“Hmm…The desire and passion are indeed there, they just need to be…Greatly cultivated. Not to worry. With my impeccable assistance, your skills will be perfected over time~!”

 

You look up at him with a lopsided smile, still unsure of yourself or the plan Alastor was concocting in his mischievous mind. You were still embarrassed that you would have to display your skills to him once again. He had already deemed your abilities lacking and you weren’t eager to give him a second viewing.

 

Discouraged, you looked down at his nice, custom-made oxfords. The artistic design and unique color of them caught your eye.

 

“Hopefully, but until then, let me apologize in advance if I step on your lovely shoes. I’m not used to dancing like this...”

 

“That you know of. We will certainly put that theory to the test!”

 

Once again he gave a gentle squeeze to your hand to make sure he had your full attention. His expression was of utter contentment when you looked back up at him in acknowledgment, his golden smile radiant.

 

“Dancing is muscle memory, after all. If you’ve danced before, something will surely click in your subconscious and alert you. Just allow me and the music to guide you, and learn to enjoy the experience!”

 

You gave the demon a nod, his encouraging smirk infectious.

 

“Okay…I’ll do my best…”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

Chapter 13: His Desire

Summary:

"There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you've paid for." ~ The Ballad of Mona Lissa, Panic! At The Disco

There was not an adequate description in all of existence that would come close to describing how your eyes gazed timidly into his own. Vibrant irises were glazed over in hopeful expectation as you regarded him. Agreeableness filled your footwork. Your subtle movements fell in alignment with his own practiced steps as music, bright as your demeanor, swelled in the air around you.

 

 

Despite your previous attempts at cutting a rug, Alastor had to admit that you were certainly astute and a quick study. More than he gave you credit for.

 

 

It wasn’t a surprise. It just meant his teaching tactics were nothing short of perfection. There was no doubt about his methods or efforts to begin with. It was just surprising that despite your meager confidence, you had caught on with more ease than anticipated. That was a good sign. The synapses in your mind seemed to be rekindling, alerting you of the forgotten knowledge locked tightly away.

 

 

It became more apparent that this, perhaps, was one of the best deals Alastor had made in the last century. Assured that his efforts would not be in vain, a pleased tune left him. The cadence of his soft tenor humming weaved into the lively music that actively flooded into the room.

 

 

Alastor glanced down at you, content to see your features drenched in the same bright enthusiasm he felt. Another prolonged gaze allowed him the opportunity to take note that your cardigan sleeves were neatly, scandalously, rolled up to your elbows. Your slender arms were freely exposed. What a surprisingly enjoyable sight.

 

 

The radio demon’s focus persisted, intensely dedicated to your exposed exterior. The suppleness your flesh presented was tempting. It wouldn’t have taken much to pierce through it with just his teeth. He would barely have to bite at all.

 

 

To test his theory, he gently squeezed your hand as he helped you get into the proper stance for the dance. Much like the rest of your complexion, your skin was soft. Taut. Your fingers felt warm, held within his own. The radiance of your celestial skin was comparable to borrowed starlight. Light dimly, yet delicately, reflected on and traced the expanse of your face, shoulders and arms.

 

 

You looked divine. Decedent.

 

 

He wished to take off his gloves to deeply assess such tender flesh further. You were the first live angelic specimen he had met. Now he had the opportunity to be close enough to inspect the favorable qualities you possessed. It wouldn’t hurt to allow himself to indulge his curiosity this once, would it?

 

 

No. He couldn’t. Not yet.

 

 

Alastor forced down the darkest of his desires as he gazed at you, his self-restraint successful for the time being. His curiosity transformed into something audible. Tranquil humming replaced his ponderings as his distraction transferred into a chuckle that bubbled into his throat. The sheer magnitude of his luck and your ignorant bliss to his thoughts potently combined; giving him an assured advantage over you.

 

 

Perhaps having you as a meal, should you fail to remember him, wouldn’t be disappointing after all.

 

 

You were looking up at him before he was carried away further by his temptations. He gave you a gentle smile, feigning innocence as if he had wanted to distract, encourage, you all along. He shooed thoughts of your taste from his mind. Other opportunities to ponder such a prospect would be provided later.

 

 

For now, however, he had a bargain to keep and you had some remembering to do.

 

 

Refortifying his mental resistance, he shook the tantalizing thoughts responsible for causing his mouth to salivate away. No distractions were allowed, pleasant or not. He would give his all to uphold his side of the deal until he had expired every option available to him. There was no room for error due to negligence. That would’ve been sloppy; and he was never sloppy.

 

 

To further dissuade his less than pleasant ponderings, mellifluous hums exited him as he guided you into a twirl around his dance hall. The lanterns from his bar illuminated the tiny bejeweled design of your hair ribbon. A spare lock of hair gently brushed against your cheek due to his efforts. Your eyes matched your hair piece in vibrancy and he secretly admired how the cloth added an additional air of delicacy to your tender features.

 

 

He was even more intrigued when you bestowed him laughter. Your voice was soft as he witnessed you blow away the excess hair that obscured your vision. It was a sweet sound, albeit awkward, but very light and airy. He didn’t understand why he wanted to hear the delightful tune again. Would you permit the gesture a second time?

 

 

Thinking another twirl would produce that sweet music once more, he gracefully led you into the needed stance. With your hand in his, he raised his arm over your head as he allowed you to twirl; your cardigan fluttering against the underside of your slightly ripped jeans. Just as expected, yet another warm laugh, full of life, bloomed from your lungs.

 

 

Why was it so breathtaking to hear?

 

 

Your pleasantness was familiar. Was that why he wished you would continue to serenade him with your glee? Perhaps it was a good sign. You would make progress in attaining glimpses of your past if he just continued his efforts. He was sure of this. Progress, even a minuscule amount, was still progress; and the laughter you produced for him was promising.

 

 

Unfortunately, your progress wasn’t as fast as Alastor needed. Patience was a virtue; but that was a grace he was sufficiently lacking despite his composed outward facade. Surely if he stayed the course and continued to guide you with subtle, gentle nudges, your memories would flourish. You responded positively to care and nurture most of the time, he noticed. Though that wasn’t a technique he had mastered, it was safe to say that improv was. Putting on an act had always worked out for him, for any type of situation. This would be no different.

 

 

Surly he wouldn’t be wrong. He just had to fake it till he made it, to put on an act. His reward, the answers you would provide him, would be all the sweeter for his efforts.

 

 

Convinced of the value his inner plans held; Alastor looked to eyes that didn’t meet him. Somehow, amidst his thoughts and pursuit of familiarity, your face remained hidden from view. You had glanced down at your shoes, your grip on his shoulder strengthened by your hesitance. Your laughter ceased as the radio on his hearth continued to play, the music changing to something jovial.

 

 

The playful crackle of static lulled his grin into something fond as your footwork mimicked his own tentatively. Silly thing. Didn’t you trust his skill to lead? To guide you?

 

 

Voicing his concerns wasn’t an option, however, as he found himself struck with a sense of nostalgia as he regarded you. The feeling was so profound that it had taken control of his lungs. The experience only left him painfully mute.

 

 

Observing you, he realized his wife had been similar. Specifically in the very first time they had ever danced. She always was the type to wish for things to be just so and was never bold in her decision making. However easygoing and amiable she was, his wife was indeed timorous to a fault. That’s why her dancing was always pathetically dull. Hesitance, caution, was helpful at times; but when mixed with dancing, confidence was needed. Dare he say it was essential.Crucial.

 

 

Unfortunately there was no temerity or precision to be found anywhere in her delicate bones; and the same sad statement could be said for you.

 

 

How was he to pull you from that same problem, though? How was he to solve the issue, to quell it at its source? What had he done before for his wife? What was the most effective approach or course of action to take with you?

 

 

Another glance down at your hidden features provided him with a clue. There were telltale signs that the efflorescence of your laughter was ready to bloom, quiet and hesitant in its exit from your lips.

 

 

Perhaps the answer was right under Alastor’s nose all along. Laughter, he realized, would be your teacher. It would be your distraction; and he humor’s faithful conduit. He would be the conductor to all of your delight. Yes. He was assured you would remember him after his entrancing reenactment of his first “performance” all those years ago.

 

 

He just needed to practice a bit of patience and you just needed a reminder. That was all.

 

 

Before his plans to offer further assistance came to fruition, a deeper pressure than what Alastor remembered requesting made purchase with his shoulder. Your stealthy touch sent shivers down his spine. The subtle curl of your fingers into the skin under his overcoat forced the fur on the back of his neck and along the rest of his bodice into shameful submission. With it came an inaudible, but deplorably weak shutter under his breath. His ears twitched and his smile strained against its natural incline.

 

 

You, a novice, had managed to catch him off guard.? Unthinkable. Unacceptable. How unwelcome your advances were. Your rapacity to stake claim to his person certainly knew no bounds. He was only reminded of such as your warm, greedy fingers pressed into his shoulder further.

 

 

With a greater amount of renewed strength, your sharp, avaricious touch promised to cut into him; threatening to rip the sinew of his muscles asunder and bleed him dry underneath his clothing. Though seemingly unversed with violent inclinations, if you weren’t careful you would succeed in hitting your unsupposed mark in your trepidation. Your additional closeness was something undesirable, and however slight your intentions, it was a grave insult he wished to correct. Immediately.

 

 

Alastor took in a silent, strained breath and let it go. He took in another taste of air before stretching his smile wider into a more convincing one; glaring daggers into the top of your head. His actions nearly made his chapped lips bleed with the harsh effort.

 

 

Right. Patience. You were no threat. Apprehension was the culprit here, and he would guide you out of your shortcomings. Patience. Patience.

 

 

Your paltry confidence continued to mercilessly kill his shoulder.

 

 

‘...Breathe in. Breathe out...Patience. Continue the dance and introduce your plan. Her memories will flourish with laughter. Will her mind into submission. Be her conductor. Play the part. She will conform. She will remember.She must.’

 

 

Despite his silent struggle to remain on task, the fur underneath your persistent touch remained frozen, unwillfully beholden to you. Why did your touch frazzle him more so than usual? No. It didn’t matter. You had the audacity to cross an unspoken boundary and he would not waste a moment more of his energy into analyzing how you wished to conduct yourself. No. He would not become a victim to your jitters, to the added weight of you.

 

 

You would not best him regardless.

 

 

Your eyes synchronized with your feet, soft numbers counted aloud under shaky, reticent breath. His ears twitched as he gave brief audience to your mutterings, inwardly following your voice.

 

 

One, two, three. One, two, three. Step and glide. Turn and Pivot. Twirl. Dip. Repeat.

 

 

It was maddening. Your deepened touch. Your slight voice. It was all too much. Yet another shiver danced down his back into the tip of his tail. He would not be bested. He would not be beholden to you, molded to your grasp. No, you would unhand him this instant. Enough. Enough.

 

 

‘...Patience. Dance. Laughter. Remember. Remember…’

 

 

Make her remember.

 

 

An unknown breeze swept up behind him, renewing the previous shivers you supplied. With the subtle motions came the all too familiar whispers, hissing and teasing. His own silent mutterings were replaced with only one word. It was faint but terribly urgent.

 

 

 

'̵̡̩̥̋̐̋͛̂͠.̶̛̣̭͚̿̅̋̊́̓͒̔̂̒̀͛̎.̸̧̧̯̖͎̖̗͇̳̯̤̋͂͂͂̒̏̈́̇͌̾̈́̀̃͊͜͝͠͝.̸̧̧̧̟͖͙̞̫͉͚̭͎̖͔̘͐́̇̍̿̄̆̀͛͘̚͘͜͠͠͝T̷̨̜̪̺̪̝̼̭̀̌͝͝a̵͙̹̘̰̩̭̭̹̦̓́͑̈́̂̀͋̿͛̂̀̽̚̕͝s̸̡̙͇͇͓̫̻̻͖̬̳̮̐͆͗̇͛̇́̀̈́̇̚ţ̴͎̜͑̂̆̆̀̓ẽ̴̺̤͙̻̘͌̉ͅ.̷̤̹̹͚͇̼̪͖̞̱̣̗̑͋̽̏͌̓̊̕.̶̢̩̩͉̭̟̩̄̀̈̈͛̎͆̂̓̐̉͑͜ͅ.̵̧̡̠̤̺̾̍́̌́́͋͊̈́̽͑̐͒͝͠͝'̷̠̙͇̃̓́̀̏̅        (‘...taste…’)

 

 

 

When had his shadow swirled around to meet him, whispering encouragement? Whispering temptation?

 

 

How could five words affect him so? How could one?

 

 

‘...No. Practice restraint. You must remember to make her remember…! That is the objective at play…For now…No distractions…No distractions…’

 

 

He glanced down at you, overstimulated with the one word of desire his shadow continuously supplied. The utterance made a home in his head, reverberating inside his mind's eye relentlessly. Fortunately you weren’t privy to the abrasive susurrations his shadow felt the need to disclose.

 

 

 

 

'̶̧̯͔̻̦̤̯̻͙̪͒͒̂͘͝͠.̴̗̹͕̭̈́͋̍͊̆̀͘̚.̶͎̲̺̱̼̬̖̮̮͉̺̟̱̼̩͐̓̎̈́͗̓̃͝.̵̧̧̧͚̥͓͍̱̦̪̘̈́͐T̷̨̧̧̜͈̜̻͙̭̔̈́̅ą̶̣̥̪̫̼̲̗̤̥͑̇s̸̡̘̤̣̙̜̮̓̏̇͊͛̃̽̅̄̏̿̇̈͠͝ͅt̶͍̖̦̙̬̱͈̯̗̣̦̪͌͆̋̔̄̌̿͝ḙ̶̡̢̡̭͍̝̯̭͖̙͙̱̘̅͋͊͆̎̽́̕.̶̼̯̫͍̤̮̗̝̹̹͋͛̓̀͂͜.̴̨̡̞͈̖̮̼͍̙͔͎̀̈̀̕.̴̛̹͔̀̈̏͛̈́̒̒̏̈̚ͅT̸̳̲̯̹̟̖̖́̉͊̓á̷̢̛̗͚͎̝̼̱͉̫̙̤̈́̽̂̀͐̀̽̇͛̀̉̓̽̇͆͜ͅͅs̵͙̣̮͓̳̹̤̳̱͈̍̉̔̓̒̌ͅt̵̨̛̹̙̮͈̞̟̗̺̣͕̰̙̯̉̌͑̾̏̈̄̋͆̔̕̚͘e̷̡͇͎͚̻̮̻͔͉̳̔͌̊͘ͅ.̸̨̠̤̮̯̩̜̙͉͕͚͌͛̍̈́́̽͐͗͒̆̍̚͜͠.̸̼͎̣̪̣̼̣̰̘͕̼̠̦̎̂̈͋͐̎̎͌̊͑͋̇͂̓͆̇͜.̷̢̨̗̺̈́͗̊̾̄̏̑̊͋̚͝.̵̢̰̗̗̝͔̪̉̎̿̅͒͌̊̎͘Ţ̶̗̭̣̖̺̹̠̎̏ă̶̭̣͈̹͛̎̈́̒̓̾̿͂s̴̨͔͖̥̼̠̜̤̪̭̰̝̹̏̀͜ͅt̵̨̥̟̗̘̰̠̞̩̦̗͗͋́́̋̓̂̈́̑̃̒̈́̓̚͜͜͠͝͝ȩ̶̯̳̳̟̳̗̥̜̥̯̘͙͑̊̓͑̽́̂̓̒͠ͅ.̶̢̧̩͙̥̳̫̣͎͔̠̰̹̰͇́͊̆.̶͉̞̮͔̹̝̐̄̒̏͋̃̀͛̽̚͜͠.̵̡̛̛̩̮̱̟͔͙̈́̒̀͑̆͐̿͊͑̇̄̆͆̓̚!̵͕̯̖̲͉̓̂̈́̽̍ ̶̛͔̬͑̈͋̃͂̆̃̆̈́̉̇͘͘͝Ơ̸͍̼̦̫̙̻̠̓̂̒̂̄̉͌͘͝n̶̛͓̭͎͖̥̪͔̓̔͒̀̆̽͑͠ė̵̗͈̗̭͈͈̜̄,̶̹̤̹͈̻̯̱͈̗̮̲͙̺̮̲̽̐̈ͅ ̸͚̐ÿ̷̢̟̦̼̹̼̹͕̫̳̫̬͕̺̯̥̙̐̽̅̍̈́͐͐̀͘ë̶̢̛̛̟̻́̌͊͒̀͑̈́̾̀̎̚s̶̨̙̭̦̘̊̐̌,̵̳̘̳̮̊̃̈́̎̕͝͠ͅ ̶̛͕̳̗̰̩̼͖͋̇̋̏͂̐̇̍͒̔̃ơ̸͈̝̜̗̤̈͂͛̎̆͐͝ͅń̸̨̨̳͔͚̥̫͓̹̣͓͈̮̀́̒̏̓̈́͊͐̕͝͝͝l̴̳͂̐ý̷̢͔͚̼̣̓̿̎́͐̊̐̃́̐̌͊͘͝͝͝ ̷̯͎͍͚̬̗͗̃̔̈̿̕͝o̷̗̹̳̙͇̻̅̈̐̀̌̊͗̇̄̒́̀͋̐͝͠n̶̢̢̛̞͙̲͔̗͎͈͚̓̂̒͋̃̐̌̄̍͂͘̕é̷̤͓̙͖͙̬̬̱̰̼̥̈́̉̈́̿̋̎͐̌̐͛͝.̵͙̭͑͝͠͠.̶̹̙͍͍̗̰̓̑̔̚.̷̛̝̟̝̞̝̪͍̰͖̮̞̆͊ͅ'̷̳͔̱̅

 

 

 

 

(‘...Taste. Taste. Taste…! One, yes, only one…’)

 

 

 

'̴̢͇̜̻̲̝̠̻̫͕̤̱̩̲͕͗͗́͐̓͒̐̊̚ͅ.̴̧̤̘̬͗͂͑̋̍̓̽̎̚͝.̷͓͚͐̀̌̆́̐̍͑͌̂̚͘͘.̴̡̨̢̩͖͉̝̰̳̤̘͎͗́̀̓͊̉͜O̶̡̳̜͉̗̼̮̖̗͍̞̖͍̤̣̦̰̍̽̀̈͌̂̅͂̈́̊̅͘n̴̜̎̃͒̄̿͆̈̈́͑̀̎̕͝͝͝ȩ̸̧͎̼̙́́̃͒̿̈ ̷̫̤̜̙̺̤̘̮̘̕ͅḯ̴̢͎̣̦͎̺͕͈̹͖̗̩̬͍̳̳̍̆̋ṡ̵̺͍̝͕̟͆͘͠ ̷̡̛͕̳͖̙̬̤̏̾̏̏̏̓́̍̊̐͑͠͝͝ȩ̵͙̪̝̠͚̗̲͙̙̞̾̓͗̈̈́͌̀̐̉̿͋͆̊͌͝n̷̡̤̞̮͙̪͔̫̖̟̉̊ȏ̵̜̖͔͒̒̀͌͛̈́̎̏̏̊͝ũ̴̧̬͍̪͕͖̰͓̯̫͈̪̦̘̇̓͑̉̓̊͒̓̀̊̚͝ͅg̸͈̟͔̃̑̑̾̆̎̉͌͆͘͘͠͠h̴͖̞͛͑̔̈́̑̋̎͆̄̽̀͘.̵̳̤̰͔̇̈͑̈́̀̆͂̅́.̸͈̗̯͉̮̖̲͈̜̼̖̮̰̪̪̳̄̏̈͌̍͗̕͠͝ͅ.̷̛̜̝͇͎̺̟̝̟̠͊͊̉̃͌̆̆̓̽̕͝'̷̝͈̞̯̞̥̰͎̥̻̯̼̤̘̬̘͇̊̋̀̔̓̈̌͠

 

 

 

 

(‘...One is enough…’)

 

 

Enough. Enough!

 

 

Bristling, Alastor wordlessly shooed his unruly servant away with but a flick of his ear as his resolve was steeled anew. Pleased that his shadow got his discreet message for it to cease its vulgar accosting, the radio host focused on you. His countenance never crumbled.

 

 

To both strengthen his facade and appease you, Alastor sent you a grin as he bit the inside of his cheek. Blood poured into his mouth in his attempts to calm down. It took all of the restraint capable within his being to ignore how your fingers tightly curled over his overcoat…Again…

 

 

Clearing his throat and fighting the urge to forcibly peel your touch from his person, he greeted you with a teasing lilt. Successfully compelling your obedience with his words alone, his crafted grin was sure to charm you. It was a guise of clever innocence that you foolishly believed. Alastor’s shadow hovered over his shoulder until he allowed the phantom to briefly lift your chin, allowing your tentative gaze to meet his.

 

 

He had never felt a relief more sweet than when you finally let him go in trepidation. The feeling bled into the words Alastor spoke as your gentle but savage touch hesitantly hovered over his shoulder. His pitch was more airy than intended.

 

 

“Ah, ah, ah... Eyes on me…Surely the floor isn’t that interesting…?”

 

 

Hints of trepidation hid deep within your glittering irises, the color of them profoundly intriguing and more mysterious than he remembered. Alastor willed his heightened breath to slow to a subtle exhale as he tilted his head and calmly regarded you. Relief continued to flood his system, but the desire to reenact vengeance on your previous error had his mind concocting even more ponderings; musings that were more pleasant than before.

 

 

 

'̵̧̛̻̠̹̘͈̱̦͔̲̳̉̈́̽͛̅͂̍́̌̎̽͌̄͘̕͝.̶̧̼̗͕̫͍̣̪̣̰̿̐̆̋͜.̶̧̧̹̬̪̞̘̼̯̤͚̜̣͗.̴̡̺͙̜̗̮͈͉̗̘̟̏̔́̃͗̂̉̀͊̋͆̽̌̂̒̚͜ͅD̶̢͕̫͈͔͗̑̕͝͠e̴͎̰̮͓͙̮͉͈̙̓̽̕v̴̻͚̯̹̹̯̦̪̤͈͕̎̿̀̾̎̿̇̿̍̊̌̕ò̷̧̩̰̘̠̰̱̯̥̏̓̋̆͋̀͑̿͊̎ͅͅư̸̢̛͇̮͚̪̜͈͋̓̀̓̐̈́͂̋͑͆̅ŕ̷̤̰̘̘̝̥̰̦̩̈́̓̀̌̿̀.̸͍̖̯̉̿̊͛͘.̴̛̺̭̦͙̞̮̘͇̥̻̝̮̩̲͙̝̥̒͋̅̀̐̑͛͂̀͌̿.̵͓͊͒͗̇͝͝'̵̣̝͍͔̳͔̲̰̌̋̌̄̌́̾̂ͅ (‘...Devour…’)

 

 

 

Indeed. For once, he would allow himself to agree with his shadows' most recent demand. What a feast he would make of you, should your fortune eventually fade.

 

 

Yet another flicker of uncertainty danced across your visage as you tried to back away, but Alastor held you firm. All for the sake of making sure you would keep your distance. As much as what was socially acceptable for a dance, at least…

 

 

Though the more he thought of your deal and his favor, the more his mouth salivated and mixed with the taste of iron already residing on his tongue. Oh, If only you knew who you danced with. It was sound judgment to adhere to the apprehension eating away at the strongholds of your mind.

 

 

If only you knew you were dancing with the embodiment of fear himself…

 

 

‘...Patience…She will learn soon enough…’

 

 

“…Besides, You're doing splendidly. In fact, you haven’t stepped on my shoes at all yet!”

 

 

Just as expected, you laughed at his teasing. Your face distorted, eyes squinting with mirth by the tremendous amount of glee his words produced. He had never noticed the crinkle in your nose before. Had your face always contorted in such a way?

 

 

Before he could study that peculiar quality of yours further, you ducked your face from view yet again. Mirth devoured you whole as laughter of the sweeter variety bloomed softly under your breath. Only then did you look back up at him, your face radiantly taken with joy.

 

 

Your varied expressions were intriguing. Alastor couldn’t help but think of just how easily your unease, your fear, morphed into pleasantness. Your naivety was delicious and the malleability of your personality was a delight. It was even to the point that his rage was short lived, exiting him with the minute flicks of his ears and the subtle press of his fingers into your own. It was sickening how easily you calmed, tamed, his ire…Perhaps that fact alone was a promising one?

 

 

…Or perhaps it just meant yet another of your angelic qualities he wished to scrutinize was shining through.

 

 

Regardless of what your laughter meant, Alastor couldn’t pull his thoughts away from musing on how exquisite the meal he would make of you would be. Anticipation bubbled over from his bloodstream into the heat the fabric of his clothes provided. He couldn’t wait to have the opportunity to sample your taste. The temptation just wouldn’t leave him. Another gentle squeeze of your hand when he pulled you in for a second dance provided additional assurance.

 

 

His excitement, his distraction, was so great that he nearly missed when you addressed him. Even at normal volume, your voice was light incarnate and so unimposing. Unassuming. It was hard to notice, but just as impossible to miss.

 

 

“Yet is a very important keyword in all this...”

 

 

Again your laughter flooded Alastor’s ears. The melodious sound dragged him from his musings. Both intrigued and disappointed with the gentleness of your audible interruption; he couldn’t help but wonder why his brain had carried him away into the depths of his darkest desires again. Now was not the time to invite such wonderful thoughts; and distraction was certainly not something he would permit for himself…

 

 

…Not yet at least.

 

 

“Ha! So it is, doll, so it is…”

 

 

Answering you seamlessly, he twirled you around the dance floor with grace. The superfluousness of his elegant movements in time with the music had the curvature of your lips lifting further, your sweet giggles born anew.

 

 

A mischievous smirk attuned itself to his lips as he regarded you. He hoped, with the next part of his plan, that you wouldn’t require further closeness of him than what he deemed necessary.

 

 

“You know, for someone who claims to have two left feet, you're very light on them!”

 

 

Your cardigan fluttered with the makeshift breeze as Alastor strategically lifted you into a carry in time with the music. With simplistic maneuvers, he twirled you around effortlessly. It was a movement his wife had participated in and enjoyed with him in a memory of his. Perhaps copying what he knew would provide an adequate enough example for you to remember?

 

 

The demon’s only reply was a quick gasp immediately followed by more elated giggles. Each light expression of joy intermingled within your voice, breathless and surprised; but amused all the same.

 

 

Perhaps he would keep the show going, if only to entertain the lovely, intriguing little audience member cradled in his arms. It was the only thing stopping him from devouring you. That, and the promise, the desire, of returning your reveries.

 

 

Yes, he would keep going. He would succeed. It was only a matter of time.

 

 

Twirling you around, Alastor did his utmost to maintain his composure with the added weight of you in his arms. Reenacting the second phase in his plan, he resolved himself to the task of producing more of your laughter. The music continued to swirl around you both jauntily. The sound was an extension of the demon’s hopefulness, eagerness, to see a plot in the making come to fruition. You were ignorant to the true insidious nature of his plans.

 

 

“What is blue and not very heavy?”

 

 

“Um…I’m not sure…What?”

 

 

“Why, light blue, of course!”

 

 

Your laughter was ebullient, springing forth like a renewed fountain; lively and youthful. The sound was endearing and emboldened his attempts to please you further.

 

 

…Why did he wish to please you in the first place? No, he wouldn’t ponder it further.

 

 

“Here’s another one for you, doll. Why can’t a nose be twelve inches long?”

 

 

By now, Alastor had brought you to stand on your own feet. Instantly, he twirled you around and waited for your face to contort into guaranteed curiosity.

 

 

Your face was flushed with your previous laughter. Bright eyes opened from the force of the glee the demon supplied to stare back into his. Just as expected, he was presented with a verbal pondering, a scrunch in your nose and a curve in your lips as you tilted your head.

 

 

“Why…why can’t it?”

 

 

“Because then it would be a foot! Ha!”

 

 

Another soft round of giggles supplemented your breathless voice as Alastor led you into a dip. At his own sound of amusement, his microphone came to life across the room, subsequent bouts of laughter from an invisible audience taking residence in the air. The assisted noise enveloped the room and encouraged your own sweet song to be emboldened on its way out of you.

 

 

Leading you back into an upright position, Alastor noticed your hair was slightly out of place from the force of your dancing. Your hair ribbon was untied and barely clinging to your locks. Fortunately, your appearance was the farthest thing from your mind. Joy never left your face. Your visage was delicate and airy. You were all smiles.

 

 

How delicious.

 

 

“Okay, okay...I have one for you now…”

 

 

Not expecting to be serenaded with a bit of your own humor, Alastor’s ears perked up slightly at your intriguing admittance. He ignored how distantly familiar the whole exchange felt. Rather, playing the dutiful gentlemen, he put his all into giving you the attention you craved.

 

 

“So…What do you call a theatre production about puns?”

 

 

Alastor gifted you with silence and a quirked brow over an expectant gaze. The two of you danced on as loose strands of hair hit your face in your shared movements. He nodded as he saw you would assuredly explode had he denied you the chance to expel the hilarity building up under your skin a second more.

 

 

“...A play on words~!”

 

 

A stream of chuckles exited his own lips in concordance with your own as you both danced on. With an excitable phrase, the rarity of praise slipped from his lips.

 

 

“Enthralling, my dear. You have me utterly speechless.”

 

 

Yet again, he left you in stitches. Soft torrential snickers of the elated kind flowed from you. You prepared another entertaining recital for him as you fought for your breath. The slightest of wheezes congregated in your words. The sound only caused Alator’s golden grin to grow in vibrance.

 

 

“Alright...Why shouldn’t you trust trees?”

 

 

This time, Alastor generously allowed a question for your personal amusement with a coy grin, already knowing the answer. He failed to notice the fluidity of your dance movements. Each of your steps matched his perfectly. They were dizzying in speed but sufficiently in time with the music.

 

 

“Hmm…Whyever not?”

 

 

“It’s because they seem shady!”

 

 

Again, the radio demon sent the two of you spinning as the sound of enjoyment floated in the air. Your hair ribbon was long gone now as a cackle broke through his winded, practiced voice.

 

 

“Ha! That was quite good, though I’ve heard it before. I doubt you’ve heard this next one…”

 

 

“Do tell!”

 

 

“Certainly! Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

 

 

You glanced subtly to the side, a mutter alive on your tongue as you repeated his words to yourself. Again, your nose crinkled in concentration. Confusion, then realization, became prevalent in the slight crease of your brow. After a moment more of your mumbling, you looked up to your tutor with a grin. An amused lie ingrained itself into the delicate thread your voice weaved.

 

 

“Hm…Why did it?”

 

 

“Because it was outstanding in its field~”

 

 

Even if his answer was predicted, you treated his humor as if it was the first time you had heard it. The laugh you gifted him was sweeter than moments before, laced with enjoyment and satisfaction in its delicate tune. Then, just as simply as the lie left you was your flaw eradicated. As he brought you into another twirl, the falsehood was quelled from your lips; silenced with a cadence only befitting of a lark: happy and content.

 

 

“Haha yeah I’ve actually heard that one. Good try! I have a better one, though.”

 

 

“Oh? Then please, do elaborate. Let’s hear it.”

 

 

“What do you call birds that stick together?”

 

 

Ah. This was one he hadn’t heard before. Intrigued, he inclined his head and waited patiently for you to extract a great amount of laughter from the depths of his being. In his expectation, Alastor displayed his golden incisors with mischievous intent as he wordlessly signaled to his shadow. Swiftly and with little warning, his phantom lifted you into the air in a flamboyant flourish.

 

 

The satisfaction that entered him upon hearing your surprise filled him to the brim. The suddenness you were subjected to greatly affected your delivery; but it soon faded into glee as you were twirled in the air another time, the tumultuous nature of your breathlessness only adding to your humor.

 

 

If your joke wouldn't make him laugh, then he was at least assured a chuckle by just your reactions alone.

 

 

More and more, however, he was teetering on the precipice of suspense, delicious delight, as your words were but reduced to an amusing stutter.

 

 

“V-velcrows~!”

 

 

With a pleased, effervescent cackle of his own, Alastor made a mental note to add your most recent recital to his personal repertoire. Pops of static faded in and out of his voice as he caught his breath. A silent command was sent to his shadow, compelling it to safely set you back onto your feet. Only the faintest of growls was heard from his dark companion, nothing of note for retaliation. No words of temptation were offered. Only obedience, however resistive. Good.

 

 

“A decent attempt, my dear.”

 

 

“Haha. You think so? Thank you! I’ve read that one recently!”

 

 

As the minutes unfolded with fresh enthusiasm, The demon was greeted with more of your joy in the duration of swapping recitals. Continuously, each of you bolstered the other with your efforts in humor until the time for merriment drew to a close. Your deliveries and quick wit matched your steps, rapid clicks against hardwood being the result of your efforts.

 

 

Finally, with you in his arms, the music faded away. Gracious as you were, he was pleased to have successfully cut a rug without the assistance of your pitifully dainty fingers ripping a hole into his clothes again. No, you danced beautifully, with his help. Just as he said. You thrived under his tutelage and the practiced refinement of his hands.

 

 

“My, you’ve shined those skills up nicely. Better yet, you haven’t stepped on my shoes at all this evening.”

 

 

Clearing his throat, the demon stepped from you an adequate distance. He pulled at the lapels of his overcoat, reclaiming some semblance of sanity from the amount of your proximity he generously allowed. His words were smooth, purred in rehearsed ease as his claws glided over his pristine attire. With your touch off of him, his collected composure was restored.

 

 

“I dare say if your dancing grows in betterment to match your scintillating wit, then no worries should befall you. You were simply marvelous!”

 

 

“...Only with your help.”

 

 

His fingertips, already in pursuit of maintaining the sumptuousness of his bespoke suit and overcoat, paused shy of his bowtie. He blinked and calmly regarded you as he took in the meek features of your visage; your lashes hitting your cheeks every few moments as you looked up to him. Why did your humble admittance affect him?

 

 

No, it was meaningless to ponder further upon what was already fact. Instead, he sequestered the knowledge of your politeness away in silence; savoring the satisfaction you supplied. His claws clutched around the wrapped fabric of his neck, resuming to straighten a bowtie that didn’t need adjusting.

 

 

“Ha. Yes, but of course…I did say I would cultivate your skills, did I not?”

 

 

Somehow your expressions kept getting more interesting with each laugh you produced for him. The tune you carried this time was much like its deliverer, soft and reticent.

 

 

“I do recall you making mention of it.”

 

 

Tinkering with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves, Alastor cleared his throat. His microphone was returned with a flick of his gloved hand as he hummed in acknowledgment. He placed the end of his mic against the hardwood with a resounding tap before leaning forward to rest his weight upon his staff. He took note of how you flinched at the sighs and pops the floor expressed as he flicked your forehead. Your confidence, however small, was yet again reduced. The amount that still resided in you was very much comparable to cinders from an overused fireplace, a dormant and dead flame from overexertion.

 

 

Hm. At least you showed him you had a promising spark to begin with.

 

 

“Now then…Is there anything else you recall in that noggin of yours? Has our little shindig sparked an inkling perhaps?”

 

 

Again, he watched your eyes squint and your nose scrunch up from the presence of his hand. Amusement flooded into his chest as you stepped away. Anticipation for what your answer would be held him in a chokehold, his excitement present in the low melody and pops of static lulling from his microphone.

 

 

Had he succeeded? Had he secured this opportunity to the fullest? Was this occasion, his performance, enough to make you remember him? Alastor’s chest tightened with expectation, his ribcage battling with the mockery of a rapid heartbeat. His curiosity was at its limit. He needed answers. He needed to know.

 

 

Did you remember him?

 

 

You paused an excruciating moment more, looking down at your feet as your hands caught your chin in deep thought. Did it really take that long to figure out an adequate response? His smile upped in its outward facade as frustration ate away at its curvature. Your expression wasn’t promising.

 

 

His patience with the situation was severely fatigued, and it only declined further; unraveling at the sight of your indecision. Alastor’s eye twitched.

 

 

How irritating.

 

 

A sigh, three strategically placed taps from your foot and the hiding of your hands into overly large sleeves were precursors to the answer he dreaded.

 

 

“I…I’m so sorry, Alastor, but no…I…can't really remember anything…”

 

 

His efforts were in vain. No. They just took an alternative route. Perhaps, however frustrating, his tactics to alleviate the fog from your mind weren’t the best. Nonetheless, the fact still stung and bruised his pride. Surely his plan was foolproof.

 

 

Why was he disheartened? Why did your words greatly affect him?

 

 

Why was he affected at all?

 

 

Ah, but this was what he had wanted; to find out if you had any remote inkling to a past possibly shared with him. Alastor raised a hand to his chin and closed his eyes in silent deliberation, his grin reduced to half its usual vibrancy and into a thin curve.

 

 

However unfulfilling the current circumstances, he was getting close to the answers his mind ravenously craved. It just so happened that perhaps this wasn’t the answer he had expected from you.

 

 

No matter. He supposed he would be getting a delectable meal out of this transaction for his troubles if things continued to decline in your progress. There was no need to worry or make assumptions just yet. There was still time for the next phase in his planning to take effect.

 

 

Either way, he would be sure to get something from you regardless.

 

 

“My, that’s unfortunate…Hm…”

 

 

Opening his eyes and collecting his hand back to his side, Alastor was greeted with the concerned expression of a saint. Eyes saturated with melancholy and worry blinked up at him as you took a step towards him. Your visage was drastically different than a few moments ago. Alastor took a step back, maintaining a respectable distance as he mused on the fact. It was strange how malleable your emotions were.

 

 

Then again, Perhaps that was a good thing. It was possibly something of use, a tool acquired for a later purpose…

 

 

“I…I really am sorry that I can’t remember anything…”

 

 

“...It can’t be helped. Though, I do suppose we can mark this tactic off of our list of objectives and move on to more successful endeavors.”

 

 

“Still I…I don’t want to waste your time…”

 

 

Ah. So you felt it as well. The gravity of time wasted, meaningless to eternity as it slipped through his claws with each failure. This shared song and dance was fatuous if it wasn’t producing results. Of course, Alastor wouldn’t state as much aloud. At least you were willing to admit your shortcomings, however unprompted or unnecessary. He was well aware of what all you lacked.

 

 

With a twitch of his eye, Alastor reached a hand to gently rest atop of your crown, patting in a controlled, repeated motion. He smiled brightly to feign encouragement as he silently counted to himself how many times his gloves made contact with your loose locks. He retracted his hand once a sufficient number was reached.

 

 

“Come now, no need to fret. We will certainly lift that veil from your mind eventually. It's all just trial and error, my dear. Sometimes things take time, more so than others. We must have a bit of patience about us, after all.”

 

 

“I…I suppose you're right.”

 

 

“Of course I am. Now then, at least there was something else that was gained from our shared experience that proved beneficial…”

 

 

“…That being?”

 

 

“Why, entertainment and comradery dear. That, and a few new recitals to add to my own audible collection.”

 

 

Alastor nodded to himself as he chuckled, more than self assured. He didn’t wait for you or give you a chance to give additional input.

 

 

“Ah, yes. There is simply nothing that can compare to drinks and laughter shared with agreeable company, wouldn’t you say?”

 

 

“…Yeah. It’s the simple joys that matter most…”

 

 

“Exactly! Well stated, my dear. As long as there was amusement, I’d say that’s an evening well spent. We will just have to make another attempt soon to make up the time...”

 

 

Upon mention of planning a future appointment to attempt to secure your memories, Alastor drew out his pocket watch. Upon setting his eyes on the device as the cover snapped open, his mic reverberated into a sharp pop of static. His eyes widened as his seasoned gaze peered over the tiny roman numerals in his grasp.

 

 

Ten pm.

 

 

Mid afternoon had transformed well into late evening. Just how long had he been dancing with you?!

 

 

Another quick glance at his watch had his mind racing. Why did the experience, the impromptu prolonged night of dancing, remind him of days gone by while he was topside? Why did something as simple as looking at the time bring him warm familiarity from when life still swelled into his lungs? Why did it remind him so much of her, of late nights spent dancing away the hours. Why did it remind him of her agreeable company, unnecessary but not unwelcome…?

 

 

Why did the same fact, the same vague feeling of all of those nights, plague him but elude you? Why did he feel as if his chest would implode with both glee and frustration as more forgotten memories flooded into his mind? Those same memories were locked away tightly from you, your brain closed like a vice.

 

 

Ever the attentive guest, you glanced his way with a question resting on your tongue. There was no doubt you had heard the cacophony of noise his microphone felt the need to create.

 

 

“Something wrong?”

 

 

Alastor lied straight through his sharp, amber teeth.

 

 

“Nothing of the sort…” Alastor recovered quickly before referencing the watch he held in his grasp. His thoughts faded as he snapped the mechanism closed. Just as swiftly did he dispose of it into the depths of his chest pocket on his overcoat, patting the fabric for good measure.

 

 

“I suppose time just flies when you are having fun. It is getting rather late though. I…I didn’t realize the time…It's already ten.”

 

 

“Oh my word! Is it that late already?”

 

 

“It would seem so.”

 

 

Glancing towards you, the tell tale signs of your unease for staying over your welcome battled against the edge of your clothing. Your fingers deftly twirled into the confines of your sleeves answer the hem of your cardigan. For once, Alastor was quick to relieve your distress.

 

 

“Hm…Why don’t you go ahead and head on out? I wouldn’t wish for a lady to go without a good night's rest, and I’ve kept you from your bed long enough. Here, allow me to escort you…”

 

 

He drew close once more, guiding you to his door with the faintest of touches lingering along the small of your back. He ignored how shivers with the strength to make his fingertips numb molded into his hands as he escorted you, touched you. His claws were on the precipice of ripping into you as your back was turned. No. He would have patience.

 

 

Patience.

 

 

Alastor cleared his throat and addressed you to give himself a sufficient distraction. He successfully hid the fact that his mouth salivated with a vengeance as soon as you looked up at him with those shining irises again.

 

 

You were close to the door. Patience. You would be gone in mere moments. Patience. Patience.

 

 

Alastor bit back a growl. Patience was indeed a virtue, but it was a damn hassle to maintain…

 

 

“…Rest assured we will try wrangling that brain again come tomorrow afternoon with even more gusto. I need you in tip top shape for our efforts to be fruitful. Sound Jake?”

 

 

Alastor added a reminder to himself as well as a bit of flair into his statement, swiveling his microphone in his hand. He cared not that it made a dark scuffle mark on his floor as his staff spun under his palm. Niffty would see to it later. Besides, it served him a purpose. It kept his hands busy and safely away from your throat. His mouth was still watering, supplying faint hints of metallic delight on his pallet.

 

 

Thoughts both pleasant and obscene danced, swirled, into a soup of conflicted emotion as he regarded you. Maintaining this conversation with you was crucial and was his last resort to withhold from causing you harm.

 

 

Ah. Focus. Words. Perhaps you would appreciate the bit of slang he used earlier. It was a last effort to dip into your subconscious and see if any indication of a memory resided there.

 

 

You still gazed up at him, and still you looked confused, bewildered even; but you sent him a faint laugh as your nose scrunched again. The cadence of your voice had Alastor’s claws threatening to rip his gloves to ribbons in his silent exasperation. He hated how much he enjoyed the sound.

 

 

“Jake as Jake can be.”

 

 

A laugh boomed forth from him, jauntiness teetering delicately on the edge of being forced and convincing. The sound released some of the tension in his chest as a hand was pressed to your shoulder, gently patting in supposed content.

 

 

It took all of his remaining mental fortitude to not curl his claws into your own shoulder in search of retaliation, justice, for your earlier blunder.

 

 

“Attagirl.”

 

 

There was a moment of pause, deadly pause, that threatened the remainder of your eternity. You still stood before him. You hadn’t left yet. You should’ve left by now. He needed to compose himself otherwise you would be a goner, nothing more than a bloodstain on his carpet.

 

 

He removed his hand from your shoulder. His claws subtly curled into a fist once it was returned to his side.

 

 

“I… had a really great time with you tonight. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to spend it with me and…Thanks for your continued help. I’ll….I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

 

 

Ah. You had gifted him with a thank you. Politeness, he mused, would be your second end eventually. There was no doubt. He felt it in the depths of his bones.

 

 

His mouth was still watering.

 

 

“So you shall.”

 

 

A brief dip of your head and a small curtsy was given as a tender smile glided across your face. More tension, hunger, built a roaring fire in Alastor’s chest at the sight.

 

 

“Alright, sounds good. I promise I won’t be late next time.”

 

 

“Ha! I shall hold you to it. Sleep well dear.”

 

 

Another sound of content was heard. Another pang of hunger was felt. He could feel the growls and sighs of his shadow in his mind, his sanity threatening to worsen by the continued sound.

 

 

You needed to leave. He couldn’t stand it a moment more. His plans would not be undone by you.

 

 

“Goodnight Alastor…”

 

 

Just like that, the door was pulled closed behind you. As soon as the wooden door sighed into place and his claws found themselves wrapped around the doorknob, relief was felt. Your prolonged goodbye was maddening. At least his meager patience withheld the majority of your temptation.

 

 

Alastor took in a breath and released it as he leaned into his bedroom door. His pride had taken a few rough abrasions during the interaction, he realized, as it took more time to compose himself than usual.

 

 

You confounded him, your sweet songs of delight repeated like a broken record in his mind. The sound of them dizzying to the point he wished to entrap your neck in between his claws and strangle every single tune out of you. Frustration bridled his tongue. A low growl was the only sound allowed to escape the confines of his teeth. He still could not get over the fact that memories flourished rampantly into his mind but remained completely dormant in yours.

 

 

No. Despite his best efforts, you made a fool of him.

 

 

But, loathe as he was to admit it, it was too soon to say you weren't her…

 

 

No, he wouldn’t be bested. Your confounded brain would yield to him. Eventually. Time, a tedious little constraint, was just the key to unlocking you. At least he had eternity.

 

 

Eternity.

 

 

The word became a nuisance, swimming through his ears without reprieve. It was much like the insistence of your subtle, demanding, voice. Dealing with this agony, this incessant curiosity, for the rest of eternity was absolutely horrid to mull over. He had to make sure you remembered. Soon. This meticulous mind game would not continue forever. He would see to it. He would ensure it. He would–!

 

 

An audible crunch underfoot, just as harsh as it was satisfying, broke him from his spiraling ruminations. His claws clung to his scalp threatening to make his head weep, saturating his locks further in scarlet. His thoughts had rivaled his usual perceptiveness. He hadn’t realized he was aimlessly walking into the depths of his domain…

 

 

What in blazes had he stepped on that would cause such a racket? Alastor’s red gaze snapped to his oxfords as he detangled his claws from his hair. He carefully lifted his weight to look at the underside of his shoe.

 

 

Remnants of crystalline fractals scattered underneath his soul, glass jewels broken and sequins scattered a short distance away from the scene of his “crime”. Lovely silk strands, previously tied together, were torn and draped along the hardwood, dressing his floor in the splendor that once decorated your head.

 

 

Knowing the item was crushed and wrinkled to oblivion, he kneeled down to retrieve the remainder of your ribbon with a question forming on his tongue. Just when had this been discarded? Ah. Perhaps it was removed in the process of your impassioned twirls around his dance hall.

 

 

Alastor’s thumb smoothed over the cloth as he held it closer to be studied. It was in a sorry state and was yet another thing of yours that needed fixing. With a sigh, the Overlord snapped a needle into his free hand, preparing to make quick work of his error. He made a mental note to finish his repairs with the utmost haste as he would return it to you during his next experiment. It wouldn’t do to keep a lady’s belongings, or return them in a state of such disrepair; regardless of how irksome being in your presence was at the moment.

 

 

Deftly, needle and glowing green thread amended the tears in the fabric as he continued into his room to procure a seat. The familiar sighs and hisses of his shadow greeted him as it followed. Alastor paid it no mind, flicking his ears in silent greeting.

 

 

That was, until the phantom started talking.

 

 

 

 

'̴̰̬̲̼̘̫͍̤͐͐̅̆̿͋̆̉̽̓̉̽̊͘͝Ś̶̟͖͚͚̼̖͉̼̱͖͌͋̚͜͜ḧ̶̫̹̞͙̱͔͠ę̸̧̘̘̞̞͖̰̭͇͙̻̘̇̌͛̄͌̑̿̀́͜͝ ̷̧̟̝͓̞̲͚̋͜͝ǧ̵̢͑͌̋̄̕̚ǫ̸̩̝̥͚̫̣̩̞̑̄́͗̃͌̀̉̌̄̔̊̏͒̓ţ̶͎̰͚̦̮̜͕̺͕̼̫̭͂͋̌̐͌̓́̿̒͛͊̓̕͜͠ͅ ̶̡̡̟̮̫̳̠̱̦̥̼͋̀̕͜ͅā̵̧̭̜̱͈͕͔̰̟͈̭̬̎̈́̊̐̇̏̃̑͗̍̅̍̕͠͝ͅw̷͙̦̠͔̋̓̂͑́̓̒̿̐̎̉̏͑͌̓͝ã̴͓̮̪̱͈̦̞̼͉͖̪͚̩̑̓́͠ȳ̷̺͔̮̞̖̀͊͛̊́͌̚.̴̡̟̬̜̣͓̪̯͓̬͉̤̠̖̠͔̎͌͜.̶̰̗̤̭̞̼̠̲̖̤̠̭͔̣̬̔̒̿͆͊͂͘͜ͅ.̶̮̥̣̝̫̼̋̅͂͑̀͝'̸̛͈͎̲̼̺̫̮̦̮̮̞̲̼̫̦͓̅̚ͅ        (‘She got away’)

 

 

 

 

Alastor paused his needlepoint as his oxfords steadily created taps that reverberated around his room.

 

 

“You know she is free to leave…For now…”

 

 

A sigh caught in the overlord’s throat, morphing into a low rumble on its way out. His shadow answered in kind, mirroring his obvious displeasure with the sentiment in subsequent snarls.

 

 

 

 

 

'̸̧̨͉̙̼̹̼͕͎̟̟͕͕̩̠̫͓͙̩͔͓̟̠̫̪͎̊͜͜.̷̨̛̛̛̗̪͉͇̙͈̻̥͓̩̟͇͔̈́̈́͐́͋͛̾̓̉̒̋̉͑̇̏̍́̍̈́̐͒̎̎̚̚͜͠͠ͅ.̴̡̛̦̙̤̥͎̹͉̯͎͚̟̖͉̺̥̣͕̾̊̾͘͜͜͝.̸̼̹̜͙̤͊͛͌͆̆͛̅́̍̒̕H̵̨̧͉̤͓̬̬̪͚̜͖͖̹͖͙̩̳̟͓͈̼͈̣͚̝͙̝̀͌̔͂͐̈́̃̊̒̿̿̔̈́̀̊̈́̚͘̕̕̕ụ̸̠̹̣͖̍̔̚̕͝ņ̶̨̛̤̳͉̳͚͔͖͓̘͚̙̯͛̊͗̽̓̃̋̐̈́̅͘̕̚͝g̶̢̧̢̘͙̝̥̜̰͉̰̲̼̰̭̱͈̣̰͚̖̼̩̪͎̘̹̲̖̻͒̾̇͛͜r̸̢̘̜̦̻͍̺̖̹̤͐̈́͒́̾͑́̏̒̒͘̚̕̕͝͠y̴̢̞̻̻̬̫͈̝̮͖͇̲̭͙̙̦͊̎͑.̶̡̛̲̝̺̯̾̀̃̓̆͠͝.̶̢̭̰͈̬͇͍̳̪̲̹͔̫̳̱͕̹͇̻̫̹̓̎̊̍͋̐͆̉͂̏́͒̑̌̉́͌̍̋̆̉̆̇͑̀͘̚̕̚̕͘͜ͅ.̴̧͓̖͔̙̲̪̞̰͓̖̭̳̩̻̮̞̝̪̍͂̄̃͛̽̾͂͋̈́̏͆̓̌̅̊̐̄̋̀̀́͂̃́̌̅͌̕͠͝'̸̨̲͙̫͍̲̰̜̪͗́̉́͊̔̈́̌͘        (‘...Hungry…’)

 

 

 

 

 

The demon’s stomach growled, tightening in expectation for a meal it wouldn’t receive this evening. Nothing that it favored or desired as of late, at least.

 

 

“Oh, I’m sure you are, old friend. But we must have patience. We shall see soon enough if she remembers us…”

 

 

 

 

'̶̢̪̜̂̈́̏̓̐́.̸̨̫̜̦̰̼̪͔̘̤̗̗͚̌͑͗̈́̇.̸͚̩͈̃̌̈́̆̃̐͊̍̊̒̽.̶̧̳̺̮̭̟̱͉̽̊̍̓͜Š̷̪̈́́̿̂̋͠ḣ̶̢͇̔͛͊̓̓̀̒̄̉̓͋̒̍̅̀̽ȅ̴̙̓͗͛ ̶̡̻͉͖̯̻̲̖̤̺̟͓̞͕̤̪̽̈́͑̾̋͒̽̐͒̆̀͜d̵̢̡̛̹͎͉̱͖̲͓̭͍̞͓̱i̷̢̨͔̫͚̱̯͇̙͚̫̺̻̺͑̽̂̇̔̾̈́͑͝ͅͅd̷͇̹͖̦̝͖͓̦̳̬̦̬̹̯̫̩̹͑̌ň̴̢̢̧̢̟̟͉̗̖̹̣̅̌̓͗̀’̶̺̲̬̮̂͗̍͗̈́̈́̎͛̈́̈́̓͛̉̚͝͠ţ̷̮̼̯̞͇̙̼̺̀ ̸͇̭͈̺̲̘̺̪̍͌͂̌̎̈́͝͝r̴̨̯͖͔̘͔̬̠͚̦̱̼͉̬̮̓̿̽̉͑̀̑͂͂͜͜ē̵̥̦̟̾̔͑̽͝ͅm̷̳̥̥̣̙̭͇̯͉̤͐̊̄̔̋̍̈́̅̈́̽͠ͅͅę̷͉̻̝͚͖̳̹̾̔͂͛̀̆̌̏͌̽̀́͠m̴̨̛͇̻̦̣͙͔̩̰̠̞̯͖̗͇̰̋̋̂͛̉̊̅̂̚͘̕͜͝͝͝b̸̛̟̖̳̬͉͎͙̂̎̓̎͛̋̊͜ȩ̵̛͕̟̭͈̥̜̯̞̠̗̒̃̃̉̌̉͛͊̃̓̚͜͝͝r̵͉̺͈̗̭̳̖̖̼̺̠̮̮̿̊͐͛̓̀́́͂̏̓̌̓̒̏͊̕͜…̶̝͇̙̖̹̪͓̩͚͙͎̺̘̬̳̫̎́́ͅH̷̼̺̦̻̭̩̻͑̿̊̈͆͛̉̀́͊̕ơ̵͉̩̖̠̜̗̖͇͈͔̦͂͗̐̆̐̅͜ṗ̶̡͚͎̟͍͔͍ȩ̴̨̢̮̼̲̥̜͚̜̌̿͜ ̵̜̈̓́̉̾͒͗̀͑̐̅̈́̀̈́̄̕ş̸̜̩̝̰͚̫̪̠̫̤̤̊̆̊̏̍͐̋̒̋̂̆̕͝͠ͅẖ̶̊̑̿̑̆̉̒̽̑̔̎̒̔̑̑̕͝e̵͚͋͐͑̈́̈̒̔̾̃̉̕̕ ̶̢̢̛̝̲̱̦̳͓̦̪̹̱̪̠̥̤̔̒̉͊́̀̚ḋ̷̰̗̦̜͚̲̦̑̊̐̄͂͐̂͒̐̾̈́̄̈́̚ǫ̷̛̗̪̙͉̺̪̺̠̅̆̈́̋̃̅̽͐͝ē̸̦͕̻̜̯̞̳̱̘͍̣̯͜͝s̷̰͇̩͖̮̿̐̃͆̀̋̌̅̎̀̈́̕͝ṅ̴̢̙̀͋͂̈́̑̐͋͛́͘͠͝’̵͈̦̟̓̈́ţ̴̧͉͛̔̅̒́̇̄̎̄͗̅̀̾̿͘…̷̣͂̓̓̾̏̐̿̈͋̂̄̑̿͘͝H̷͎͊̓̊̓͌̋́̈́̈́͠ũ̸̧̹̖̱͉̱̻̙̪͇̎̀́͒͒͠ͅn̴̙̝̱͋̈́̍̒̎̉̍̿̇̎̀̉̀͝g̷͕͖̲͋̎̍̃̇̑̽̐͝r̵̳͇͍͙̜͉̼̮̍́͜y̴̳̦̖̰̠̥̗͉̰̠͈̞̙͚̪̓̏̏̈́̃͊͆̓͋͜ͅ…̸̨̭̰̙̼͚̫̮͌͝ͅ'̸̢̣̣̝͑̊̀̋͠͝           

 

 

 

(‘...She didn’t remember…Hope she doesn’t…Hungry…’)

 

 

 

 

Alastor had made his way to the booth you and he had occupied prior. Your glass of whiskey was still waiting patiently for you, the lights of his room reflected off of its crystalline surface. He sighed as he seated himself, laying your ribbon on his table. He continued his work, flicking his claw to and fro to allow his verdant magic to imbue itself into your hairpiece.

 

 

“Come now, let’s have no talk of that. She deserves a fair trial, yes? Besides, you and I both know that the thrill of the chase is the most satisfying part of the meal…Should she be ours soon enough…”

 

 

 

 

'̸͍̟̤̽̉͜ͅH̴̲̼͔͕̎̃̏̈̾̐̈́͐̈́̽̒̒̓͋̕͜͝ṷ̶̢̱̫͉̭̣̹̦̦͇̎̅̍͊͛͑͋͐͒͜n̵̢̡̩̗̫̘͍̜͎̮̭̺̪͔̎̇́̽͂̔̑͛̅̊̃͊̈́͛̕̚͠g̵̡̖̖̖̮̠̗̩̩̹̩̟̒̐̂̃̒̓͐́̚̚͘͜͝ͅͅͅr̸̡̡̢͙̮͔̖̱̻̱̜̦̻͊̿͐̒́͑͋̏̽̃̐͛̕͘̚͠ͅý̶̡̢̛̦̭͇̬͎̜͈͖͇̬̭͇̌̃̿́͌̑̀͗̇̔͛͆͘͜ͅ ̵̜̤͌̈̋̈́̐̓̅̿̃̅̓͒̚f̵̡̨̺͓̟͇͕̳̲͔͍̆͆̎̽͊̓̈́͛̋̈́̇͗̎̿ͅͅǫ̴̢̩̖͖̦̤͈̒͊̐̈́̚r̸̢͍͈͍͊̓́͂͊̆͛ ̵̨͕̮͚̘̻͍͉̙̼̱͉̹̤̺̰̭̈̽̏̇͊͘̚̚h̸̢̘̩͔̠̭̩̜̥̭͙̘̞͊̍͐͋̌̈́͒͑̽̈́e̶̯̱̪͕̖̣̺̗̜̼͚̩͕̲͆̃̑͌̌̍̂̆̈́̉̈́̽̚͜͠r̶̛̺̜̟͇̗̙̬̮͍͌͗̓̊͑̏̈́͜…̴̭̫̪̘̞̪̥̇̏̍̒̋͂͛̔̕͘N̷̘̦͉̘̜̋̐͘e̴̼̓͑̈́͊́̉̓̈́̈́̕ê̷̟͔͌͘d̶̟̫̫͕̪̜̗̙̱̓̊͛̉̏̍̽̀͋̉͂͘ ̸̛̣̟̘͈̿̏̽̏́̾̆̈̒̑̿̓͝͝͝ȟ̸̡̯̬͚̙̜͖͉̜͓̺͚̙͖̼̋̓̈̅̌̃̏̐̀͆̏̕̕͠ḛ̷̘̭̻̽͌̇̐́̀͂͛̈́̌͊̕͝r̸̛̤̪͙̭̪̩̻̗̪̆̍̌̑̂̒̎̀̇͘͝ ̵̡̙̖̰͍̺̱̥̣͇̘͛̌̈́̍t̷̡̛̩̗͚͆͊̐o̵̯̣̬̝̠̺̰͙͎̰͑̇̈́̽̃̑͋̍͝͝͝ ̸̧̪͇̫͎̖̞͎̳̗̯̯͎̓̏͛̍͊̆̈́͜͝ͅͅḣ̴̢̡̛͙͚̠̜̰̬̗̥̎̅̈̒̽́͂͂̏̏͌͒͂͂͝ư̶̢̨̥̯̖̻̘̣̦̺̩̞͇̘͙̤̅͒̒̃ŗ̷̢̥͚̝͉̟̠̖̣̼̿̋͋̇̃̍̈́̽͐͗͒̚͝r̷̡̛̺̣͈͚͎͗͑̀͒̇͂͂̕͜y̷̨̢̮̫͖̼͙͖̩̭̘̙͖̽́̽́̎̎̓́͘̚͘…̸̨̛̗̞̱̪̙̿̾͆̅̚D̷͎͈́̽͌͝o̵͓̻͊̒̔͠n̸͉̻̳̹̼͓̯̪͕̠̮̝̬̫̟̗̎̑̂͗̔̎̈́̋̃’̷̫̙̏̃̉͋͛͠t̵̡̘͈̜͇̰̋̈́́̓̓̉̎̀̀͑̈́̎͋̐͌̀ ̷͇̿͋̈w̴̨̛̬͙̯̺̻̮͙̖̮̫͔̓̀̀̀̿̓̅̊̀̄̚͠a̶̢̻͍͓͔̲̬̣̹̪̼̝̮͇͒͒̎͌̋̂͑̅̓͜͠͠n̷̡̧̢̘͓̪͍̝͙̦̑̑̿̽͘t̴̨̨̛̙̩̟̝̺̼̫̠͍̼̗̰͎̔̏͘ ̸̢̖̲̱̦̲̤͔͚͇͔͈̃̀̋̏́̈́̾̀̂͘̚͘͜ḧ̷̢͉̞͚̦̣̘̮̻́̏̆͜͜͠͝ẽ̶͕͕͈̩̫̫̳͕̰̠́̓̊̿͊̈̚r̵̢̳͕͈̗̪̠̞̗̥̗̣͖̝͍͍̿ ̴̧̝͙̰͙̭̱̳̹̈̔͊t̵̢̡̧̧̡̧̫̪̫͚̟̗̪̫͚̱͈̾͊̃͋͂͐͒͘̕͘o̸̡̧̰͈̰̖͉̭̰̝̱͙͚̣͐̈ ̶̠͒͋̄̓̀̌̓͛̽̿̏̍͝r̶̛̥͎͇̲̺̤̙̜͈̻̙̤̮̺͓̝̓͌͊̄̀̈͗̄̎̌͌̕̚͝͝͝ẹ̷̡̺̙̲̝̽̊͋m̵̲̭̀̑̓̊̀̏̅̀̚e̶̞͙̺̮̳̘̳̘̋̄͜͜͝m̶̨̺̠̹̭͎͙̹͕͉͓̟̘̰̺̅̅̊̍̃̾͋̽̂̀͛̏͆̑̈́b̷̢̛̤͈̭̈́͒̎̓̒̿͒͝͝͝è̷̟̘̺̩͍͈̮̼̞͈̂̀͆̾̊͘͠r̴̻̼̯͕̤͐͆…̴̨̳͈̦̙̭̠̙̟͓̠͓̮͚̓̾͝W̷̡̝̭̙̺͍̭͎͇͖̺̦̖̾̉͑͗̔ą̴̢̨̨̛̗̭͍̦̲̝̟̮̣̝͉͕̉͗̆̅͒̈́͋̒̂̔́͘n̶͔͎̮͉͎̿̎̈́̑̀͆́͑͝ͅť̷̢̡̲͕̲̝͚̟̗͓̻̻̥̘͊͌̊̆͘͜͝͠ ̵͇̈́́̾͒̏̀a̴̢̹̺̝͎͔̳͉͉̭͇̲͖͐̽̐͊̐̿͘͜͝ ̸̥̲̎̆̂͌̋̅̕ṯ̴̢̛͎̖̭̘̬͙̼̌̉̓̋͌̃͆̾͊́̊̒͝͠͝͝ͅa̸̡̢̯̞̯̻̤̰͖̰̗͇̬̅̑̎̕s̷̢̧̗̦̗̙̖̼̼̘̥̫̗̫̈͗̈́̐̂̏͛̏́͜͠ͅţ̷̻͔͎͍̤͕̙̪̲̲̪̃̒͛́ë̵̛͈͓̇͝͝…̸̛̘͕͐̍̑̑̀͂̃͆̋̏͘̚̕͝͝N̵̝̣̥̼̆̕͜e̷̛͔͒͗͛̉̀͐͜e̸͖̳̟͙̦̺̗͉̠̙͕̱̻͓͇͉̓͂̏̑͗͐̎ͅď̴̡̘̰͍͕̱̯̓̇́͠ͅ ̷̧͕͇͓̘͕̤̖̖͍͙̺͛̀́͐͗̍ä̴̞̖̟̆̔͐ ̸̳͔͖̎̆́̃͋ẗ̵̲̘̜̜͖̲͇̞́́̀́͑̓̽̾̈́̒̒͘̚͝͝ä̷̳̜̩̥̘̜̳̟́̆̉͌͆̃̕̕͜͝s̷̨̻̥̟͓̖̭̮͍̀̆̈́̔̌̏͆̓̓͋́̀̉̏̊̚̕t̴̡̢̢͚͎͓͚̥͎̭̩͔̯͙͖̦̊͑̄͋̉ĕ̵̠̗̘̯͚̱̲͇͚͍͙̗̀̓̒̌̎̈́͐͋̕…̸̨͍͈̲̪͎͖̞̜͔͚̩̻̿̈̿̓͐͝’̴̢̯̯͍̦̩͚̝̟͇̯̬̙̺͆̀̀̌͘͝͝

 

 

 

 

('Hungry for her...Need her to hurry...Don't want her to remember...Want a taste...Need a taste...')

 

 

His shadow's grumbles continued, incessantly and without reprieve. Eldritch, ravenous musings followed one after another until the inside of Alastor’s mind was just as fogged as his monocle. A brief screech of feedback amended the issue as the demon paused his ministrations to clean off his lens. He nearly stabbed himself with his needle in his attempts.

 

 

Again, his stomach growled. The insufferable noise accosted his hearing a second time. Why did his shadow have to pose such grating musings? His phantom was only furthering the undesired but satisfyingly corruptible feeling. His mouth watered again.

 

 

Patience. He would have patience, that confounded virtue.

 

 

“My…You are quite adamant this evening…How about in the meantime, after I finish my work, I find us something else just as delectable. Something worthy of fine dining. An early midnight snack, perhaps? Is that agreeable?”

 

 

 

 

'̷̢̡̛͚̜̟͖͎̻̻̞͇̤̗̣̤̍͊͗̿̽̆̿̅̏̃̀̃̅.̵̧͇̝͎̣̹̱̱̠͑͗̔̾̌̂̇͂͌̄̅̓̊̆͘͜͝.̶̧̫͉͈̲͕̣̺̻̻̦͉̉̌̓̏̿̓͐̒́̏͂̈́̑̕ͅ.̵̙̗͚̠͙̼͕͉͇̯̋̉͐̐̌̈͘͜Š̶̤͚͇̓͛̾̒ţ̵̙̗̮̳̠͈̝͌̎͊̌̈̔̈͑̊͋̓͆͑͠ͅí̴̢̨̹̣͖͖̳̟̺̼͎͂̓̀̋̀͒͋͐̆͘͝l̵͕͍͛́͊͑̒͋̾́̓̅͑͌͗̌̊͋l̵̤͍̖͇̗̾̾̽̐͂͛͆̋͋͘ͅ ̸̬̜̤̹̫̫͙͎͖̭̭̺̂͐͋̈͋͂̀̍͝w̵̡̲̬͖̖͎̰͓̞̭̠̖͔̹̑͌͆̈́͜͝à̷̡̟̳̼̈̀̆̑̑͝ͅn̴͓̘͈̏̑̒̐̉͜t̶̢̡̛̻͈̻̣̮͈̦͕̪̊̔͑͐͂̍̅͘͝͝͝ ̵̬̟͇̮͙̳͙̫̩̘̰̖̙͖̍̎̎͋̓͌̌̔͜ͅh̵̫͙̥͖͈̩̟̥̦̊̐̿͐̀̎̈́̉͆̃̐̈́̑́̑e̸̠͈̻̱̭̱̝͋̇̅͊̒͛̈́̍̄͂̄́̓́̊͠r̶̡̛̲̗͖̪̪̱̓̈́̍͛͑̎̔͂̃̐̐̉̕͜.̴̹̖̹͙̹͙̮̭̙͇̙̝̭̬̭̺̩́̎̔̽̃̏̅̽̈́̅͘͘.̶̢̞̮̜̝̤͎̗̹͍̄ͅ.̴̛̰̹̬̖̍̑̐̆͊̈͂̚̕'̶̛̝̪̖̻͎͈̤̘̰͗͒̓͛͊͗̆͊̿̐͑̆͗̎̈́͜        (‘...Still want her…’)
̶̨̹̲̭̮̟͂̇͒̅̅̾̿̒̈̓̊̆́

 

 

 

Placing his cleaned lens on his face once more, his claws resumed their work of sewing fabric and bending it to his will. He ignored how much his own words frustrated him further.

 

 

“...Patience. Our chance may soon be upon us. Patience…”

 

 

The remnants of his shadow’s roguery came to a close in the form of brief hissing. Then silence. Once again, Alastor’s thoughts were his own, free from the line of questionable ponderings his Spector saw fit to bestow. Finally, he was able to focus on finishing the task he assigned for himself with much more ease.

 

 

Tiny lines of loose thread teamed with the radio demons' verdant magic tethered themselves to your ribbon; and with a subtle tug, the torn pieces were made new. Alastor bit into the thread, severing the material in twain as he tucked it into the last needed stitch. All the while his brain, though once quiet, steadily erupted into more questions than he had answers for.

 

 

Why, of all things, was his shadow so eager to taste you? It was never this vocal, this demanding, of its own will before. It wasn’t until you made your first appearance at the hotel that its outbursts grew in number.

 

 

With a snap, the needle and excess thread were put away. Tightening his hold around the fabric, he grabbed his glass from its coaster and enjoyed a taste. The burn soothed his mind as it cauterized his throat on the way down, the sensation enjoyable as much as it was distressing. At least it was an easily accessible distraction from further musings and further sounds from his gut.

 

 

Another sip was taken as Alastor’s claws scraped against the surface of the gems on your ribbon. A good majority of the stones were crushed, some broken and some clinging to their shape with a vengeance. Jagged cuts threatened to pierce into his skin if he wasn’t careful. With a snap he was back into his work, assessing the damage taken to the jewels he held. Even if his body was distracted, his mind was prime breeding ground for further questions. Incessant questions.

 

 

If his attempts today were insufficient at drawing out possible memories, then how would he need to compose his next experimentation? What would actually work? What would be beneficial to luring out the desired effect he wished to see in you?

 

 

What was his next move? His next plan?

 

 

Your mind was a delicate chess game. Every second counted, every placement of a pawn crucial to unlocking the enigma that was your subconscious. A misstep would be just another needless distraction on his quest to acquire knowledge for you and answers for himself.

 

 

His hands continued on, working in rapid succession as both his mouth and his gut grumbled ceaselessly. He clenched his teeth tightly to appease his mood, the inside of his mouth flooding with covetous desire.

 

 

He still wanted a taste.

 

 

No, he would not fall victim to his desires. Not yet. Not. Yet.

 

 

The plan. He needed to formulate a proper plan to ensure your steady progress. His attempts earlier had failed, combusting into the poorest flame imaginable. No satisfaction was found in your answer, even if faint notes of your laughter bled into his mind again. Patience. He would have patience.

 

 

His drink was acquired again, the glass swishing gingerly in his grasp. The sound of the liquid inside the glass calmed the tempest that was his mind, frustration gone from him only for the briefest, fleeting, of moments. At least the motion of his wrist promised distraction.

 

 

A second glance at his drink fathered the idea of what you had previously stated before. You couldn’t remember circumstances, perse, but words that would correlate to moments shared. They were the culmination, the vague definitions, of possible past experiences.

 

 

Perhaps that was the course of action to take with you. Words seemed to give you a spark, to trigger powerful emotions. It made sense, you were a poet, and had your nose constantly stuck in a novel or dictionary most days.

 

 

Why did he not think of it before? This made sense. You had an aptitude and a deep appreciation for vocabulary; and your imagination was richly painted with the meaning of each word you added to your mental repertoire.

 

 

Perhaps your skill was something he could put to work and use to his advantage?

 

 

Yes. It was the perfect plan that ensured more progress than his previous attempts. Poetry would be your second instructor, the tool to finally unfettering your past.

 

 

Frustration morphed into steady determination. He would succeed.

 

 

Ah but the wait. The agonizing, torturous transition between the unknown and epiphany. His brain threatened to rupture with his appetency. All the questions he did not yet have answers for assaulted his mind, aggravation breeding malicious curiosity, and malevolent delight.

 

 

He would wait. He would wait patiently.

 

 

The feel of your ribbon was crushed in between the power of his free fist as Alastor propped his elbow on the table. As he sought support for his cheek to be rested in his palm, instant regret was had. A sharp exhale through his nose and a deep furrow of his brow immediately followed.

 

 

The inside of his cheek was still sore from the previous hasty compulsions of his incisors.

 

 

Blood pooled onto Alastor’s tongue a second time as he gently chewed, gnawed, on the sensitive muscle. A growl reverberated in the back of his pallet. Unsatisfied and unfulfilled; he allowed the tempting, excruciating, taste to further imbue itself to the inside of his mouth. His glass was carefully discarded to the side to encourage the use of his claws. Once again, they curled tightly into a woven fist, entrapping your ribbon further within his grasp. The promised sting he felt threatened to milk the blood from his flesh in an additional place.

 

 

The taste of iron and the feel of his tongue, the mimicry of you, proved a poor substitute with each continued second that passed. Another irritated sigh left the demon’s mouth.

 

 

He didn’t need patience. He needed a taste…

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed! Feel free to comment on any theories you may have, or what you liked. Even emojis are more than welcome ^^ I absolutely adore hearing from you!

Special shout out to @primsgirl89, @DewdropDino, @Ritual_Of_Cirice, @Chewingpearls, and @RedVexillum, among many more who have helped me tremendously with this chapter. Thank you. All of your encouragement genuinely has touched my heart. I am blessed to have wonderful, skilled friends like you TT~TT

Thanks for reading! Happy New Year and stay tuned! ~<3

Chapter 14: Her Poetry

Summary:

“She’s an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.” ~ Nicole Lyons

Alastor’s tongue was still sore.

 

A disgruntled sigh left the deer. He hoped his irritation would amply replace the tenderness seeking shelter on the inside of his mouth. He hated how it hurt to smile. Every minute twitch of his grin, every swipe of his tongue over amber incisors, every sigh, ached. His pain was felt to the fullest with every word spoken.

 

He supposed his discomfort made sense. In his previous attempts to calm himself, the sharp edges of his grin had a heyday in butchering his poor tongue. The all too familiar metallic taste that inevitably greeted him wasn’t filling in the slightest. It was but a crude exercise for something he craved. The muscle previously crushed under the weight of his pallet was just the price he had to pay to keep his sanity, and even then he was left desperately lacking. No, it was nothing more than a practiced decision to wait for a more desired, coveted, outcome.

 

Another breath had his antlers straining against the confines of his skull; his rack steadily growing with points more deadly than nightshade. Each growth left his head burning and terribly sore. The Overlord gritted his teeth to bear the pain only for the cycle to continue into the depths of his throat. Once again he tasted iron, and his antlers came to life with renewed vigor.

 

He swallowed. The grumbled vibrations that left his throat only caused more problems for his head. He had a headache, and his blasted spikes were not helping his agitation.

 

In an attempt to remedy his sour mood, Alastor pulled his pocket watch from his breast pocket and clicked the mechanism open to ascertain the time. Amidst his mental disarray the previous evening, he vaguely recalled you made mention you wouldn’t be late to this appointment.

 

If that was the case, then he would certainly hold you to it. There was still time. The clock would spare you fifteen minutes more.

 

However, would the time spare him?

 

In those endlessly dull moments, his fingertips itched for occupation, for purpose. Alastor's tongue searched for relief against the surface of his lips as he carefully escorted his pocket watch back into its home only to plunge his claws into the rich expanse of his breast pocket. He hissed as the etched trails in his grin gave way to pain. Chapped lips strained as crimson claws captured something of value within his chest.

 

Unfortunately, pain was also promised with the particular nasty habit between his hands. He wouldn’t be spared of it. The heat would no doubt damn his tongue further, the nicotine a blissful lie drowning his lungs.

 

Luckily for him, he was never one to prefer mercy anyways…

 

The sinner traced his thumb over the yellowed cardboard box attuned to cellophane in his grasp. He carefully picked at the packaging, his claws gingerly pulling at the plastic. The light overhead reflected off of its surface, the old slogan printed on the front of the cardboard box catching his eye. It was one he often recited on broadcasts while topside, the phrase still alive in his voice. It was a faded, pleased mumble lost to time.

 

Further inspecting it, he remembered it had remained sealed for nearly fifty odd years, never to be opened. The demon never particularly had a reason to do so, but now was as good a time as any to pick up something of old habit. After all, he was presented with many moments to spare. He was of the mind that it was better to do something detrimental than to languidly waste away the hours.

 

Even if it was to himself.

 

The minute undertones of frustration bubbled into the Overlords bloodstream, escaping into his breath as he scratched at the seam on the carton. He growled. Usually it didn’t take much effort to gain access to something so trivial. As the seconds uselessly ticked away, Alastor cursed. He silently swore harm to the very soul of whoever came up with such convoluted wrapping in the first place. That smoke had better been worth the time he wasted to attain that coveted rush of nicotine.

 

With much aggravation, the old, stubborn carton finally gave way to his tempered beckoning. Impatiently, Alastor briefly tore a hole in the abused seam. A hushed, grumbled hum of vague satisfaction left him. The contents of his reluctant prize were finally accessible. The only thing easy about the process, he mused, was procuring one from inside the box once opened. He was very much eager to singe away his taste buds, as well as the sole occupant of his mind as of late.

 

Turning over the carton in his hand to observe the cover, Alastor mused on the packaging of the old box of Lucky Strikes. Pleased with both the classic design as well as the opportunity to finally enjoy his efforts, The demon’s eyes came to a close before placing the desired stick onto his tongue. Fingertips ignited the end of the rolled tobacco as he slowly breathed in its promising aroma. Successfully, he stifled a cough from the extended drawl.

 

‘Not that I need, nor desire, anything from lady luck; but a smoke would take the edge off. Perhaps it may provide distraction. Or one closely resemblant…’

 

Smoke puffed from his teeth with torpid effort, undulating into the air around him as he traded his pack of cigarettes for the ashtray on his side table. He placed the tray in his lap as the burn he predicted quickly took effect. Searing heat was drawn into the depths of his throat, the taste resembling the ash in his hands. A heightened ache, one more potent than what would’ve traditionally transpired, gathered around his tongue to produce a hiss in agony’s pursuit. His mouth burned on as the smoke, the pain, promised focus. Clarity.

 

Despite the heated agony, it was worth it if it meant one of his theories proved itself true. The distractions you caused him, not to mention his phantom's incessant mutterings, faded into the smoke he exhaled. It dispersed into the finite seconds on eternity’s clock. And with good timing.

 

After all, idle hands were the devil’s workshop. Thoughts of you were nothing but hindrances, and that was something he couldn’t have. Especially since his focus needed to be dedicated to enhancing the plans he had for you. There was much to be done, and the continued curiosity of you would be the ruination of his careful plotting.

 

With a flick of his ear, he silently requested that a folded piece of paper appear in his grasp. Cinders fell from the lit end of the cigarette in between his maw, smudging into the words his own hands cultivated. The page was gently clutched with a steady hand. Alastor preferred to relieve his mouth of his cigarette with the other.

 

The overlord’s throat cleared, eyes skimming the parchment with more intent. Faded syllables, full of careful consideration, tumbled from his lips as he read.

 

 

 

 

Placing his cigarette back between his lips, Alastor’s grin renewed to its natural, satisfied curve. Yet another drawl was taken from the remainder of his smoke. Preparations were nearly complete as fresh indents were made into his list. Wrinkles sufficiently bled into the paper under the weight of his thumb and forefingers. His careful planning wouldn’t be wasted. Not this time. Everything was in order. All that remained to do was to continue to wait for you.

 

That and perhaps keep to his routine with a bit of a warm up for his voice.

 

With closed eyes, practiced hums exuded forth from him with a supernatural finesse. It was a usual routine Alastor grew accustomed to; and he was proud to have perfected his articulation over the years. Bestowing one with his eloquence without threat of adverse affliction was something the demon considered unfathomable. The feeling was almost novel.

 

However, he knew reverting back to discarded habits from a bygone age, though quite strange, was something you would appreciate. That's what he anticipated and it would be foolish to give him any other outcome, considering all his best efforts went towards the task.

 

This was an honor, being given a private performance with the assurance you would make it to see the next sunrise with all of your limbs, organs and orifices still intact. No, allowing you the opportunity to live whilst observing one of his envied performances first hand was a rarity he wished you wouldn’t take lightly. Especially if he had to reschedule his regular broadcast just to perform this task on your behalf.

 

Alas, he would get in some practice either way. Even if this presentation was a substitute for his usual routine, any recital of your work was sure to enthuse him. Your verses, when paired with his voice, were certain to inspire your mind to yield. The promising prospect would finally allow you a glimpse into your past.

 

As long as you showed up on time.

 

Melodic vocal exercises followed one after the other as Alastor tapped his foot, keeping time with his voice. He flicked the end of the cigarette that continued to undulate bitter vapor into the air, cinders soon descending into a dismal collection in his tray. His eyes skimmed briefly over the careful plans he had for you as he lied in wait, poised but impatient.

 

Alastor slid his tongue over golden teeth, his smile twitching as sensitive flesh gave way to agony. His efforts would not be in vain today. His grin grew with an expectancy that would rival the very sun; its excellence breeding self-assurance into the depths of his obsidian soul.

 

The pace of his oxfords boldened as a few familiar lyrics slipped from him into a faded vibrato. He was hungry and terribly tired of waiting.

 

Alastor glanced at the grandfather clock near the fireplace, his claws threatening to puncture into the paper in his grasp. Time was ticking away. Answers were owed to him; and unfortunately, five more minutes were still allotted to you.

 

Had he not been so keenly focused on your arrival, he would have missed the sound of it entirely. The faintest rapping of knuckles against hardwood was heard. His ears perked up as his back straightened in his chair. He gave audience to the sound in earnest.

 

Yet again, his eyes searched hastily across the room for the time. The antique mechanism he briefly admired previously continued to tick tirelessly on. Only a minute had passed since, confirming his suspicions further.

 

You were early.

 

Hm. How uncharacteristic of you. However, he supposed he would keep his mocking to a minimum. You had kept your promise to him, after all. Even if he didn’t consider himself of the courteous sort, perhaps only on rare occasions, he would still pay you in kind for honoring your integrity.

 

Not even a moment had managed to pass by before his shadow slinked to his side, hissing excitement into his ear. The umbral thing was all too eager to alert its master of your presence. Why was his shadow growing more unruly every time you were thrown into the equation?

 

̸̠͚̣͈̋̀͑̕̚̚“̸̫͑̕…̸̰̭̲̱͗͗͒͘͝L̷͇͔̹̬̏̇͐̈́̃͝į̴̫͚͈̝̫̿t̴̨̨̥̘̐t̴̜̠̳̥͔̼͆̂͜l̶̘͓̰͐̊̎͗̕͘ë̷̤̲̪̻̪͓́̀̊͋̀͗̈́ ̶͍͈͓̙̼̪̈́̓ͅP̷̳͍̉̊̔ô̷͈͇͇̘̚ȩ̸̭͙̜͔̑͑͗ţ̸̨̱̣̓͗͂͘’̷͉̝͍͈̞̫̱̒̅͋̃s̸̡̡̼̙͙̳̀̉̆̒́͑ ̸͇̟̼̟̔̓̌͝h̵͈̮̥͙̠́̑̎͑͝e̶̡̛̛̪͈̳͕͑̃̕͘͜͝r̸̡̦̞̭̎̆͘e̴̳̱̙̫̎̐̃̃͐ͅ ̶̥͂̔̇n̵̬̮̰̘͓͑̔͑̇̿̂̊ǫ̶̠͉̟̜͕̉̄̄͊͑̕͝w̴͇͐́͒…̵͓̱̲̣̼̠̽̿̆̀͝Ț̸̙̮͕͓̻̣́́̆͂̓̓a̸͈̔̈́̈̔̐͂͝s̸͉̘͑̚ṱ̶̑̽͘ȅ̵̳͙̮ ̸̳̖̺̫͕͈̮̂̆̕h̸̭̋̋̀̍e̸͙̻͉͍͊̀̂̌͘̕r̷̫̙̰̘̬͙͌̓ ̴̡͔̠̥̝̓ŝ̵͓̦͂̏͂̅̃̚o̶̖̹̩̰̹͛̊ͅó̶̦̠̫͎͙͍̋̐n̴̛̰̼͂̄͌̏͜?̵̡̜̤̗̩̈́”̵̼̣̬̗̂̂̅͗̚͘͝

 

(( “…Little Poet’s here now…Taste her soon?”))

 

A small sigh accompanied a brief shake of his head. He closed his eyes, folding his paper and quickly discarded it into the pocket of his trousers once he felt his plans were adequately memorized. It was all a meticulous effort to ignore how loud his stomach was screaming at just the mere mention of you.

 

“Absolutely not, and must I remind you again to behave while she is here? We don’t want her privy to our plans. So, you will pipe down and act respectable. If you aren’t careful, you’ll scare the poor deer off and ruin our chances of getting answers.”

 

“̶̢͈̀̾̓̑̐̆̔̚̚͝͠.̵̧̪̻̺̥̜̯͔̜̱̰̬̯̺͉̝̅̂̋̌̇.̵̲̫͂̆̿͌̈́̉̽̈́̌͠ͅ.̴̧͍̩̜̞̺̱͂́͊́̍́̈́̔͂͋͌͝͠P̷̣̝̳̟̗̗͓̣͊͒̀͋̆͆͂͂̊͘͝l̶̬͖̥̲̩̜̜̭̮͖̉̐̏̇͑̊̽͆̆͒͑̉̾̽̑͝ë̵͈̲͎́̽̿̇̌̒͂̋̑̈̒́͘͝a̸͓̓͆s̷̡̹̰̝̱̔̅͛͊̈̉͊̓͌̉̐̕͠͝e̷̲̩̮̯̳͍̫̠̰͖̗̣̻̾…̸̜̾͒̂̈̃̇̿̓̏̎̊̑̔̅̚̚͝?̸̬̱̬̦̬͍̣͔̳̘̯̭̟̤̓̊̾̎͂͋͌͑́̍̒̚͘͠͝”̴̞̣͎̯̏͑̇́̇̀̋̿́̑̃̈́̑̏͑

 

((“...Please…?”))

 

Aghast, Alastor’s fur bristled underneath his shirt collar at the sound of his own shadow begging. He would nip this in the bud. He wouldn’t have something representing him present itself as anything other than perfection. It should be ashamed to dauntlessly test him so.

 

“Hush. Now. You’ve heard me. You, we, will do no such thing. Not yet. Not until we know for certain that she has no correlation to us. That was the deal, and we shall abide by our side of it. End of discussion.”

 

Alastor took the dying cigarette from his lips after a final long drawl before pressing the tobacco further into the ash in the tray provided. He strangled it till the tiny flame ebbed away, nodding to his phantom as he waved smoke away from him. He grasped at the lapels of his overcoat and addressed his shadow. There was an air of finality in his stern growl as he gestured his head to the door and cleared his throat.

 

“...Now. If you're quite finished, kindly open the door so that the little lady may come in.”

 

The overlord stood to his feet and made brisk strides towards his door, stripping himself of his overcoat in the process. This was to be as comfortable an experience as necessary to ensure you were eased enough to remember. You were an anxious little thing on the best of days anyways and it wouldn’t do to have you alarmed. So, if it would help if he appeared more open to receiving company, then he would gladly do so for the sake of your shared deal.

 

Alastor unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up his shirt sleeves for good measure. A quick, final glance in a nearby mirror was accompanied by the adjustment of his bow tie and the briefest pass of his hand over his hair. A few pesky strands wouldn’t stay in the slicked style he had chosen, but it would make do. Nonetheless, the rest of his ensemble pleased him.

 

Satisfied with his appearance, a deeper breath was taken as the overlord made a silent order to his shadow. He made a point to give an additional reminder for it to mind its manners. The dark thing’s only reply was a silent nod. Without any more fuss, it pulled the door open before a secondary knock could be heard.

 

“Salutations dear! Good to see you this afternoon.”

 

A practiced greeting expertly left his tongue as he admired the newest outfit you sported. As usual, you wore your signature cardigan over everything; but something was indeed different, almost out of place. Perhaps it was the sweater you adorned. The design was much different than what he was accustomed to seeing you wear. He squinted his lashes to study further. That wasn’t it either.

 

“Likewise!”

 

You answered him in kind, genial as always. Pleasantness seemed to follow you effortlessly, heaven's favor shining in your eyes as you looked upon him with a sinless, curious gaze. An ethereal grace radiated from you as if you were glowing. Why did you look so different?

 

Ah, it most likely was just the lighting in his room playing with his eyes, nothing more. However, coming to that conclusion wasn’t satisfactory. Why did it bother him so? Something was peculiar about you; and still the pondering wouldn’t leave him be as his shadow gently ushered you into the room.

 

“Well, won’t you come in? It wouldn't do to leave the door ajar.”

 

“No…No, I guess it wouldn’t…”

 

Alastor instantly took note of your nerves. You stepped forward, your hands already well at work with twirling the frayed fabric of the strap to your satchel that hung from your shoulder. That wouldn’t do. The precursors of your mental turmoil needed to be quelled if his plans were to remain fruitful. He paused a moment to think of how to amend the issue as his shadow beckoned to take your cardigan.

 

Perhaps a strategically placed compliment would aid the both of you with your respective problems?

 

“Did you get a trim?”

 

At the mention of your hair, you passed a few locks through your fingers. You blew at the strands that refused to fall back into place.

 

“...I mean, I gave myself one a few weeks ago…”

 

No, that wasn’t it. He had to think of something else. The subtleness of a growl left him, though the sound was easily disguised as his usual pensiveness.

 

“...Yes…well, it’s a bit modern, but I suppose you look presentable enough...”

 

“...Um…thank you…?”

 

A funny sensation ignited in the back of his throat to the point it nearly burned. He coughed into his hand discreetly. Alastor stole another glance at you as you drew closer. There was something peculiar about your facial features. Was it due to you wearing a bit more rouge than what he was used to seeing? No. It wasn’t that either.

 

He would find out what it was. The blasted curiosity nagged at him to the point of irritation. He squinted further, turning to face you to closely scrutinize your visage. You flinched at his abruptness.

 

Before you could audibly convey the concern in your expression, his curiosity was finally piqued. Trillions of tiny sparkles dressed your cheeks in additional splendor. They were terribly light to the naked eye. It was to point that even a triple glance at you would still assure questions. The strange addition to your attire would’ve gone unnoticed if it weren't for the aid of the hotel lights reflecting overhead.

 

“Ah...and what have we here?”

 

A hand was placed to your cheek before you had the chance to step away from him, your eyes wide and body stiff under his hold. He devoured your surprise with such greed, his lips curling into its usual, extravagant mask.

 

Tilting your head up to him, he quietly studied you. The sparkles were much more visible now. Your cheeks were bright, more vibrant than expected. It was feasible that he was right in his previous assumptions. Maybe you did apply a bit more rouge than usual.

 

Though, the more he assessed you, the more evidence he found that suggested you were covered head to toe in the shining substance. He moved the pad of his gloved thumb across the expanse of your cheek to remove a sample. He fought the powerful urge to plunge his claw into your flesh until it barely leaked red.

 

“Oh, that. It’s…It’s probably just, um… glitter?…I was, uh, working with the Princess earlier. It was her idea to use some.”

 

“Hm...Of course it was; but why in Heaven’s name is it all over your face…?”

 

Remaining focused, he studied the way your flesh slightly gave way to his thumb. It was concave against his grasp, plush and light. Tempting.

 

“That I couldn’t tell you. I guess that's just it's nature. It seems to get everywhere…”

 

Another small sweep of his digits collects some powder, though thousands of particles remained. If more pressure was applied, would the substance be removed completely?

 

‘Hmm…Even so, the medium is a nuisance on the best of days…Especially when it will not come off…”

 

Allowing himself the opportunity, he scraped the edge of his claw against your sensitive cheek, the feel of it less abrasive only due to the assistance of his gloves. Had he previously removed them, like he wished, your flesh would no doubt weep for him until his fingertips were saturated in burgundy. It was a temptation he wouldn’t allow, regardless of how much he desired it. He did accept the opportunity to appreciate the give of your plush skin.

 

Luckily, the urge for bloodshed was satiated as he witnessed you flinch away from the gesture. In a silent reply, Alastor pinched your cheek with a bit more pressure as he successfully hid a chuckle under his breath. Oh how he adored your fear, your uncertainty deliciously apparent in the stutter of your voice.

 

“It…It most likely happened while we were making pamphlets for the hotel. Oh, uh… Here. Charlie wanted me to show you what we made. There’s more where this came from, of course. This one’s just an example…”

 

With a final pinch to quench his intrigue, he let your face go to brush the residue off on his shirt. You searched into the confines of your bag before handing him a folded flier. As suspected, the guilty substance was present on the front cover.

 

The demon opened the handmade card. Yet more of the blasted glittering dust attached itself to his glove as the colors from the rainbow assaulted his sight. As he perused its contents, he did make note of familiar handwriting displaying the hotel’s name. The lettering accompanied vague sketches and blurbs for advertisement purposes.

 

The drawings were covered with still drying glue and glitter, he noticed, once his eyes adjusted to the abrasive designs. At least he had avoided getting any more of the mess on his clothing. Alastor quirked a brow before glancing back at you, unamused.

 

“I assume this penmanship is yours?”

 

The way you beamed up at him, as if you were proud of the monstrosity you helped create, left him perplexed.

 

“Mhm. Charlie insisted on doing all the doodles though.”

 

“...Yes, I’m sure she is of the inclination to do so. They do seem more her style…”

 

Another brief look was offered to the demon belle’s scribbles. He still considered his skills in art superior. There wasn’t even a need for comparison, and he was sure the princess would be able to learn a few things from his own style, should he be generous enough to disclose such knowledge. Of course, now was not the time to ponder such. He had work to do, and so did you.

 

Before he could address the main topic of discussion, his peripherals were embraced with the sight of your dazed wonder. Such a curious expression you held. You were dazed yet…content? The sight was ineffable, and it irked him to no end that he couldn’t describe it as accurately as he would’ve liked. He glanced towards you subtly to regard your bright countenance further.

 

He did notice your eyes, that same innocence he observed earlier still residing within their labyrinthine depths. It was an uncommon quality you possessed; and the light in them was something he hadn’t had the opportunity to experience before. Not since dying. Not even the princess, however unique she was, gave off the type of air you provided. The complicated discovery intrigued him.

 

The closest explanation of what he perceived in you was to state you were an old soul with a rare, refreshing youthfulness. It was as if you hadn’t seen the horrors the world could, and would, produce. How you still clung to such optimism, even when witnessing Hell first hand after losing the sanctuary of Heaven, was exceedingly strange. Especially for one with such a timorous personality.

 

Alastor pondered if that light would dim, or be lost entirely, upon your memories returning. Should you have the fortune of being reunited with them, that was.

 

Growing introspective, he was eager to figure out the enigmas you constantly presented him. What did you remember? What was locked away from you?

 

What answers would you be able to provide him?

 

Just as fast as the moment came did it leave. His visible curiosity dissipated into pensiveness when you looked away timidly. He didn’t offer further remark but kept the remainder of his observations secret. You cleared your throat, adjusting the weight of your bookbag on your shoulder as you glanced up at him with a more neutral expression. Your demeanor was still amiable.

 

“Sooo….what's on the agenda for today?” You gestured to your outfit dusted in shiny debris with a bemused chuckle, “I..I severely doubt this was what you wanted to discuss…”

 

How astute you were. It was appreciated you didn’t beat around the bush, but cut straight to the point of your meeting before he had a chance to do so. He had expectations of you that afternoon and so far you were right in line with his carefully considered plans.

 

“Right you are! But why don’t we conduct business once we’re more comfortable? Come along, I have just the spot…”

 

With a soft wave of his hand, Alastor bid you to follow him deeper into his bayou.

 

Soft footfalls against hardwood were soon hushed with the lull of moss and brush. Hotel walls migrated into rich undergrowth and humid air, the mechanical lights shining overhead gave way to the natural light of fireflies. A hum was in his voice as Alastor watched the tiny things flit by, glancing at you ever so often to make sure you were still in pursuit of him.

 

He could have laughed at how resemblant you were to an additional shadow, tagging closely behind in earnest. A thought crossed his mind to provide a warning to watch your step for tree roots and sinkholes. However, by the looks of it you didn’t need his advisory. Your sights were hilariously glued to the ground. You lifted your eyes every so often to ensure you didn’t fall or run into him, which was something he was silently appreciative of.

 

Perhaps it was a good thing you chose your usual caution this time around. If not for his strengthened will to keep to his studied plans, you would have distracted him with a good cackle at witnessing you trip thrice. Fortunately, his shadow was still behaving as a gentleman should, dutifully lifting you up each time before the ground could claim you. Only the occasional hiss was present. No temptations were offered. Good.

 

Despite the convincing diversions you offered, pitiful thing that you were, you would not deter him from the answers he sought. Even if a few snickers were stolen from the sight of your sporadic misfortune.

 

No, he would not waste time. He couldn’t. Soon you would provide him with all he needed to know. He would finally be able to make a decision on what to do with you long term. He just needed to be at his best. To ensure that happened as quickly as possible, he mentally forbade any more interruptions.

 

“Not much more to travel now.. Step lightly. We’re almost there...”

 

The distant chirping of crickets continued in sweet serenade as the low swinging branches of a Weeping Willow grew in the distance. Fog continuously morphed into the atmosphere from the bayou nearby to create a hazed look on the horizon. The subdued scent of rain and rich vetiver enthralled his senses. He hadn't had the chance to appreciate such tantalizing aromas in years. Perhaps you were of the same mind.

 

Even if his magic could not replicate the place in his living memories to perfection, it was incredibly akin to what he remembered. Though simulated, he hoped the natural splendor of the woods would lull you into an enhanced state of ease.

 

So far, his plans were succeeding.

 

His destination was finally within sight. Alastor steadily guided you, creating an opening within the willow’s leaves. He held the foliage back with his microphone as he looked to you, gesturing with his head for you to enter into his hidden haven. leaves weaved song through the air as you stepped forward, a hush of aw spreading over you.

 

How vibrant your eyes were, even when obscured with loose strands of hair. Your smile barely turned into shocked amusement as the intricate design of your sweater moved with each tentative move you made. He wished he would have studied your expressions for longer. Your content transcended his expectations; and he was more than happy to oblige your abundant curiosity.

 

“...I assume this place is to your liking?”

 

A chuckle lived in his voice. He didn’t have to ask. It was obvious you were entranced by the scenery he had chosen, as he deemed you would be. However, It wouldn’t hurt to be provided with audible proof of his success.

 

“I…I don’t know what I expected to see…but it’s really tranquil out here…”

 

At your response, the demon seated himself upon the provided bench. With the cross of his legs, he pulled his microphone into his lap.

 

“Isn’t it though?”

 

Taking note of your hesitance, Alastor patted the spot next to him.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take a seat. You’ll have plenty of time to gawk at the scenery while we relax for a moment.”

 

Yet again you supplied him with subtle laughter. Your pitiful expression this time was most entertaining as your lips parted in amazement. He had to agree the sight around them was admirable, but the intensity of his curiosity grew by the second. He acknowledged himself as a more than perceptive individual; so just what was it that you saw amongst the foliage that brought you such wonder? What did he fail to miss?

 

Eventually, amidst your decadent reverie, you found yourself reposed at his side. Though poised, your expression never changed from its prolonged state of enchantment; Especially when fireflies graced you with their presence. A small assortment of the creatures threatened to attack your nose and cheeks in lazy pursuit as a jovial laugh rolled forth from you.

 

How peculiar you were, to find joy in the simplest of things.

 

“...Though, you may want to close that mouth of yours, dear. You’ll catch flies.”

 

Bringing a hand forth, he graced your skin with delicate claws as he compelled your jaw to a close. Again, you provided him with an enjoyable sight as you turned to regard him. The fireflies glow only aided in illuminating your already ethereal visage, the sparkles from earlier exposed in the extra, blinking lights. Bright eyes in brief shock studied his own.

 

What were you searching for?

 

His claws lingered a moment, his fingertips barely grazing the tantalizing, repeated pulse resting underneath warm skin. Even through gloves he could feel the faintness of it. Even without the assistance of his shadow spewing unnecessary, incessant commands; the temptation to procure a sample of you only renewed with maddening strength. The urge pulled at the sinews of his chest, his heart threatening to rupture with the dreaded feeling. His mouth felt heavy, the sting of his tongue heightened yet again as he forced a deeper smile to eat away at his cheeks.

 

No. He would not indulge. His success that evening relied on him upholding the role as the ostensible gentleman he led you to believe he was. He withdrew his hand, loathing how it took such gargantuan effort to do so.

 

He was thankful when you recovered quickly with a question. You glanced into the rich fog. The gently swaying limbs with abundant foliage that surrounded you drooped into the soil, blocking the majority of his domain from view. A breeze picked up more of the less than compliant leaves, renewing their sweet song tenfold. Your throat cleared as you held witness to the sight. Fabric began its swirl over your slender fingers in usual absentminded succession.

 

“So…Are you going to finally tell me what we’re doing all the way out here?”

 

“Surely you have a bit more patience about you? You seemed content enough with just enjoying the view…”

 

A tilt of his head accompanied his phrase, his smile upping in gentle amusement as his claws gripped around his microphone like a vice. The urge was still present. It wasn’t going away, and it perturbed him that the feeling would most assuredly linger for the duration of your visit. How aggravating.

 

“...Hm...I suppose I’ve kept you in suspense for long enough. You do recall my previous statement '“atmosphere is everything”', yes?”

 

You nodded as you provided audience to him once more.

 

“Well, I thought the serene locale of my domain would aid your ease into our next experiment. What I have planned pairs well with nature's ambiance, after all.”

 

Another pause had your eyes on him. The deep mixture of confusion and intrigue that reflected back at him was promising. You were intrigued. He had no doubt you would be. His plans were of the utmost quality and carefully curated for you.

 

His palms ached with his continued clutch to his microphone, jitters of anticipation supplying content to his stomach. His ears flicked as they picked up on your subtle breathing. You lied in wait for his words with bated breath and fascination. With more certainty, he felt his plans would succeed.

 

Alastor took a minute glance at your bookbag as it laid upon the bench between you.

 

“You’ve brought our shared book, correct?”

 

“Of course. I hardly go anywhere without it...”

 

“Lovely. Allow me to see it for a moment.”

 

Digging into the contents of your belongings, you finally provided his expectant hands with the object of desire. Somehow, having something of yours to hold both emboldened as well as calmed the disquiet rumbling in the pits of his abdomen that swirled well into his chest.

 

He mused quietly to himself as the pads of his thumbs smoothed over the cover of your journal. He couldn’t place a name on the experience. Was it excitement that rushed through him? It wasn’t the same as he had felt before on a hunt or when scoring a kill. The feeling wasn’t as tumultuous. There was a brevity to it, a distinct languidness; though it was just as heightened. It bore slight resemblance to witnessing the slow, satisfying demise of another.

 

Yet it was strangely different.

 

He didn’t know whether to despise the feeling that disrupted his usual poise or relish in the excitement of the experience. It was hard to say if he was entertained. Perhaps he was just mildly enthused at most?

 

Whatever he felt, it was terribly distracting.

 

Opening the cover, he attempted to forget the feeling as he flipped through the plethora of pages at his disposal. Words he previously graced with multiple rereads flowed under his eyes until he spotted the first sign of something new. Deftly, he placed a thumb amidst the body of your poetry to mark his place.

 

“Now…” Alastor calmly regarded you as his other thumb brushed against the edges of the journal, the audible thrum of spare paper thick beneath his hold, “...I do intend to read what you’ve prepared aloud...”

 

Your thoughts visibly buffered a moment, your expressions on the cusp of being appalled and greatly elated. The fabric of your sweater wound itself tighter around your hands. Anxious palms were relieved with the alternating action of squeezing and loosening frayed cotton. He couldn’t recall a name for such a reaction.

 

“O-out loud…?”

 

“Yes. If you’ve no objections.”

 

“...Um…I…” An increased burgundy hue made its way to your cheeks as you looked away. The blood underneath your skin was plentiful, but unobtainable for the time being. The response only compelled his stomach to be reignited as the desire to consume you took its course. His thumbs pressed further into your journal. It was all he could do to keep his claws from ripping the fabric of his gloves to ribbons.

 

The shameful, inaudible hitch of his breath was drowned out by the all too familiar static of his shadow. Alastor inwardly growled, unwilling to submit to it's frequent requests.

 

“̴̡̰̟̻̮̲̖̍͘.̵͉̱̊͋̉̃̿.̷̢̖͇̹͈̤̻͌̀̈́̊̈́.̷̥͉̹̇̒̐̽͌͝Ļ̶͚̟̖͖͓̝̃̿͛̔̓̍͘í̸̡͉̮̣̮̠̻t̸͖̻̄̾̅̌̾̒ͅt̸̨̝̤͌͗͐̅̚͜l̸̰̦̠̺͝é̴͎͕̯͙̟̆̉̒̍̈ ̶͍͖̙̚ͅP̷̩̾̀̀̿o̶͕͉͗́̈́̈͛͋ę̴̢̥̤̳̯̄̅̈́t̷̨͔͇̱͋̆̀͆̏̈́͂ ̶̳̱̫͈̝̣͚̐͊̀̐̑̎́i̷̢̢̗̳̐͛̊͜͜s̵͚̺̳̬͔͋͗̈́͐̈́͠͝ ̷̫͇̫͌̐̍̏a̴͔̣̫̳͔̺͒͊̾ ̷͙̂̇̉͛͊̅f̸̯͕̭̆̈̓͛͑ͅę̴̘͈̍̆̇͆̚̕̚a̴͎͍̯̝͈̲̿̂̏̿r̷͇̘̀͋̿̄̓f̴̡̨̝̲̊̀͜ͅͅų̵̛̥̱̠̒̌̊̉́l̵̠̦̣̬̎́͘͠ ̶̢̼̖͔̭̀͘t̵̤̭̬̝͓͉̽͒͗́ͅh̵̭͇͓̓̔͋̓̌̏̚ĩ̷͙͔̒̅̕͜n̸̡̦͔̝͉̹̈́g̷̡̯̗̤̬̀̏̽̐͝…̷͓͌̍̃̀͝F̴̣̞̦̽r̷͚͙̋̈̄̾̈̕͝e̷̢̤̰̠̽s̶̢̟̗̀ĥ̶͈̞̠̩̞̳̎…̵̹͚̘̻̃̿̕̕R̵͓͉̮̦͆̒̒̃̀ͅẽ̵̯͇̜̌̚a̵͙͇͑d̷̨̧̹͍̲̈́͑̑̓ỹ̸̭̤̖͎̠͗͒̇͜ ̷̜͈̯͑̊͋̾̆ṭ̸͓͋͆͛̀̐̋ō̵̤̾̎͜ ̵̛͖̘̍̈́͐͋͋̽b̸̧̝̻̓̅̅̈́̌̚e̶̻̞̺̪̤͓̠̾̅̌̆ ̴͔̣͒͋c̵̦͋̐̿̓ớ̸̝̻̤̱̓̋̚͜ņ̸̣͎̖͕̮̻̒̽̂̕͝s̴̡͎̪͎̻͎͗́̑̂̐͜͠͝u̶̡̥̩̾͋͝m̶̘̈̓e̵̯̋̄͐̉͝d̴͇͕̦͙͈̫͎͘…̴̡͔̓”̷̬̼̩̟͈̙̉͒̕

 

((“...Little Poet is a fearful thing…Fresh…Ready to be consumed…”))

 

‘Silence, lest I tighten your reins. I’ve allowed you to roam far too freely as of late…’

 

Clearing his throat, The overlord took charge of the situation by declaring a clearer version of his intentions. It was fortunate his shadow took the hint to leave him be, the remainder of the creature’s white noise billowing into stark silence. Good. It would behave.

 

“I think hearing your words audibly would prove beneficial. Besides, you mentioned before you merely remember words associated with probable experiences. Perhaps words are just the thing you need to be reminded of your past. Especially if you hear something your own mind created.”

 

The disquiet in your head cooled with each second of his calm persuasion, your hands laying to rest against the wrinkled fabric in your lap. A glance up at him was all he needed. He had gained your acquiescence without any lingering issue.

 

“If you really think it's a good idea…”

 

Alastor’s smile twitched. Of course he did. He came up with it himself. Surely you didn’t doubt his skill that much. No, he would correct your misguided musings. He would project his skill until there was no longer any doubt in your mind. Absolutely no one else, in all of Hell, was more befitting for the task than he.

 

“Of course, darling. It's sure to work.”

 

“Then I guess you can go ahead…I-I don’t have very many new entries though, but you can read any you deem fit…”

 

“Oh, I’m certain there is plenty of material to sift through, don’t you worry.”

 

Opening to the page his thumb kept in place, he concisely skimmed over your verses in a cold read. It was to ascertain the right tone he would need to depict your poetry to gain the most desired effect from you. With what he briefly held witness to, this poem held a more serious undertone than what he thought you would offer him, along with faint sketches pertaining to the subject you chose. No matter. He would read it, and the rest, to perfection; dazzling you with his voice.

 

“Yes. These should do nicely. Now then…”

 

With the remainder of his preparation fulfilled, he stole a glance at you. His audience of one was finally tuned in; waiting with an expectancy he was determined to please.

 

Gaining the last push he needed, his microphone came alive to provide additional filtered warmth. It was to aid him in his performance.

 

 

 

 

He took great care to deliver each syllable with articulated grace. As your written words weaved in and out of his voice, there were a few moments where he would gauge your perception of his work in between verses.

 

When his recital of your first poem was complete, Alastor adhered to the studied steps of his list. He searched your visage for any sign of recognition with the subtle, intricate gaze of a seasoned hunter. No faults were found, though your appearance seemed quite sullen for one usually so chipper. He chalked it up to be that the tone you had imbued into your poetry was affecting you more than you had originally intended.

 

Amidst the natural pause in his cadence, Alastor flipped to the next page. The pace he set with the first reading paired well with the next.

 

 

 

 

The content of your latest poem was intriguing. Your words offered a questionable morose undertone he wasn’t used to seeing from you. Not that he minded nor cared for the change in tone, but it was out of character. It wasn’t concerning, but perhaps adjacent to the feeling. It was hard to put a finger on what he felt. Whatever the emotion was it was new and distantly off putting. Odd.

 

Was the change in the tone of your words a clue your mind was remembering him? He couldn’t be for sure; but he wouldn’t allow himself to ponder the chance. Not until he heard confirmation from you.

 

“Well?”

 

Looking at you in earnest, he watched as you glumly glanced to the side as he prompted you. It was as if your mind was plagued with some unforeseen challenge. You were present, but there was an absent daze over your eyes that suggested the majority of your attention was elsewhere. You were looking inward, your mind and your reasoning muddled with the ever present fog. You weren’t wearing your smile. Your features were out of place without it.

 

Stirring, he gently closed the book while deft fingers fiddled with the cover of your journal. He watched as your trance was relaxed enough to allow speech to flow from you again. Would a bit of playful banter to get your blood pumping do the trick?

 

“Compelling a performance so grand that it strikes a soul completely mute isn’t a surprise nor is it a far cry from what usually occurs, dear…Though, I can’t help but think there is a different reason for your reticence this evening…”

 

Dazed, you glanced up at him with a bit more recollection that you were being addressed. Your lips still remained neutral.

 

“...Sorry. I was a little distracted…”

 

“I can see that. Where did that mind of yours wander off to, I wonder…?”

 

“I…I don’t know. Far away from here, I suppose…”

 

Your words died once more. The following silence wasn’t promising. He offered another nudge at the subject. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to gain what little you managed to remember, if anything.

 

“...A penny for your thoughts? You do know conversation is a two way street, yes?”

 

When you had nothing to offer besides a pensive glare into the foliage, he traversed the quiet with a bit more tact to change the subject. He would unlock that mind, even if by means of incessant questioning. He had grown accustomed to the vague torture it was to speak without reply many a time in his radio booth both in life and death, though it never made the experience easier. It was why he much preferred having “guests” or musical segments on his show, to fill the void in his ears and replace the disquiet silence often brought.

 

Anything was better than dreaded silence.

 

“Hm…Why don’t you elaborate on your thought process behind your work? What made you choose your specific verbiage and amount thereof? By giving more clarification into your words it may spark something of import.”

 

He gently passed you the book for silent emphasis. You took the bound parchment with distracted hands and sat it in your lap. Your fingers lazily went to work tapping slight rhythm into the cover. Your cadence was soft yet forlorn, and still you insisted on hiding your grin from him.

 

“Poetry isn’t about the words you write. It’s about the feelings behind them…”

 

Alastor nodded. It took his best efforts to not have the vibrancy of his own smile be affected by your dismal lack of one; yet the best he could do at the moment was a slight jovial curve. Perhaps that was best. The inside of his mouth was still tender, each word that left him cradled his tongue in a deadly ache. Still, If it would provide him with answers he would endure the torture.

 

“...And there’s not really a whole lot to discuss aside from what you’ve already read.”

 

“Hm. I suppose a poet’s chosen brevity is crucial to the craft.”

 

“Yes. I like my poetry to do the talking and allow my audience to decipher the message themselves. I want them to choose what my words mean to them personally.”

 

You gave him a subtle glance before peering down at your book.

 

“...As one would, yes.”

 

“So, to me, verbally explaining my own perception of my work means the words I chose didn’t do the poem justice. My explanation would only muddle the experience I wish for my audience…”

 

A sigh slipped from your lips in an attempt to blow stray pieces of hair from your face. You curled the remainder behind your ear with delicately deft fingers.

 

“...But, if I had to give an explanation to the meaning behind my words…”

 

Glancing back up at him, the same expression he admired from earlier was found once again in those bright eyes. Your pupils were dilated to unsuspecting, innocent moons; full of virtue he had no access to. The longing to witness ruin befall you and consume the remainder of your benignity was immense. Such a thought had the inside of his chest out of sorts an additional time.

 

“...Then I guess you could say I just wrote them because I was hungry…?”

Chapter 15: His Advice

Summary:

"A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing; and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control." ~ Alastor, Hazbin Hotel

“Hungry?”

 

Alastor swallowed, his composure less secure than when he started this venture with you. Why make a fuss about wishing to keep your creative intentions secret if the explanation was so simple?

 

You nodded. His frustration grew. Why did his mouth water at the admittance?

 

“...Is there a physicality to that, dear? Was it in the literal sense or did you mean you starve to obtain knowledge, or rather, something else of value?”

 

You gave him a moderate laugh as soft static consumed the fog until it drowned out your voice. Hisses and excited purrs chattered loudly from his phantom until Alastor swore he felt his brain rupture. He stifled the hitch in his breath, his lungs feeling the weight of the sound. Were you hearing this as well? He couldn’t tell. You weren’t responding to the racket if so.

 

Before tuning back into the conversation, he gave a final, wordless warning to his unruly counterpart. As the cacophony of noise died down to a bearable level, he made a mental note to deal with his shadow later.

 

“Hm. I guess a bit of both…” You paused as you pursed your lips, reluctance lingering in each syllable you offered, “I mean, I was peckish when I wrote them last night before supper; especially the last one…That isn’t entirely the reason why though…”

 

“...Then what is?”

 

A troubled sigh left you that seemed to come from terribly deep within. It carried the weight of untold frustration and fear. The sound of such burden sent tingles to the back of Alastor’s neck as his fur stood at attention. He felt the sensation in his blood, in his hands, even the upped curve of his grin. How was it that you continuously captured his interest with such ease? No insight was offered of your true troubles and yet you had managed to enthrall him completely.

 

“...Sometimes things are just too big to be felt in one sitting, y’know?”

 

Perhaps the smile he presented was full of confusion because it compelled a clearer explanation from you.

 

“...Recently I’ve just felt discouraged. Mainly that I’ll never remember or never figure things out about myself…I don’t know. I can’t explain it. There’s just a huge weight with trying to have everything put together. It's excruciatingly hard to be a more positive version of yourself all the time when you're struggling and you don’t even know who you are or who you used to be. All I want to do is fall apart; but I can’t because I have others to think of…”

 

He held witness to the travail of your breath. Accommodating the amount of words you shared was no simple feat for one so used to residing in her thoughts. Your words shook with emotion, the mental fatigue you secretly harbored affecting your speech.

 

“It's…It’s tiring. Expectation is…And I tend to put a lot of that onto myself. I don’t want to let anyone down. I can’t. Not the princess, not her patrons, not myself and especially not…”

 

You glanced up at him as your words trailed off. Alastor watched as the silence ate you whole. Perceptively, he read between the lines and the tumultuous nature of his stomach came alive.. You had voiced a desire of consternation. Your delicate bones were unwilling to hold the weight of your fears any longer. The tenderness of your voice ripped at the seams in despair.

 

You wanted to fall apart. It was beautiful.

 

He was of the mind to give you that chance. Alastor took a slight breath to relieve the shivers that compiled into his torso, each sensation only driving delightfully macabre thoughts to the forefront of his imaginations. If your progress declined further to unsatisfactory standards, he would more than grant your wish.

 

He would have you falling off the bone…

 

The subtle pull of your notebook was complete as it melded into your sweater amidst your crossed arms. He could see that the action provided just enough mental comfort to continue to lay your sapid woes bare.

 

“...Sooo…when I can’t perform at my best…” You looked at him and gestured to his mic. He assumed you were looking for a way he could relate to the subject, “...When I feel like I may crumble under the weight of expectation; I let my writing display that for me instead…When my voice, my mind, fails me; poetry never does…”

 

Alastor felt rather odd. He was enjoying your pitiful display to the utmost degree, and simply adored revelling in your mental dismay. However, seeing you distraught struck a nerve within him that hadn’t been reached by another soul in a considerably long time. The feeling was foreign, almost painful. It was to the point he found himself leaning forward, mirroring your posture as he propped his weight onto his microphone. His brows furrowed at your explanation. The urge to hear more of your troubles outweighed the pangs his stomach screamed.

 

“I create space for those feelings in my work and look back on them often. I try to use them in secret to remember what I could’ve felt back then. But I fail. I. fail. Every. Single. Time…”

 

Your inflection was exceedingly poignant as fragile hands hid your face from view. A stream of words came from hushed breath as your hands peeled slowly from your cheeks. Agitation festered inside of you until your lungs produced an exaggerated puff of air. The exhausted sound mixed with your ever present aggravation, warm and heightened in its utterance.

 

“Except now that’s not a secret anymore since I've just shared that knowledge with you, huh?”

 

The demon gave you one of his more composed grins and offered the slightest tilt to his head. Your words settled within his mind as he allowed the sound of them the due consideration they were worth. Normally for other souls, it was none, but he would be generous today. You had just shared something hidden that held great worth to you, after all, so it was only fair to offer you the same favor.

 

“Ah…So you are of the type to observe a great deal of kindness for those around you…”

 

By your answering expression, he assumed he hit the nail on the head. Just as he expected.

 

“But kindness, dear, is often nothing more than a burden; and depending on who you are, it is seen as either a strength or weakness. Regardless, the weight of it is the same. Despicably heavy…”

 

The twirling of your sweater renewed with increased intensity. Perhaps you were burdened more than he realized.

 

“Of course, it is something I don’t trouble myself with…” Alastor displayed his hands in a soft jazzy number with an airy chuckle, “ It keeps my hands free for far more important and interesting endeavors, you see…”

 

You glanced at him, unsure. It was as if you didn’t know if you could believe his perception of things to be true.

 

“Though…It is apparent that you don’t hold the same sentiments. You have a grand deal of care and dedication when it comes to handling the woes others harbor. Perhaps that is why the princess sees such promise in you, Page…”

 

The rare use of the name he gifted you seemed to get your attention, your eyes more alert to his words than previous. Good. He wanted you to listen intently. He was making a point to offer assistance, so the least you could do was humor him.

 

“Perhaps that is also why the weight, as you say, is so heavy?”

 

His words were hypothetical and not in need of response, yet you graced him with a slow nod of understanding. You absorbed his words like greedy desert sand, the cracks in your psyche dehydrated and hopeless.

 

Poor thing. Your despair was enchanting.

 

“…Though I can’t provide freedom from such burden; I do have a way of discarding it for a time, as it were. Sweet distraction for yourself and simple diversion for others…”

 

He adjusted his hold on his microphone. Finesse flooded into his fingers as he twirled the rod with just the slightest amount of pressure. Light sprinkled through the leaves of his willow, glinting on the surface of the metal in his grasp.

 

“…That is, if you are so inclined in hearing?”

 

Yet another sigh was offered, your doubt and dismay growing in magnitude. The sight was scintillating. His interest in your troubles only doubled when you supplied a response. The obvious sarcasm drenching your words only led to the continuation of the unrest in his gut.

 

“Oh? Then, please, enlighten me. Just what is it that I am so considerably lacking?”

 

The edges of his smile encroached further into his cheeks. The sight of your frustration was just something he couldn’t get enough of; regardless of if the presence of it compelled the continuation of his own. The interaction was bittersweet and perplexing, the air ripe with dismay. The uncertainty of the moment mixed well with the rich scent of vetiver and the sights of lush verdure widespread throughout his hunting grounds.

 

Why was this a moment he wished to remember?

 

“Why, a grin, dear. It holds worlds of power in just the mere sight of it; and just by its magnitude does it have the capability to inspire those around you. Not to mention it keeps them on their toes. No one else will ever truly know what it is you wish to keep secret…”

 

With a sigh, you turned away. Your posture was atrocious as you leaned to place your head in your hands. Your elbows dug into your thighs, hugging the sides of your little red book into the center of your lap. You glared into moss covered tree roots below as if they were the sole cause of your disdain.

 

“If you say so…”

 

Alastor blinked, the rare spike of feedback from his mic soon following. Why were you so unconvinced with his explanation? His argument was sound and should’ve been more than persuasive.

 

“Indeed, I do. A smile is something of value and it can be very compelling. It shows you have yourself put together; even when you are tearing at the seams. Power is tethered deeply into each curve of a grin and it is a most useful tool for all situations, believe you me.”

 

Still you demanded the attention of the ground with stubborn effort; only allowing the slight tilt of your head in contemplation.

 

“I suppose…Except when you’re trying to play poker, right?”

 

The stark contrast of your meek voice paired with his bold laugh was exponential. It was to the degree it gained your full attention again. Your concern was paired with a stunned look.

 

“HA! You’d be surprised at just how successful past games have been due to my visage. I’ve never lost a match. How could I? With my winning smile, victory is always assured.”

 

To induce the more agreeable side of your personality, he broke the tension you curated with more banter. His voice was suave. The sound of it was convincing whilst paired with a hint of carefully crafted playfulness. He reached his microphone over to nudge your shoulder good-naturedly.

 

“You do have to admit it embellishes one’s features rather nicely.”

 

At least by the end of his statement he had gained a simple laugh from you, regardless of how plain your features remained from your lips in their stagnant, neutral line. But you graced him with a look. Your bemused, almost forced, laughter resulted in the tell tale scrunch of your nose. It was frustrating how dejected you looked. He had hoped his own agreeable beaming would prompt you to share your own. He hated the depth of his miscalculations, especially when they seemed to continue into your mind.

 

The situation wasn’t promising. You weren’t remembering, nor mentioned anything in the slightest of having an inkling of him. The conversation was fruitless in that aspect, wilting the rest of his careful plans into waste. His jaw clenched with the desire to tear into his cheek a third time, though you would never be privy to it. It was perfectly disguised as nothing more than the most show stopping smile he could conjure.

 

Through his clever deceptions, however, more laughter was produced from your end into a wistful symphony. Perhaps you were catching on to his point by your snickering alone. He tilted his head as he felt his jaw relax into its regular curve once he felt his point was adequately made.

 

A hefty sigh left you, somewhat pleased to have a reprieve for your lungs. Your fingers unraveled from the hem of your blouse only to be placed over your heart to restrain whatever remained of your dysphoric elation.

 

“Well then. I guess you already have it all figured out, huh?”

 

“That wasn’t obvious?”

 

Alastor felt his smile grow into a sly simper. In exchange, you only offered a final, pitiful chuckle before turning your attention to the dying moss below your feet and the occasional falling leaf. It was unfortunate you didn’t display your own grin like he hoped. The anxiety you voiced previously had stolen it again. It only ensured the possibility that his plans for you would reach yet another anticlimactic end.

 

Air left the confines of his nose as his smile turned bitter and tightly pressed. Why wasn’t his plan working? What would it take for you to remember him? Would dissuading your inner struggles be the only avenue to reclaim his plans?

 

An inconspicuous peer over at your seated silhouette was all he needed to confirm. You were crumbling, held captive by the needless stipulations you held for yourself. The misery was plain to see. It dwelled on your face, in your eyes, and sunk into the cracks forming on your psyche.

 

Such sweet sorrow you held, a destitute soul clinging to the thin veil of hope he provided. You were but a fly caught in a spiderweb of his making. You were trapped in a problem that would be weaved to his advantage.

 

However, even if the goals he held for you remained clear, the reasoning behind your self inflicted suffering evaded him. Why was it that you held yourself with such desolate esteem? It was as if you were your own sworn enemy. Just by how you carried yourself, he could see you were a victim of your own mind. You were kept prisoner by the conjured evils lining the interior of your imagination like elaborate, lurid wallpaper. Such thoughts were no doubt akin to his own. Though not as often freed to roam, the rare inclinations still resided within, surly. Everyone was capable of sin.

 

Even angels.

 

He held witness to you amidst the trenches of despondency, and watched as your head searched for shelter in your hands. Despite such potential you hid away, those despicable machinations only seemed to be used on yourself. What a waste. What was the point of the pain if you couldn’t enjoy the torment you provided? Such cruelty was to be cast onto others, not hoarded away for personal use. What joy did that bring?

 

Perhaps, as he explained to you before, distraction was necessary. He would show you the error of your ways. If he was promised the continuation of your progress, he would give you a reason to smile. Anything to produce the sweetness you often wafted so freely.

 

Your hair joined in the dance the branches of his willow hosted. The wind combed through it much like an invisible, delicate hand. Each strand was gently guided through the breeze and framed your flushed cheeks.

 

You were the very picture of melancholy. Indeed were you empty of yourself, a cracked mirror without reflection. Without an image to remember, you were left bereft of purpose for the time being. Each piece of you was scattered abroad throughout time; waiting to be brought into focus, into form, once again.

 

Every detail of you screamed desperation. Isolation. It was as if you were lonely, even in his company. Yet even as you drowned in your own despair, you clung to the sentiment that you didn’t wish to be a disappointment to the souls around you. You were easily encumbered by the continued consideration you held for them, and for what? Only to be accosted repeatedly by your mind at the end of the day; endlessly screaming you didn’t surmount your own greedy expectations? To what cause did you act on such gracious whims? What purpose did your morals serve if you were to be harrowed regardless?

 

Just what type of afflicted soul did you possess? He was curious and inclined to know. You owed him that opportunity, at least.

 

Maybe the consideration of your peculiar ways was what led him to heed the rare pull that called deep from within his ribs. His ears twitched in response to the new urge, conflicted. Perhaps the only way for you to be rid of what ailed you would be to give you a taste of what you often provided?

 

The conflict of interest only grew within the confines of Alastor’s chest. It replaced the ache of his hunger with something of an even more troublesome degree. The feeling traversed well into his chest until bile threatened to burn his throat.

 

Alastor squinted as his smile pulled tight a second time. Where was this unsavory compulsion to provide you with care sprouting from? He was caught off guard by the sheer magnitude of the feeling. He dreaded what would come of it.

 

Even so, he had a deal to maintain, and accommodating you seemed to be part of it. If only to ensure that his carefully crafted plotting wasn’t derailed, he would present a small gesture akin to kindness. Just this once.

 

Somehow in the time his thoughts had taken from him, you had reclined back into the bench. You gave the current page in your notebook a prolonged look. Your eyes dived into its contents to deeply admire the words of your own creation. It was as if you memorized every stanza, every word. Every letter. You grafted your words onto your heart and hid them away for safekeeping.

 

You were distracted. It was an opportune moment. If he was going to move forward with his intentions, then it would be now. Waiting or lingering on the thought a minute more would only expedite the shivers he felt. They grafted into his skin like fangs mercilessly tearing into soft fruit, fleeing from the tips of his ears to the end of his tail and everywhere in between. It was revolting and left him with an ache on the border of agitation.

 

Nonetheless, if he was to give you dreaded comfort, then it would be now or not at all.

 

Before you offered any needless questions for actions he himself couldn’t understand, he leaned closer to you until his head tentatively laid upon your shoulder. With no surprise to him, you flinched. Though, however sudden his actions, you settled into his awkward care wordlessly. It was significantly odd.

 

You were warm. Distastefully so. Every wave of heat he felt against his face from you combatted the very humidity of Hell.

 

Yet, the experience was unnaturally quaint. Alastor clenched his eyes shut. It was to forget the egregious feeling of how the fur on the edges of his ears entangled into your clothing. The previous tingles he felt reignited with every flick as some of his own hair slid in front of his eyes. His hands gripped tighter onto his microphone at the sensations. The heat in your skin drove his stomach to madness, drenching his mouth to the point he had to swallow to maintain his composure.

 

The demon cursed inwardly. The tell tale signs of his familiar’s appearance shaped into form at the subtle lull of your own breath. Static ghosted over his oxfords to hide underneath the bench. Whispers glided up his back and deep into his mind. It only added to the agony of remaining still on your person. His skin itched. Alastor curled his fingers over his microphone until they went numb from the pressure he applied.

 

Why did he do this again? Why did he put himself through such torture for another soul? Especially one who hadn’t proven useful yet?

 

Why did the sensation feel so familiar? Why, that despite being racked with such torment, did the experience of simply resting his head atop your shoulder feel so horribly familiar? As if that was what he was supposed to be doing and where he was supposed to be? He hated the sensation. He did not wish for it. You invaded his space with minimum effort and with no action on your part. The situation was of his choosing, yet he desperately felt uneasy and distressed.

 

He was too vulnerable.

 

The desire to pull away was only aided by the sweetness of what he assumed was your perfume. The scent was aromatic and agonising. You were fragrant and gave off a light and clean scent. Each inhale burned his lungs with unusual, unwanted pleasantness. The longing to be free of the sensation only intensified as he recognised and recounted the name of each savor imbued into you.

 

Bittersweet notes of almond intermingled with citrus undertones of bergamot and hints of classic rose. You accosted his senses with such ease that it left him without defense. Alastor clenched his jaw, the sores he caused within tempted to rip anew. Nutty and Floral aromas alike cut into his senses with deadly precision. Each overflowed into his mouth. Every piquant scent sampled unnerved him. Strangely, the fragrance only incurred enticement for a bite.

 

His phantom’s greed traversed into his mind until audible requests were made once more. Each ghostly whisper, plead, he heard only grated on every bit of patience that still lingered.

 

“̶͉̞͈͓̣̤̣̆̓̿͆̈́͒͆̋̀̾̔̿̄́̕B̶̨̰̰͔͑̒́͂ĩ̷̫͖͗̒͂t̵̞̠͋̊̀̏̓̽̇̈́̍͑̚̕e̷̹̪͇̮̘̗̜̲̭̥̥̞̗͂͐́͑̀́̎̇̾̕ͅ…̴̡̣͑̈͗̈́͛̏̃̃͐͜.̸̡̲̥̯̿̑̄̚͜͝C̷̨̩̔̿̇͝͝l̷̨̰̖̖̯̞̱̅̊̅̉̌o̶͖̫̯̖̥͇̙̫̭͕͈̻͙͌s̸̢̨̢̺̼̜̪̣͖̼̹͛̊̈́ͅe̵̲̿̇͌̏͊̂͆́̂̆́̾͘̕ ̷̳̪̣̮̠̳͉̺̘̲͉̩̻̊͜ę̶̘̬̻̠̀͐̏͜ṉ̷̥̻̼̰̣͖̻̝̫̗͇̄͝ō̶̗̬͕̠̺̠̩̊͋͝u̵̲̣̭̩͉̬͑͌̀̂̇̊̓̇́̋́͠g̴̡̜̩͇̞̩̘̼̥̠̻͙̩̤̑͗̌̃̋͗̅̒̃͌̈̒̀̉̾ḩ̵̛̝̰͚̣͈̫̗̐̈́̚̕ ̴̨̢̟͍̻͊́̓͌́̈́͊͊̄̂̈͊͘͝t̵̩̠͖̯̳̲͉͕͆͐̐̈́̉͠ǫ̷̨̣͖͚͖͚͇̺͓̰̭̬̈́́̾̈͂̈́̕̕͝͝…̶̛̲͍̮̱̹̎̍̈̈̒͌̏̉̈́͗͂̚N̵̛̯̘̖̠͍̙̣̠̼̲̍͂̿̽͗̔̎̌̓̚̚̚e̸̠͖̘̱͈͇̯̭͔̮̭͛̂̇͆ȩ̸͔̩͚͎̖̮̗̳͉̰̜̂̀̈̎͗͆̿͂͘͜d̶̩̠̜̙̙̦̳̥̐̈̆͘ ̷͈̭̝̑͋͋͊̿͝a̸̢͉̪̠̫͗̍̌̌̒̑̚ ̸̧͎̫͇̩̤͚̳̚͝t̶̨͈̼͉̜͛͂̉̄̍̅͝ȃ̴͍̻͆͊́̐̔͛̋̈́s̶͇̖͚̰̳͎̥̭͛̾̽t̵̗͉̙̰̩̳͔̳̃̄̋́̇̍͗̒̆͒͆̈́̆̓͘e̵̡̠̪̠͇͔̤͙̲̤̳̖̎͑̊̐͜…̴̢̢͙̰̪̬̮͈̣͎͙͇̓̈́”̶̦͔̜̺̫̬̘̯͈͎̍ͅͅ

 

((“Bite….Close enough to…Need a taste…”))

 

He couldn’t take it. It was insanity. His destruction was not yours to take. Your charms would not cause him to falter. His plans would not be undone by you, nor would he endure a moment more of your torture.

 

He. Would. Not. Bend.

 

He. Would. Not. Break.

 

Veiled into shadow, he appeared a few feet away from you at the edge of the foliage leading into the rest of his bayou. He adjusted his bowtie and cleared his throat amidst a multitude of hisses that dispersed across his clothing. His fingers firmly grasped the fabric wrapped around his neck. It was all he could do to collect the composure he lost, to regain the remnants of sanity you somehow took from him.

 

Another sound was made to clear his throat. His ears twitched. He didn’t look at you.

 

“Ha…Well, nevermind. That was abhorrent…”

 

Alastor dusted off the top of his crown and along the dark velvet of his arms and leaned to the side. He took in a deep inhale as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

With furrowed brows, he summoned the use of his microphone. He needed something to hold to. It was all he could do to keep his hands from your throat. He swallowed at the thought and imagined how it would be to hear your sweet serenade take a minor key; the sound compressed beneath the weight of his hands. His smile widened, grander than before in all of its insane glory.

 

He leaned his weight into his microphone, the frissions your presence supplied reawakening along his arms. He hated it. Alastor could feel the individual spikes in his antlers take form in his disgruntlement, his shadow licking at his ankles and hissing into his mind. He tasted iron again.

 

“Alastor?”

 

He didn’t register your voice, too preoccupied with maintaining his distance from you. His mind was full of plans not yet implemented and results not yet produced.

 

Why were you so stubborn? Why were you still locked from him? Your brain was a vice, tightly woven in on itself to the point nothing would be gained without strenuous effort. He didn’t picture the situation would be this intensely complicated to procure you from yourself; and your woes and whims only added to his confusion tenfold.

 

Awash with thoughts, your scent still dispersed through the air around him. The savor of it lingered well into his head and saturated deep into his clothing. The fragrance was resolute, refusing to let him be. He grew dizzy with the stifling sweetness. The experience was too much. The feeling, your smell and the curiosity of your taste muddled together into an unthinkable blur that caged his mind. His tongue was bridled into a perplexed sigh.

 

“Alastor are...are you okay? I-”

 

“Do you remember?” He barked. It was the only phrase he could make; and even then such intense focus was needed to deliver it. Each word traveled to you through a low, unintended growl; greeting the air between you with a cold hiss.

 

The overlord didn’t glance into your direction, his fists trembling against the hold of his microphone with the strain it was to forget temptation. He bit into his smile and waited to see if you would claim a negative response. With the octave your voice took, his assumptions were correct.

 

“I….I don’t think so…”

 

“I need a yes or no answer.”

 

He took this chance to look at you and watched as your expression fell with a flinch. It was a mix of guilt and confusion. You were crestfallen, more so than earlier.

 

“I…No. No I don’t…That...That's what I was trying to tell you. I...I’m trying.”

 

The same frustration you exhibited bred into his blood, boiling away whatever patience that remained. You glanced up at him, your eyes carrying worry. An urgency to understand leaked into your words.

 

“Weren’t you the one to say these things take time?”

 

“I was, wasn’t I?” his voice was gruff through a tight jaw. The taste of iron leaked further into his pallet through clenched teeth. He granted himself a richer inhale before swallowing the taste to appease his screaming stomach. Your voice only fueled his hunger more.

 

“Did…Did I do something wrong? Have I offended you? I…I’m sorry if so. Though I don’t really know what I did…”

 

As soon as the words exited your lips did he grace you with a second glance, not realizing the magnitude of your worry. Why did you feel the need to apologise? Your gesture left him dazed for a second. One second too long.

 

“Hey listen, if…If it’s about the glitter from earlier, I can clean it up! I...I didn’t mean to make a mess in your room in the first place-”

 

What a laughable concern. That was the farthest thing from his mind.

 

“It's nothing of the sort, dear…”

 

Alastor cleared his throat before making his way over to you. Somehow your needless apology brought a slight peace over his nerves. He made sure to make his voice softer to calm whatever remained of your worries. His decorum was not your fault, nor was it your responsibility to placate him.

 

“...I just need to clear my head. To figure out the next course of action and the possible solution to your little problem.”

 

Your hands hid themselves deeper into the confines of your sweater as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. You looked smaller than usual.

 

“…Okay…If you’re sure there’s nothing wrong.”

 

Again, a strategic lie weaved into the sinner’s words as easily as taking breath.

 

“Positive. There’s no need for concern.”

 

You still gave him an exceedingly doubtful look before glancing to the side. Your smile was still absent. His brows furrowed as he made notice of the way you blew at the obstinate hair lingering in your eyes. It was as if something was still off about your appearance even after attributing your unusual glow to your previous arts and crafts with the princess.

 

Another puff of air had the extra strands move away from your face, leading the demon to an epiphany. Your hair ribbon. He still had it within his possession.

 

“Look here for a moment.”

 

“...Huh?”

 

With a snap, verdant magic delivered the aforementioned adornment into his grasp. The embroidered stitches he crafted into the cloth previously were still exposed and only added to the intricate design. The jewels were pristine once more, no cracks from being caught underfoot were present.

 

“I believe I have something of yours. Permit me to return it to you.”

 

Near enough to request the incline of your head, he made quick work of tying the excess of your ribbon into a presentable knot. His fingertips still felt numb, threatening to linger in each strand of your hair upon the wide eyed gaze he witnessed. Your face was powdered in red, the blood vessels in your face carrying your emotions with maximum effort. He swallowed as he felt his smile close to a soft curve. Your naivete was captivating, your surprise almost too much to bear. Yet you refused to smile. Where was the usual one you offered? Why did he miss it so much?

 

His hands finished their work, strengthening the tie around your locks before leading his fingers to bring your chin up. The tingles renewed, an itch etching into every fiber of his fur that seeped into his bones. Your expressions were agitating. You sealed your words away into your mind and your little red book and yet your appearance revealed everything you were trying to hide. You were a hypocrite, sad and terribly clueless.

 

However, he couldn't help but wonder what would cure the melancholy behind such a sweet face. He took in a deeper appreciation for it, perceiving the guilt still residing within you as you glanced down wordlessly. Were you upset at the possibility of becoming a deeper disappointment? Did you truly care what he thought of you that much? He nearly chuckled at the thought of such an absurd notion and yet didn’t understand why the secret knowledge held him with such captivation. Why was he touched?

 

He couldn’t stand a minute more. You weren’t fully dressed in the slightest and it was highly affecting him. He needed a grin from you.

 

“Come now…”

 

He addressed you gently, as if in a whispered, comforting purr. Propping your chin up in between seasoned hands, he prompted your eyes to meet his own as he gave you a glance over.

 

“Remember what I told you. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It will get you through far more than you know…” he tilted his head with an earnest wish for you to see the truth to his statement held within his lidded gaze. A rare offering of kindness and wisdom was granted to you. He silently urged you to take its worth as your own.“ You will try to keep that chin up, won’t you?”

 

Alastor watched as his words made their mark when you gave a feeble nod.

 

“I…”

 

You flitted your eyes to the side, lashes threatening to close. He swore he saw the simplest curve to the corner of your lips as you looked at him again, more encouraged.

 

“...I thought you said you weren’t one to sully yourself with kindness.”

 

“...You’d be correct. I don’t usually make it a habit.”

 

The flush in your skin due to the abundant supply of blood deep within your veins enthralled him. He let your chin go to tempt more of that delicious red to appear with a playful pinch of your cheek.

 

“Fortunately, for you, I am a man of many surprises.”

 

He squeezed once more. Just as he wished, your cheek bloomed brighter from the blood he compelled under such sweet flesh. It was a satisfying display. The only thing to make the sight better would’ve been a full grin. He pondered if you would offer him one.

 

“Consider it an extension of my conveniently designated generosity. Nothing more.”

 

You continued to observe him with a brighter countenance. You somehow managed to smile with your eyes, the fullness of your attention simply fascinating on its own. He didn’t register that the crickets in the distance had lost their song. With your presence, the surrounding silence wasn’t horribly inconvenient. The quiet wasn’t distressing, nor did it need to be filled. It was peaceful.

 

“...Okay…”

 

The moment increased in lustre upon you finally gracing him with a brave little grin. He allowed his thumb to aid its upward curve.

 

“What a sight. You are simply a natural.”

 

His only response was the briefest of glances to the side along with a muttered thank you under warm breath. He felt the reticent heat of your voice against his wrist, his velvet fur subtly moving with each exhale you took. He realized the shivers he felt never left, his fingers seemingly torpified from the experience.

 

Why did he offer such encouragement again? You were the cause of his frustration. Shouldn’t he have allowed you to live through its growth? Perhaps he allowed you more leniency and reignited your joyous flame so that he could be the one to enjoy the fall of it…

 

His eyes took in your ensemble. His magic still imbued itself into the intricacy of your ribbon. Each stitch was granted with a clouded sheen. Shadow seeped into every jewel that adorned your hair to the point unexpected vividness resided within. It was as if his obscure designs provided you with the mockery of a halo.

 

Why did something of his formulation aid your light?

 

Before he could lose himself fully in the fortuitous radiance you possessed, Alastor requested the assistance of his shadow. Hisses surrounded you both, static consuming your forms into sudden obscurity. The placated hunger he successfully held at bay only surged upon the nonplussed catch he heard in your breath. For once, he was thankful that traveling through means of his phantom was often a noisy affair. It aided in shrouding the audible sign of his ill intent.

 

Hardwood settled underfoot once more as his portal closed, shadow dispersing into the air once it was no longer of service. The escape of his bayou was brief, but seemed to have left you astonished by his usual means of getting around. Was it the first time he offered you such an opportunity?

 

He observed you for a moment. Though significantly more optimistic than previous, your complexion was pale. You leaned against his bedroom door. You were dazed, your eyes blinking steadily to get reacquainted with the bold hotel lights over head. You held one of your temples. He forced himself to look away and clear his throat upon hearing a weak whimper leave you.

 

Is that what you would sound like if he were offered a taste?

 

“Apologies if my abruptness startled you, but I assumed you would be one to appreciate a timely return. Regardless, the effects you received aren’t permanent, dear. Your dizziness and nausea will soon subside. Such travel tends to affect those less experienced.”

 

“It’s alright…Just wasn’t expecting it, is all…”

 

Your meek voice still shook with the effort of remaining on your feet. He didn’t look at you, but could only imagine how you looked draped across his door frame. He imagined you weak and eager to catch your breath.

His stomach became enraged, his teeth gritted tightly into a sharper beam. He could feel his claws dig into his dark gloves, pushing against the woven cloth hiding them from view. His mouth watered at the image his mind supplied, you helpless within his hold. Your fear, the light fading from such a precious gaze. You, becoming the sustenance for his growing desire. You, bleeding and defenseless against his bite.

 

You.

 

Just. You.

 

"̵̹̒L̸͖̀ḯ̴͍t̶̥̊t̶̳̂l̴̃͜ê̶̻ ̵̎ͅP̵̦͆ò̴̼ë̷̢́t̴̀ͅ'̴̞̔s̸̄͜ ̴̛͔f̸̗̓e̸͝ͅa̵̛̖r̵̺̀ ̵͎͒ḭ̷̆s̵̢̀.̶̝̋.̸̥̄.̸͈̓Ć̸͍o̸̞̍m̶͍̄e̷̝͂l̴̹̑y̸͇̽.̷̨̋.̷̈ͅ.̷̬͘D̶̤̉ḛ̸̌ș̴̏i̴̖̔r̵̬̀ȧ̴̜b̶̢͑l̵̗̎e̷̗̒.̸͉͊.̴͍͒.̷̩͆"̵̲̿

 

((“Little Poet’s fear is…comely…desirable..”))

 

Was his phantom supplying these insinuations?!

 

“̴͍́W̶̢̱̜͒ḣ̶̭̽͌y̵̻͇͍͒̄͝ ̷̟̘͛͂͘ų̵͖͖̀̒s̷̓̎ͅé̵͓ ̷͎̀̈́r̷̫͝e̶͓̿͑ş̴̪̆͋ͅt̶̬͓͕̔r̷̗̜̆ă̶͙͉i̴̞̼̱͗n̶̬̈́̅̓͜t̴̘̟̑̇͜?̷͍̈́͗̋͜ ̴͓̰̆̍S̷̡̙͑́ͅh̶͍͛̐̏e̵̜̋ ̷̢̏͝i̸̮͔̤̅̊͠ş̷̺́͒͝ ̵̫̹͍͌͝p̴̙̥̦͗̃͑r̵͓̈́ȩ̴̺̻́͌ÿ̷̮́…̴̧̲̋Ÿ̴̖́̈͜o̷̭͖͒ų̴̺͙̓ ̴̭̋̚̕h̷̜͙̋ͅā̶̪͍̥̽v̶̝̙̚ę̶͉̜̓̕ ̸͙̉̉n̶̻̄̋̊ȩ̷̫͗̎̓e̵͓̕d̴̠̟̒̚͝ͅ…̸͚̦̉̏͗Y̷̰̱͝o̴͉̻̒ŭ̶̜ ̵̙̩̥͋h̸̫̀ḁ̵̆v̷̺͉̍͠ẻ̵̺̿̃ ̶͓̱́̏̏h̸̨̛̝̍u̶̡̎n̸̠͎͇̽͗͋g̸̢̳̖̎̈́̈e̴̺͒͘r̴̮͉͒͝…̴̣̓W̸̡̅͋̐ͅh̶̠͓̃͐̐ỷ̷̝̘̻̒ ̸̧͐d̴̗͓̆́͒ḝ̷͍͍́͘n̴̨͍͊͂͐y̷͓̮͌͘͠ ̷̛̭͒y̵͇̩͗o̶̧̱̥̒͑͝ǘ̷̲̮̮̒̅r̷̭̫͈͌s̵̛͙͚͙̅ë̴̢͎̪́̉̔l̸̫̪͂f̷̤̘͆̃͆?̷̣͖͆”̶͚͓͑

 

((“Why use restraint? She is prey…You have need…You have hunger…Why deny yourself?”))

 

Alastor curled his fingers into his palm. He clenched tightly until he felt the promised sting of skin giving way to the blood underneath. His gloves would be ruined, torn and stained, but it was worth maintaining his dignity.

 

‘You know exactly why. Our deal is still in place.’

 

“̴̧̞̳̎I̸̤̮͊s̴̝̫͐ ̵̫͒͆t̶̢̯̀̎͆h̴̲͚̟̑̍a̴̼͒͛͛ṭ̴̾ ̷͖̙̎̎͜M̶̪̱͉͝ā̴̫s̷̹̄̑͝t̴̛̖͂̈́ẻ̵̱͎̜́ȓ̵͓̫͆’̷̲̅s̷̛͓̞̊̍͜ ̸̨̱͈̃̕ô̸̢͑̄n̵̺̮̖͘̚l̸̠̿y̷̮̰̝͝ ̴̻̗̌̌̉r̶̻̐e̶̝͚͔͒̉̔ä̸̖̟͓́̊s̵̼̦̕ȏ̵̱̈́͝n̷̼̕?̶̬̈́ ̵̼̟͐M̶̤̃ả̸̙s̶̤͊ţ̵͖̀e̴͚̘̫̔̋r̷͕̳̗̉̅͝ ̶̟͉͗̏͝h̵̠͉̺̓̓̇a̶̫͓͓͊̐̀s̸͎̞̾͜ ̷͈͍́͐o̸̺͓͌̊͝ţ̴͊̑͠h̴̺͈̿͠ę̷̺͖̓̐̎r̵̝̃ ̵͇̜́̄d̸̻͚͛̓e̷̯͒a̷͈̘̝͒l̷̨͗͆s̴̤̖̼͛…̷̜̃̈́ ̷̥̼̮̍̿̎H̸̺̊̀è̵͈̉ ̵̜͓̐i̴̢̞͈̒̈͝s̸͇̬̓ ̵̦͇̚ͅc̸̲̳̏̈a̸͔̗͠ṕ̷̭̾a̸̠͕̿̀̌b̸̦̺͐͐l̵̙̂e̷̗̳̝̒͝ ̵̝͐o̷̝̫͍̾́͗f̶̦͉̅̃ ̷̪̰̩͂͝g̴̭̈̈̏a̶̘̔́͜r̵̛̩̣̻͋̒n̵̺̟̈́̑͊e̷̛̥̺͗͋ŕ̴̩̬i̶͔͛̓͛ṅ̷̮̿̋g̷̻̞͖̓͝ ̵̯̟̥̔̍͝o̶̺͔̐t̶͚̫͆͋h̶̨͝ę̶̳̃͑̋r̸̢͖̰̕͝s̴̨͙̣͂̾…̶̙͂̎͝.̷̻̽̕Ȯ̶̝n̸̳̭̿̀͝l̷̙̉̀ͅy̴̧̼͚̿̍͑ ̴̧͙̺̀h̸̫̱̽̓ă̵̙̳̒v̴̡͍̅̒͋ē̶̩̒̕ ̶̲̏ő̴̮͝n̵͍̈́̌͘ḙ̵̐̇ ̷̢͙̣̄á̷̡̰̃n̴̗̮͘g̶̨̲̅ë̵̼̃l̵̬̬͑̈̏…̵̳̑́͐Ỏ̸̳͎͒ň̶̡͖̯̈͗ĺ̷̜̄́ỷ̸̧̛̺̕ ̸̱͈̈̔͐ͅh̴̛̗̘̖͐̅ạ̵̋͗̕ṽ̴̝̝̯̕ẹ̴̤̉͝ ̸̤̒̽̔ͅo̷̠̘͂̉̇n̵͓̖̭͐̍e̴̜̲͘ ̴̰̰̗̆͌̾c̵͔̲̯̈́̈́h̸͎̽ă̵̛͍͈͂n̶̹͌̃c̷̙̗͇̋̈̕e̶̗͚̞̅́̓ ̸̝̇t̴̤͕̐̑̚o̶͔͛̅ ̷̢̠̯̇̈ṱ̷̯̣̊ǎ̷̧̮s̵̹͋͗t̸̝͎̄͒é̷̺͈̫̈́ ̶̫̞̤̎Ľ̴͇̼̞ȋ̶͉̝t̶̼͎̕t̷̖̅͝l̴̿̔͜ẹ̸̡͎͝ ̴̘̹͔̄̑͒P̶̹̼͎̏͊͝ó̷͔͖e̵͎͔̐͛̓t̶͕̎́͐…̵͍̆”̴̗̠̿

 

((“Is that Master’s only reason? Master has other deals… He is capable of garnering others….Only have one angel…Only have one chance to taste Little Poet…”))

 

Alastor’s breath hitched, his voice mute as he glared into the hardwood.

 

“̷̖͈͐Ď̴̕͜o̴̼̦̔͂͠n̸̲̺̠̅͋’̴̜͂̓t̷̨̧̑̈́̀ ̶̥̪̠͛̄͝l̸͎͎̊̏͝ȅ̷͜t̸̻̜̜͊͆ ̸̰̬̈́h̴̰͌̉͛e̶̹̬̙̐̈́r̴̫̺͠͠ ̷̘̱̼̂̈g̵̬͂̈́ȩ̴̛̠͊̍t̵̮̾̀ ̴̛̟̳͑̂a̷͈͕̾w̵̞͎̍͐͝ḁ̷̪̰̍͗y̴̳͖̰̓̊͂…̴͎̤̱̈́̀”̷̩̻͒̂̋

 

((“Don’t let her get away…”))

 

“Alastor? You good?”

 

Snapped from his servant’s dark musings, he turned to you. Since when had you gotten closer?

 

You had a slightly outstretched hand in his direction, a glimpse of worry once again embellished into your face. Once he gave you the attention you requested you allowed your arm to go limp to your side.

 

Requiring the use of his microphone, it appeared in his hands with a twirl before sharply snapping to the ground. The action sent an echo reverberating throughout his room as he supplied a larger grin. It stretched into his cheeks until he felt his lips split under the pressure. It stung.

 

“Certainly dear! Just taking stock of the situation. I’ve been doing some thinking…”

 

You wordlessly prompted him to continue, nudging your head forward to aid your point.

 

“We shall hold off on our attempts for the time being.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. You’ve been putting in much effort, so I believe a reasonable pause is called for.”

 

The sinner gauged your reaction, swallowing down the extent of his excessive curiosity. The urge fought him tooth and nail, your expression only tempting him more. He would not be bested.

 

“My next task for you would be to continue in your efforts. Take ease and continue to write as you have.” His lips stung from the perpetuated task of maintaining his mask, “Who knows. You may find that retaining your usual routine of creation will provide answers. All I ask is that if you do manage to remember anything to come to me with it immediately. Do we understand each other?”

 

You nodded.

 

“When will we resume again?”

 

“I would say in three weeks. That should give you ample enough time to relieve your stress. A moment of respite may be all that is needed to calm your mind, dear.”

 

He was gifted with a soft noise of agreement.

 

“I guess you're right. You never know something unless you try it.”

 

“Exactly!”

 

“̷̥̉.̷͚͝.̷̦́.̸̝̆L̷̪͊ī̸̠t̶̬͋t̶̝̎l̷̦̿e̷̟̾ ̶̠̈́ṗ̶ͅo̴̤̾e̸͇̓t̸̼̕ ̵̼̾î̶̢s̸̙̃ ̵̩͌r̸̳̐i̴̖͛g̷̯̃h̶̹͑t̷͓͆.̶̳̔ ̴̦́Y̸̟͗o̶͈̊ù̴͈ ̷̰̄w̵̮̏o̵̹̓n̸͓̅’̶̪̌t̴̗͐ ̴̛̗k̴̊ͅn̵̺̅o̶͇͐w̸̜͠ ̷̜̈u̵̢͊ń̶̝ļ̴͋ḙ̷̛s̴̳̏s̵̨̉ ̶̳͝y̶̞͘o̵̞̽ú̵̮ ̶̮̎t̸͉͠r̵͓̓ỵ̶̓ ̵̨͆i̴͙̇t̵̰͂.̶̬̓.̵̰͝.̷̥͝Ą̷͌ ̶̦̽ẗ̸̬ȃ̴͓s̶͔̈́ť̸͈e̵͍͗ ̴͔̑i̸̺̎s̸̠̃ ̷̹͋n̸͗͜e̴̓ͅe̸̙̽d̷̪̈́e̶̟͑d̶̜͑ ̶̫͂t̴͎͗ő̵̜ ̵͍̂k̴̛͚n̶̨̈́o̴̰͝w̵͓̄ ̸͙͠f̵̟̊o̸̦̿r̵̢̊ ̸̮̓c̸̳̀e̵͉͆ṙ̷͙t̵͕͝a̶̯͊ì̶̻n̷̠͌…̴̳̒”̵̗̀

 

((“...Little poet is right. You won’t know unless you try it...A taste is needed to know for certain…”))

 

‘Silence!’

 

His phantom only replied with ghostly hisses intermingling with amused laughter. Was it laughing?! At him?! The brazen thing would learn its place. Perhaps trapping it within the confines of his radio waves would suffice for the duration of your three week vacation.

 

Oh, but to punish his shadow would be to punish himself. The specter was only an extension of his own mind. Damn. So he wouldn’t find relief so easily. The temptations would repeat for however long it took for you to remember.

 

“So I guess we have a plan in place.”

 

“It seems we do.”

 

You nodded again before taking a step backwards and turning to head towards the door.

 

“Okay. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. You’re a busy man and your time is precious, after all.” You gave a quick glance back to him once you reached the door. It seemed you remembered a phrase of his from your second introduction.

 

Your smile was radiant.

 

“Right?”

 

“So it is.”

 

You chuckled, turning the handle and gently swinging the door open.

 

“...See you later, Al-ligator.”

 

He shook his head with a small laugh. Such a childish greeting. He hadn’t heard something so lighthearted in years, and it was only bettered with the pun you attempted of his name.

 

“Ha! After a while, crocodile…”

Notes:

I can't believe that as of march 15th, 2025, it has been one year since I started writing Ambivalence.

Everything from planning and posting the story to reading all of your theories and comments and making friends in the fandom has been so enjoyable. Sometimes it's been hard, but I think that one year has taught me a whole lot about the type of writer I wish to become and how to curate a better story moving forward.

I sincerely appreciate you all, my lovely audience. Thank you for letting me share a piece of my heart with you. Your support means more than I can ever convey.

Stay tuned~<3

Chapter 16: His Muse

Summary:

"Incase you ever foolishly forget, I am never not thinking of you." ~ Virginia Wolfe

"̴̛̣Ḷ̸͛i̷͈͑t̴̤̔t̸̨͋l̸̜̈́ę̸̂ ̶̝̔P̸̡̔ŏ̴̹e̷̳͊t̷͓̅'̶͒ͅs̸̛͚ ̵͎̈́g̷̰̓o̷̞̒n̶̞͆ĕ̷͓.̶̢̒.̷͖͆.̵͔̇D̶̥̊ḯ̶͍s̸̢͝a̵̱͂p̷̜̊p̶̕͜ȯ̵̫i̸̥̐n̴̳̄t̷̡̋ḯ̸ͅn̶͍̑ĝ̸̬.̵̰̚.̶͎͑.̸̮̉"̴̤̃

 

“Little Poet’s gone…Disappointing…”

 

Alastor’s eye twitched at the needless sarcasm his phantom provided. Its input was not welcome, nor was it even useful.

 

“Hush, you trifling thing…”

 

His hands still gripped his microphone with a deadly vengeance. One wrong move and it would just snap.

 

Why? Why were you so difficult to crack?! His plan was fool proof! It was absolute perfection, so why? Perhaps it was due to your own imperfections, nothing of his fault? Your mind was obstinate, unyielding to any of the advances he had tried thus far. It was a trap that seemed to only consume him entirely. The notion made him crazed. His curiosity was abundant.

 

He was ravenous, wishing to learn more of you and what you so easily hid from him. He was starved in his pursuit to understand the intricate innermost workings of your naive little mind. It made his own brain hurt, his head swelling with the ample, budding spikes of his antlers. He swallowed down the sharp pain resulting from their growth. His frustration was only renewed by the feeling tenfold.

 

What was it? What was he missing? Alastor gritted his teeth as hardwood glided steadily underfoot. He paced, lost to the thoughts rampantly swirling in between the temples he pressed his claws into.

 

“Oh this was not how it was supposed to go…! Damn it all, what went wrong?!”

 

His bellow was met only by the walls his words reverberated into before returning to his own ears. His disappointment grew into a cool rage, a clipped irritated laugh taking the place of his words.

 

Why were you an enigma, locked perfectly away and confined just out of his reach? He just wished to know the base of your woes, what it was you cradled close to your heart with a bloodstained conscious and bitter sentiments. Why did you hold so tightly to your morals when they would no longer serve their purpose? Why did you have such care about you?

 

Why was it so familiar? And why, for one so familiar, did you fail to meet his expectations repeatedly?

 

Who were you, really? The incessant pondering demanded answers he didn’t yet have. His urge to be completely rid of you only doubled with each failed attempt. His teeth clenched tighter as the realization tore into the lining of his stomach; giving way to the agony that spilled into a low growl. It ripped and drenched into his throat on its way out.

 

Ceaselessly did you burden him and yet you were mesmerizing. You were aggravating. Your company was needless, and yet, enchanting in equal measure.

 

Why? How?

 

How could you affect him so…Naturally? The gravity of his curiosity astonished him. It was shameful. Why did he feel so inclined to give you this much consideration?

 

And of what fault was he that he shouldn’t be able to obtain what he remembered of you? Was there really nothing of value residing within? Were you just another miscalculation on his part?

 

Perhaps the fault indeed lied with you. As creative as you were, it perplexed him that it was likely you possessed the misfortune of carrying a baron and inept brain. Were you truly void of any experiences gifted by him in the past?

 

But why was that realization so unsatisfactory? No. It wouldn’t do at all. Surely there was something of him you remembered. He just had to dig deep enough to excavate it until the potential he saw in you surfaced.

 

Even if it meant plunging his claws into your very being to retrieve what you so vexingly kept sealed away.

 

Ah, but he couldn’t. You still had a part to play.

 

Perhaps once he was capable of replenishing what you lacked could he finally extract what he intended to gain from you: clear answers. He wished for the ability to shake the burden his curiosity more than provided.

 

Oh but why was the past so hard to replicate? His own memories dwindled with each of his attempts. Nearly a century had passed since he had seen his wife —you— and his afterlife has been full of other memorable occasions. Was prolonged time in his hellish eternity truly impeding on what he remembered? How was he to effectively stoke the fires of your recollection if he himself had difficulty rekindling the flame?!

 

“….Surely I’m missing something…But what. Is. It?!”

 

Though there was craving for substantial progress to the point of considering his usual unorthodox methods; there was still a need to present himself as a gentleman. If only for the reason of safeguarding your deal. Regardless of how untrue he was in word and heart, he would craft how he wished for you to perceive him. He would grant you an experience your dead, little brain wouldn’t forget this time around.

 

Somehow, Alastor’s pacing took direction, leading him to procure his overcoat. Eager claws clutched it from the safety of his clothing rack. In a swift motion, he donned it with a preoccupied mind before striding to his favorite chair by the fire.

 

The hearth greeted him with a verdant glow, warmth spreading into the light and shadow gently dancing atop his oxfords. Adhering to its usual routine, the flames offered warmth and physical comfort amidst his strenuous mental episode.

 

Claws glided against the smooth mahogany of the armrests of his antique throne. The leather had seen better days, wasting away into relaxing creases and fading into a design he appreciated. He sat down as the nearby flames flickered in and out, undulating into a quiet show for his amusement. The smoke greeted his heightened senses, entering his unoccupied lungs with the slightest effort. It offered familiarity, escape, in an attempt to appease his chagrined soul.

 

All of his surroundings were expected. Precise. They were meticulously kept and controlled.

 

So why couldn’t you adhere to his design as well?

 

Your continued failure aggrieved his mind. The increased difficulty you still garnered of recollecting anything of him was torture. It vexed him more than he would care to admit aloud. It was needless. You were just a curiosity, an answer unobtained. Nothing more. You shouldn’t have been able to affect him at all. You were nothing of import.

 

So how could you hold his attention with such gravity? Why were your words, mere written imprints on basic parchment, a quiet assurance he seemed to need from the start?

 

For one worth nothing, why did you garner such an understated value; one that previously went undetected? It would be remiss of him to not capture every ounce of what made you worth his time to begin with. He would learn what made you tick. He would find out just what made you interesting.

 

And once that unique commodity of yours was found; it would be bent to his will and used to his advantage.

 

Alastor sighed. Answers would be provided all in good timing, however tedious it was to wait for them. There was a slight chance that your use, whatever it may be, would also be found within your allotted vacation. At least, that was his expectation.

 

Though, as the seconds rolled away with the smoke tunneling into the hotel’s chimney; he was met with increased certainty that he doubted your success. However, there was always a chance you would surprise him. It was a repeated phenomena he experienced in your presence as of late.

 

Unfortunately, time was in danger of being wasted further. The distasteful notion sharpened his claws into the expensive, faded wood of his chosen seat. A new plan needed to be put into action.

 

Alastor’s fists clenched and unclenched as his usual plotting gained traction. His claws ripped the tips of his gloves as his antlers grew in anticipation of the plan he would devise. It would be one that would far outrank his last. It would be better.

 

It had to be.

 

Alas, akin to your predicament, absolutely nothing would come to his own mind. Was your forgetfulness and ineptitude contagious?! Confounded conniption!

 

A palm was swiped over his face as the demon took in a large, deeply angered inhale. He pinched the bridge of his nose and released it with just as much fury. With his other hand, Alastor pawed at the chest pocket of his coat for his watch. Just how much of his time had he, regretfully, indulged you?

 

The watch was collected into waiting fingertips as he pulled it from his clothing. However, another item clung to the antique mechanism before flowing delicately into his lap. It was crumbled and spent of its previous use.

 

“…A stowaway, hm?”

 

A brief glance at the time was all that was allowed before clicking the watch shut. He slipped it back into his coat with practiced ease. The remainder of his attention went to gathering the tattered, stained parchment residing on his thighs. He took the paper in hand for closer observation, adjusting his monocle to gain a more advantageous reading.

 

Ah. Even though folded and crumbled, he could tell it was his list; the embodiment of his initial requirements for you to achieve in your previous experiment. It was a test you failed with flying colors.

 

The Overlord huffed. Must the universe remind him of every tedious, irksome thing you caused him? Must he constantly be reminded that your failure reflected poorly onto him? He was of no fault. That much was obvious; but your repeated incompetence was a great grievance. He didn’t desire to be associated with recurrent inadequacy on your part; nor did he wish for the consideration that perhaps failure from you would be your usual results moving forward.

 

No, you were at fault and he would solve you.

 

By any means necessary.

 

Locked into his momentary ponderings, he failed to realize how fatally his claws curled into the page. They plunged easily into the other side, threatening to crumble or tear the parchment further. Alastor retracted them just as easily, adjusting his tangible thoughts into a softer hold.

 

Unfolding his work, Alastor deftly smoothed out the wrinkles of his making until his words displayed as pristinely as he intended.

 

The moment his eyes held witness to his plans, the unwelcome reminder of your failure sprung forth like a renewed fountain. No catharsis was available. Crushing the refreshed paper further into his claws scarcely dissuaded the urge. He needed to lay destruction to something within his line of sight to appease the furious, bitter disappointment that ate away at him. The paper was crushed further in his need to satiate the itch in his fingers with something; with habit, with craft.

 

With blood.

 

Stains of varying origin welcomed his sight on thin wooden slate. His bitter thoughts resumed. Despite the current coating upon it, he was still looking at a blank canvas.

 

An empty page.

 

A low laugh grew into the agitation that ate away at his smile. Why did everything remind him of you?! Just like what he held captive in his hands, your mind was similar. Each crinkle of stained parchment was the epitome of his precious time you steadily wasted:

 

Nothing.

 

You were absolutely nothing.

 

Nothing but a formless slate; yet it was just as promising with his desire to see it filled, to see it used for his purpose. The possibilities of what he could mold you into were beholden to impatient pen and ink.

 

But what to do with you? In desperation, his usual cruelty had creeped in, wishing for your gruesome end to satisfy the darkest part of him. Something, an urge, that called out to him endlessly. The cacophony of cruel imaginings that swirled on behind his eyelids had been neglected since the start of his volunteered service as a hotelier.

 

Alastor snapped a fountain pen into his waiting hands. He gripped it tightly in lieu of furthering such tasteful thoughts. The pressure at least satisfied that ever growing need to cause harm and create chaos.

 

What he really needed was to let off some steam…And that page would be the first to taste his ire.

 

The ethereal verdant light of the fire residing in the hearth nearby did little to provide distraction; nor assistance with discovering his desire for you. What did he want? If he continued in his endeavors to bring about your past, then he needed to ascertain a purpose for you.

 

Eventually, of course. Setting aside adequate time to determine compensation for his trouble would have to wait until the mystery of you was resolved. Time was much better spent on preparing plans that would solve you all together rather than thinking of just deserts that weren’t even promised.

 

Alas, in his current state his patience grew weary; and his thoughts were no longer friends of his. Nothing of value would be found with him feeling like this.

 

He was at a damned stalemate, distraught on what path to forge next. He hated, loathed, the feeling of having no concrete direction. He would not fall victim to aimlessness.

 

With no answers anywhere in sight, his fingertips singed the edges of the paper. He sought to burn absolutely all of the evidence of any previous failures, to start from scratch, when he took pause.

 

It wouldn’t do to waste paper.

 

Where did the thought come from? It only encumbered him as the realization settled in. That vague remnant akin to moralistic code had been instilled into him by his wife. She was always the one to steadily conserve parchment for her hobbies, even useless pages wrought with coffee stains.

 

‘We gotta use both sides of the page, honey! Times are tough. You never know when you can find good paper like this, especially nowadays! So, if you want me to continue to perfect your scripts, like I know you do; then I suggest you save as much as possible for me to use! Regardless of if it’s stained or ripped, paper is paper. It's something we shouldn’t waste!’

 

Alastor allowed a faint, clipped laugh at the memory of her light chastisement. She was an agreeable woman; though the worn edges of her sweaters would suggest the quiet anxiousness resting just under the surface.

 

When it came to her craft, however, she was a stickler for consistency and frugality. She spared no convenient hack, whether it was using both sides of paper or ripping off unmarked stamps from letters received in the post. Anything was fair game to prolong her chosen art or the comfortable livelihood he allowed her.

 

Of course the memories would come now when they were no longer wanted. Such inopportune timing made his vocal chords strain into a growl. How could he remember something as mundane as a simple passing phrase, but nothing useful?! Of what good was it to remember that now?!

 

Alastor flipped the paper to the back. Despite the grave aggravation the memory bestowed, he had to admit there was careful consideration in his wife’s methods. She meant well, and had in fact saved him countless dollars in her stubbornness.

 

Oh but what to use it for? The spare sheet wasn’t worth much. Reasonably, the only use he had for it now was to be kept at the bottom of his garbage bin; but his wife’s ghost stained his conscience. Perhaps making scribbles or words on the back would appease that arbitrary sentiment of hers that he felt the need to honor? Though if he would be sticking to that faint conviction, then he would need to produce something worthy of his valuable time.

 

So what would he create?

 

‘“When my voice, my mind, fails me; poetry never does…”’

 

Much like a lighthouse, Your voice shined through the fog in his mind. Finally, he was provided with a profitable thought upon remembering your prior words. Perhaps he should take a leaf from your book, then? He often gained interest from whatever prose or poetry you produced in your red little book, after all. Having his words adorning the page instead would be no different, surely?

 

Alastor pressed the tip of his pen further onto parchment. His hand did not move. His mind went blank. What was he to write?

 

Red ink bled further into the porous sheet as time wasted on. Ideas wouldn’t come. Annoyance fueled his hold as words died before they ever met the page. The sound of Alastor’s grandfather clock was heard distantly tolling on, yet another unsuccessful distraction.

 

Your mind was just like his canvas; a vast, formless amalgamation of unvoiced sentiments awaiting him. The space behind your eyes would soon be saturated with him. You would be molded to his purpose and stretched in his pursuit.

 

In soft rage, the demon ripped his pen erratically across stationary. Ink chaotically splattered onto his clothing and armrests. He cared not. It was the birth of haphazard scribbles with unbeknownst reason. Each line the Radio Demon produced was imbued with hazed intention and insanity.

 

Each stroke was the magnum opus of a madman.

 

Alastor’s hands worked mindlessly; but with the precision of an expert. Agonizing thoughts, murmurs of frustration, were all translated dutifully into the imitation of runes and images. Crosshatches and illustrious curves of burgundy ink swelled into his makeshift composition, accompanied by the occasional switch of colors to obsidian, emerald and all of the royal shades of blue. The page was baptized in his ideas, littered in his impatience. His intention grew in tangible form. It mutated into something he could see, something he could feel and hold tightly to in between voracious claws and crazed eyes.

 

He would find out the elusive truth behind your past and all of the faded secrets you garnered.

 

Whatever remained of his sanity depended on it.

 

You just needed time. But time held no mistress and heeded no soul. So, through its painstaking, indefinite course, it was only natural you would forget him. However hapless, he would just have to wait for all the work he put into uncovering you to simmer.

 

Alastor sighed. Though exasperating, each detail and every imperfection lead to the masterpiece he intended to make of you. So he would pause. He would give you respite, he would give you space to improve your own efforts; even if the thought of doing so was as dreadfully dull as watching paint dry.

 

Then, as if reaching epiphany, words tumbled from each etch of his pen. The floodgates of his mind thrust their doors wide. A good majority of his inner world leaked out without inhibition. Frustration and curiosity entwined into every letter. Each elaborate, bold line was a step danced in a deadly tango, diction and skill collaborating together.

 

After several fleeting minutes Alastor allowed himself to slow to assess the havoc he wrought onto his latest “victim”.

 

 

 

 

The pen stopped mid stroke as eyes widened and teeth clenched. His microphone gave an abhorrent screech that reverberated throughout his room. Alastor could feel his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, desiccated with shock. The strength in which his throat tightened was akin to a noose squeezing around a victim's neck until bone snapped in twain. Each breath that left his lungs was impaired, his voice snuffed out.

 

What did he just write?!

 

‘…Mine?!…MINE?! What…What in the Hell…?!’

 

Alastor clutched at his bowtie with a free hand as his pen dropped to the floor. His other, now freed of burden, cleaned his monocle and realigned it onto his features to have a better look. Surely he was seeing things. Perhaps he needed a new prescription…

 

Much to his dread, the words were the same as before. Bold impressions of sentiments foreign. They were attributes he hadn’t yielded to in all of his years. It was utter madness to consider he’d start making use of such primal, baseless labels now.

 

What abhorrent behavior.

 

“Ha…haha.. Have…Have I forgotten the use of my brain? What asinine reason was there to include…any of this?!”

 

‘Where did this even come from?!’

 

His ears lowered back in disdain at the sound of his own voice cracking. Enraged by the form of weakness that freely left him, he raced his slitted pupils over his written monstrosity. Searching for the reason behind his words was the only thing keeping him from destroying his work.

 

Closer inspection only brought greater obsession. Alastor reread the same phrase more than five times. It was all folly, repetitive to an anguishing degree.

 

What did it mean? What did you mean to him? What reason did he have to write such–

 

Ah.

 

Perhaps it wasn’t literal. Perhaps he was looking too far into the inner workings of his own mind, going down corridors long since locked away due to disinterest and disuse. He didn’t have the patience, nor the care, to unlock such taboo knowledge.

 

If that was the case, then what other meaning was there? Did it perhaps prove your use to him? Everything else seemingly written gave no clue into what possessed him to display the unapproving sentiment. Reservations swirled far into his gut. The unruly pangs of uncertainty welled up until it was as palpable in the back of his pallet as bile.

 

Alastor tore his gaze from the paper, hiding the drawing onto the top of his trousers. Just the continued sight of his work was enough to give him indigestion. The feeling of expelling the contents of his stomach would’ve been better. It would’ve been far more preferred.

 

Yet, the horrendous realization wouldn’t leave him. Romance, dreaded romance, was not in the cards for him. Not by a long shot. It was a language in which he was not versed, and never would be. He believed he simply was not born with the capability. Every translation of the feeling implied avenues he dared not cross. Every understanding and sense of the word love was lost to him.

 

So, to realize that his heart was capable of attaining such knowledge…And to realize that perhaps he had finally found the one to translate his heart, after all these years…

 

No. No, no no! He would not ponder it further. It was the second death of him to think of, let alone conceive, such a notion. The idea of actually longing to lower oneself to share of themselves an inconvenient companionship was simply unfathomable. Preposterous even! He was a man of habit and solitude. It was what he craved. He desired, preferred, his own company over the need for closeness with another undeserving soul. He would bet the remainder of his freedom that he was better off without the uninvited feelings; and all the disgusting advances that would follow.

 

Eugh.

 

But...If it was not love, then what was it he had expressed?

 

Sharp amber incisors gritted into each other until the threat of splitting open his lip slowed his efforts. He brought his hands to his face. His monocle fell only to hang from the chain connected to his collar. He dug into his cheeks with such effort it hurt his eye sockets. If he wasn’t careful, bruises would cover his cheekbones and into the start of his scalp.

 

But the pain helped. It was the only thing that helped him keep his mind off of you.

 

Fingers ached, needing to rip into his ears, his flesh and hair to let loose the tension you built in his head. The growth of his antlers wouldn’t cease, each spike bloodied from how rapidly they exited his skull. Everything was agony. Confusion swirled in his head as bile built a barricade at the base of his throat. He had to swallow to keep from releasing the remainder of what his stomach held onto his nice carpet.

 

What were you doing to him? What were you to him if not a means for entertainment?

 

What. Were. You. To. Him. If. Not. His. Wife?!

 

What. Were. You. To. Him. If. Not. His. Food?!

 

A second realization was blinding to the point he leaned against the hearth. Alastor clenched his eyes shut as he sought to rest upon the tepidness of the antique wood. His temples were pounding, rushing with blood and unsolved questions that remained. They were as innumerous as the number of locks he delved his claws into.

 

Minutes flew by in droves. Alastor couldn’t tell how long he stood against the support of his mantle with eyes closed from the world around him. His breath was uneven as he searched for epiphany.

 

It was baffling how you somehow managed to deviously capture his utmost interest. It was horrendous to discover that his thoughts revolved around you as easily as it was to sin. Who knew you were capable of such power?

 

Though interesting, the idea was twice as appalling. What did it mean?

 

Why did you consume him?

 

Hisses called out to him from all corners of his room. They were audible runes speaking in static coded secrets, beconings unbeknownst to the common ear. Ever faithful, his deathly assistant flowed to him until warmth and weight buried itself into the demon’s shoulders. His dark companion grounded him and brought him much needed clarity. Whispers flowed into his mind and for once that evening he was finally allowed an answer, a moment of eureka.

 

“̵̜̔Ś̴͚h̵͈͝ȩ̶̾ ̷̻̌i̶̦͗s̷̜̿ ̷̛̟ỳ̸̹ỏ̵̳u̴̜͆ȓ̵̟s̷͈̕…̴̤̂Ŭ̶ͅs̶̬̒ē̴ͅ ̴͎̾h̸͔͐ȅ̴͇ṙ̷̜ ̵̹͌ą̷̉ś̵͇ ̴̱͂ẏ̴̳ő̷͚û̶̘ ̵̞̈s̸̰̕e̴͎͛e̶̞̕ ̷͉̾f̷̰̚ǐ̴̠t̶̢͐…̷̭͑F̷̬́ǒ̵͜r̴̫̚ ̷͍͝p̸͔̔u̷̪̓ṙ̸̠p̶̬͝o̴͍͘s̴̱̅e̴̝͘…̸͖͠F̷̢͂o̵̺̍r̷̳̅ ̸͓̊s̶͓͗u̵̼͐s̶̖̋ẗ̵͕ě̸̻ń̴͇a̸̲͑ń̶̪c̸͈̃é̴̗…̵̘́F̸̩̀o̵̧͐r̸͈͑ ̵͘͜f̸̻̆l̴̩̓ḛ̷͆s̶̝͗h̸̹̆…̷̺̊M̷̯̚a̴͇̕š̴̪ṯ̴͝e̴͉̅r̶̞͒ ̵̧̅m̴̹̽u̷͎͠s̴̜̈́t̶͓̕ ̵̭͂b̶̮͆e̸̢̔n̶̰͌d̶̦̎ ̸̜̄h̶̻̍e̸̢̿r̵̺͂ ̸̣́t̴̹̉o̵͍͗ ̴̗̿h̶̰͌i̸̙̚s̴̗̿ ̴̻͛w̷̬͝ḯ̴̢l̵̠̍l̵͎̕…̵̺͠I̷̘͝f̵̞̎ ̴̧́n̸̳̋o̸̖̓t̶͍͐ ̸͖͋f̶̣̒ó̵̝r̴͂ͅ ̴̹͂a̷͙̒ ̵̥͒t̴͈̏a̷͖͌s̸͔̓t̸̼͋ẻ̴̖,̶̳͑ ̷̜̆ẗ̶͓h̸͔̔e̶̻̔n̵͎̔ ̴͉̔s̵͈̓h̴̦́e̷̖͊ ̷͚̿ị̶̊s̵̞̒ ̵̪̿o̴̞͂f̷̠͗ ̸̥̀b̸̫͝e̴̢̋t̸͖͗t̸̯͘ę̵͊ȑ̵̼ ̵̮͠u̴̬̎s̸͕͒é̸͚ ̶̼̿u̴͎̕n̷̛͙d̵͙̀ẹ̷̏r̴̤̎ ̶̣̽m̸͎͂a̸̧͂s̸̬̑t̸̨͝e̵̮͒r̶̳͑’̵̝̉s̸̛̜ ̶̥͝h̵̄ͅȏ̵̲l̵̦̈́d̸̍͜;̸̛̤ ̵̹͝c̷̞͌l̶̻̓ȍ̸ͅs̶̖͘e̴͖̎l̵͙̚ŷ̵̤ ̸̩̕k̸̘̋e̵͙̔p̴̳̐t̷̖͝ ̷̼͒a̶̩̋n̷̡̈́d̴̡̒ ̸̧͂h̶̭̉i̶͕̿g̶̰͌h̸̳̃l̷̬͝y̶̥͗ ̶̤̂m̶͕̂ọ̵̊n̶̝͊i̵̩͛t̴͓̎o̷͓͊r̸̻̔ẹ̷̏d̵̩̑…̷͙͋”̴̫̌

 

“She is yours…Use her as you see fit…For purpose…For sustenance…For flesh…Master must bend her to his will…If not for a taste, then she is of better use under master’s hold; closely kept and highly monitored…”

 

So that's what it was… His mind had expressed the further sign of his plans to wield you to his own forming machinations. The specter had aided the compelling argument further along. The idea produced other avenues of discovering your character and navigating the tempest you caused in your unassuming wake. Perhaps he could channel your chaotic moral compass to heed his own whims instead?

 

The more he thought, the more he was inclined to agree with his companion. It was possible that if he steadily led with feigned nurture and a gentle hand, you would be easily convinced into whatever plans he saw fit for you.

 

You would be just like the rest who made dealings with him before. Leading those souls unknowingly into ruin was especially easy. At least, if he had the upper hand; but it was fortunate that in this case he did.

 

Because you were indeed his.

 

Yes…You were his to mold. You were his to toy with, to use.To possess.

 

You were his to control. You would become his dainty, little marionette and he the masterful puppeteer.

 

A valuable tool would be made of you; and he would wield you just as much as his dear grin.

 

Alastor mused over the thought a moment more as he opened his eyes and released the tension in his claws. Shadow dispersed once again into the room with the audible sifting the air around him. His hair fell to its usual length, fluffed from his efforts. Alastor swallowed, inhaling and glancing to the side as he collected his monocle and readorned it. He cleared his throat, the chain on his eyewear swaying in his adjustments.

 

The idea was less striking than the prospect of attaining you as a meal; but he couldn’t be dissuaded from the opportunity to drain you of all of your worth. Perhaps he could learn of your usefulness and claim it to the fullest before a decision on what to do with you permanently was to be made? But just how so?

 

He supposed he just had some more thinking to do. Surely he had time. Answers weren’t in ample supply at the moment, so all he had was time.

 

All time, of course, but no patience…

 

Sufficiently calmed, Alastor lingered his gaze over his creation to give it a final notice. Obscene words hoarded the piece and dressed it in extravagant colors of his design. It was decent, but that was all.

 

Though decent, his marks told a less than enthusing story. It was an implied language, a code, that he didn’t care to learn. Whatever the elusive, distasteful tale, Alastor would keep his work. If it was worth the time wasted to create it, as well as the time wasted to lament over what it actually represented; then it was worth a permanent place in his desk. Even if it was only to be kept just to ponder over. He would see to that later.

 

He took a final gander at his makeshift masterpiece, folded it and placed it atop his waiting mantle to be collected at a more opportune time. He steadied the slip of paper with two claws, straightening it just so before reclaiming his hand and flicking the acquired dust away from his torn gloves.

 

What was drawn provided no answers, only a surplus of gratuitous questions instead. It seemed you had led him astray yet again. Why did he see fit to listen to your advice in the first place? So far all of your efforts were dissatisfying, ending only in vain. Why did he give you another chance to prove yourself? Why did he still consider the idea of repeatedly doing so?

 

Would he truly ever succeed in gaining your recollection?

 

What a silly thought. Of course he would. You just needed time, and he needed a new plan; but no ideas would surface. He expended all of his mental reserves into capturing your identity and nothing fruitful had even come from it except stress upon stress. What would help get him back on track?

 

Was it possible that all of his previous attempts weren’t as authentic as he was going for? The both of you were going through the motions. If that was the case, then there would be no feeling behind any of it; because how could you even replicate that? Especially when you didn’t recall what all of this was for.

 

Memories could always return, but the feelings behind them had the potential to be lost forever. Was that what he wanted you to remember? Not him, perse, but the motive behind your behaviors when you were with him topside? Was that what he was searching for? That was the only explanation he had and in the end he was still drawing at straws. What loathsome circumstances. Nothing was as clear cut as he wished.

 

The motives behind his wife’s mannerisms needed to be solved. Alastor needed to figure out why he had invested such high interest in you and why he wished for you to recall your past so he could replicate it. Maybe that was the true key to unlocking you? Perhaps you needed context; a reason for why his experiments were necessary?

 

Alastor wished for you to remember him of your own accord, so giving any clue as to what he remembered of your past was off the table entirely. The experience needed to be genuine. He didn’t wish for whatever you could recall of your memories to be tainted with his influence. The possibility of truly knowing what originally resided within your head would be gone if so.

 

No. Interference wasn’t an option. It never was. Less was certainly more in this instance, he surmised. Alastor would only be able to offer nudges and brief advisory from the sidelines, but nothing more.

 

It was a pain to realize that all of his attempts thus far had been for naught. Subtle fury encroached into his soul every single time he was met with your confused stare. Even the thought of your repeated dereliction antagonized him.

 

Hope had a way of dying in your incapable little hands; but that was what he wished for, wasn’t it? His search started entirely on the whim of ridding himself of that trivial emotion. It was the whole purpose of striking a deal with you.

 

Just what attribute was so special that he felt the need to offer you countless chances to prove yourself and the validity of your identity? Why did he wish for you to recall him with such intensity?

 

His annoyance was revived as he stood from his chair and smoothed his tattered coat. With a soft breeze came the interference of his shadow again. It proved itself an inconvenience as it swirled around his oxfords. It hissed with intrigue, bustling the tattered edges of his coat into his hamstrings. What was it this time? Would it fuel his anger further to the point he needed to plan a special hunting trip to air out his grievances?

 

Or would another, more agreeable, offering of assistance be supplied? He could never really tell with the creature. Its whims matched his own. That must have been why he enjoyed the company of his usual compatriet compared to the others. He always enjoyed like minded company, after all.

 

“What is it?” a calmer purr greeted the living air beside him.

 

This time, his phantom offered up no temptation, but a card. Glitter fell from folded cardstock. Ah, so it was the feeble homemade pamphlet the princess made to advertise her hotel.

 

Just as soon as the overlord took the gift did his specter fade with a pleased hiss echoing through the expanse of his parlor. Alastor wordlessly skimmed his eyes over the words you provided for a second time. Your gentle writing was ruined with copious amounts of Princess Charlotte’s eccentricity.

 

The demon sighed. Why did everything he interacted with always bring him back to you? What was the tether holding him to you, and how would he find the means to cut himself loose? His only option of freedom and answers resided in unlocking you; but ideas on how to do so were scarce.

 

Tired of milling over his less than opportune circumstances, Alastor summoned his microphone and strode to his bed. He took a final glance at the contents in his hands before laying the pamphlet to rest delicately on his nightstand. Wiping off the remaining glitter from his gloves, the sinner adjusted his bowtie. He barely turned the handle to his door in exit when he was supplied with a faint, promising prospect. His grin grew.

 

He was of the mind that a brief vacation of his own would do him some good. His brain was obviously over strained. A stroll into town, an evening rowing through the bayou or taking a week to himself in his hunting grounds would quell the majority of his problems.

 

Or…It was possible that what he truly needed was to pay a dear friend a visit…

Notes:

In the picture I included of Alastor's drawing of Page, I drew what I imagine when I write for her. Please feel free to envision her how you wish.

Thank you guys for reading! ^~^

Chapter 17: Her Vacation

Summary:

'"Your best is good enough..."' ~ Page

 

“Sooo, where have you been sugar tits…?”

 

 

“...Huh?”

 

 

You turned your head from the paperback you read in silence. Sweet liquor swished emphatically from the coupe glass residing within the spider’s hold. The sinner nodded his head in your direction, his hair fluffed more than usual. 

 

 

Angel was reclined—dramatically draped, really—across the largest sofa in the hotel’s lounge. He squinted his eyes. The two differing colors within posed an additional question as he took a ginger sip of his martini. His brow furrowed in curiosity as the rest of his usual smirk was but a suggestion hidden behind his drink.

 

 

“Haven’t seen ya in a hot minute…”

 

 

“It’s probably ‘cause she wanted to get away from you chuckle fucks. She's not forced to work here, so I don’t blame her for secludin' herself when she can. I’d blow this shithole the first chance I got too…”

 

 

“Oh? And miss the chance to get to see me everyday? You really wanna avoid me that much, Whiskers?” 

 

 

Angel turned his head, crooning to the other soul taking residence on the sofa. He extended an extra arm out to the cat; slipping a hand alluringly around his waist and only to bring the grumpy bartender close. Another set of fingers tip-toed stiletto nails up the fluff of his chest that led to his bow tie. Satisfied with their proximity, the spider flicked one of the cat’s ears playfully as he blew a teasing puff of air into his fur. 

 

 

Husk’s ear flicked accompanying a low, irritated growl. Though more than used to the spider's  antics, the cat was already tired of the less than subtle advances. He shoved Angel away before taking a swig of his own liquor. He successfully untangled from the harlot’s hold.

 

 

“Like the fuckin’ plague. And I’ve told you: don’t call me that.”

 

 

“Awww such a big brute, you're no fun; and I know ya don’t mean that. Besides, I got somethin’ else ya could blow right here~”

Moving his legs to rest in the bartender's lap, Angel shimmied his hips slightly as he gestured to his trousers with all the subtlety the man possessed: None.

 

“...Wouldn't even have to leave, we could just make use of that closet ova there and have a real nice quickie~”

 

 

“Eugh. No. Are you fuckin high?!”

 

 

This only caused the spider to shrug as he gave a quick laugh and a flirtatious wink as Husk removed the other's appendages from his lap. Unbothered, Angel took another swig of his drink. 

 

 

“Honestly? Probably. Smoked a pretty big joint this mornin’ before I came down here.” His manicured claws patted a certain pocket on his pinstripe coat, “Had to. It was either that or waste my new stash, and I wanted to save as much as possible for later.”

 

 

An unamused glare was sent in the harlot’s direction before Husk shook his head.

 

 

“What? Crack’s expensive!”

 

 

“Oooh I like being forced!”

 

 

A high pitched voice joined the chorus of jovially low tenor and raspy baritone as a tiny, spindly hand was raised in the air. It waved emphatically as a sewing needle was held tightly within its grasp as the hotel’s maid declared her presence with each wave of her weapon. You chuckled as Angel ducked his head in order to dodge the little cyclops and her needle’s reckoning. Much to Husk's dismay, Angel sought further safety in the cat's personal bubble once again, taking the chance to secure a spot in the feline’s lap. 

 

 

The bartender sighed before looking at the little cyclops who had somehow seated herself on the armrest. She kicked her feet excitedly as she took in the group with her sizable, luminous eye. The energy she expelled never depleted, only regenerated in the form of a curious laugh.

 

 

“A little late in the conversation for that, Niff…and keep that to yourself, would ya?”

 

 

“M’kay!”

 

 

Out of harm's way, Angel cleared his throat and glanced over.

 

 

“Well? Ya neva answered the question…Whatcha been up to, Page?”

 

 

Glancing down to memorize the paragraph you had reached inside your novel, you slid your bookmark into the needed place to mark your spot.

 

 

“Oh, nothing much…Just hangin’ around…”

 

 

“Yeah? Where exactly?”

 

 

You closed your book before turning your face to meet Angel’s with a tentative chuckle. Your instinctual thought was to tell the truth, but as you went to speak of your shared time with Alastor, you fell mute. Your tongue was bridled, numb against its home on the roof of your mouth.

 

Ah. The agreement. You weren’t to tell anyone of the deal you made with the Radio Demon. In turn, Alastor would keep your little heavenly secret from the rest of the patrons, as arranged.

 

You cleared your throat and forewent the details of your previous affairs, instead providing truth in a different avenue.

 

 

“The library. Most days I’ve just found myself living amongst the books, writing and reading. Y'know, all the things considered normal to a bookworm…”  

 

 

That was the partial truth, at least. After your memory attempts with Alastor you would spend your free time amongst the old parchment lining the shelves in the gallery housing much of the world’s history. Perhaps it was Lucifer's own private collection from before the hotel, when the building was nothing more than a summer home for the royal family. It didn’t really matter. The only use the room served now was to house history and provide contented peace from the hustle and bustle it was to keep the hotel running smoothly.

 

Regardless, you found that the bound documents rich with the scent of old albums, almond and vanilla provided more than ample distraction from the stresses affecting you lately. You were indeed making the most of the vacation Alastor had allotted you. In fact, you were already visibly less frazzled midway through the second week of your break.

 

 

“You read?”

 

You laughed. The sound of it agreeably wafted in the air.

 

“You don’t?”

 

 

The spider answered you in kind as he gave a wink paired with a teasing phrase.

 

“Bitch, I didn’t know this place even had a library. Besides that, you think I have the time to? Nah, it's not for me. Glad you like it though…”

 

Angel drained his glass of the remaining liquor inside. He sighed once the taste was gone, settling for the amusement between his fingers in the form of the decorative umbrella provided in his drink.

 

“Audio books, on the otha hand, are somethin’ else entirely. Now that’s some shit I can get into, though I prefer watchin’ my own films…”

 

You only nodded, spreading the cover of your novel open once more to resume reading. You skimmed a few words decorating the age until a light, chipper voice reverberated through the air. Back to square one, you shut the front cover over your fingers to keep your place.

 

“Page, I didn’t know you wrote! I do too!”

 

Nifty had somehow perched upon the armrest of your chair, kicking her feet as she awaited your answer. Puffs of her little breath spread over the paper in your hands, curling the edges over in her breathy excitement.

 

You were slightly taken aback, not expecting the cyclops to really care for the art of the pen. Then again, if it meant stabbing anything then perhaps art was fair game. Paper was a very impressional medium, easily bendable to ink and susceptible to tears.

 

“Oh? Well that's great! What…er…what do you write about?”

 

 

The novel was discarded to your side as you awaited her response. It seemed you wouldn’t be getting any other reading done for now.

 

Mischievousness lived in her eye, swirling with demented glee. She giggled, her eye closing as she covered her mouth with a dainty hand.

 

“...I make fanfiction~”

 

 

“Fanfiction? That’s…that seems nice. What, uh… stories do you take inspiration from?”

 

You tilted your head, genuinely curious. To your knowledge, You hadn’t ventured into that side of writing, choosing to stick to creating original works. However, the passion to make something for a story that deeply resonated with someone was a feeling you could tremendously appreciate.

 

“Oh, you know…hehehe…”

 

 

“Does it…Does it have something to do with bad boys? I know you seem to have a thing for them…”

 

Your only reply was the subtle blush painted under her eye. Her face turned as you held witness to the continued sound of her previous laughter.

 

“That’s somethin’ your better off not knowing, kid. Trust me.”

 

A paw as gruff as the voice addressing you was placed atop your shoulder with a few lingering pats before the touch was taken away. You looked up, not expecting Husk to be behind you. You didn’t recall him leaving his spot on the couch, though you caught a glimpse of a fruity cocktail in his opposite paw.

 

“Hey Whiskers, I mean can ya blame the gal? We’re all pretty damn curious what goes on in that head of hers. Maybe she gets off to some freaky shit. Who knows, I may ask her to recommend a few things. The stuff she gets inspiration from, I mean…”

 

 

Husk only chuckled, rolling his eyes as he stepped to the sofa.

 

 

“Yeah, well, do that on your own time.”

 

 

At the sound of Angel’s interest, Nifty zipped to his side as she clutched her sewing needle.

 

 

“M’kay!...Umm…Well, I don’t have any I’m reading right now but–OH! ”

 

A jolt entered your shoulders upon the abrupt shout, watching with  confusion as to why Nifty felt the need to stab the couch. It wasn’t until you saw the flinch of a swollen, perforated posterior and the twitch of eight spindly, little legs that you realized she had found a replacement for her favorite prey: a spider.

 

 

Even whilst on break, it seemed Niffty still took her job seriously; and practiced it with great joy.

 

 

A few more stabs were offered to the unfortunate creature caught between sharp steel and soft fabric as she looked back up at Angel before finishing her previous idea. There was no doubt in your mind that she would enjoy cleaning that tiny massacre later.

 

“I can show you the best way to crack their spines!”

 

 

Used to the little lady’s odd brand of humor and verse, you instantly translate the meaning behind her words. As a result, the laugh you stifled wasn’t successful. Especially once you beheld the silent horror the pornstar stared at her with. Equal parts confused and aghast; Angel’s usual smirk only withered with each second the cyclops renewed the impalement of her tiny victim.

 

 

 

“Ya…heheh…Ya do mean books…right?” 

 

 

Nifty’s laughter only increased, giddy and maniacal with each breath. You swore you could see pearls of sweat adding slight weight to the fur of Angel's brow. The moisture’s presence only dampened the hard work it was to maintain such volume to his hair. 

 

 

“...Right?” 

 

 

The maid offered her usual response, her petite chest creating a cacophony of giggles resemblant to the sound of a cursed, boisterous choir. As her laughter died down, you couldn’t help but muse on her elevated excitement. She was especially enthused that afternoon.

 

 

‘Maybe she doesn’t have a spider in her collection yet?’

 

 

“Don’t be so rough, Nif. You’ll knock over my booze. Ya don’t want it spillin’ all over  Legs over there. You’ll get his fancy ass shoes n’ shit wet.”

 

 

Husk clasped the neck of the bottle in his free paw before laying it to rest on the floor away from danger.

 

 

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Tiger. Even though my outfit is worth more than your afterlife, I really like it rough; and trust me, the wetter the better~”

 

“Ya know what? On second thought, just spill it all over him.”

 

 

For emphasis, Husk tipped the edge of the sweet martini precariously until Angel scooted over. Nifty hurriedly into the spider’s lap, knocking the breath from him as she jumped up and down excitedly.

 

 

“Oh a mess!! Yes! Let me clean it up! I wanna clean!”

 

 

“H-HEY!”

 

 

Husk shrugged before offering a few drops of liquor to fall onto the maid’s head, per her exuberant request. A second pair of hands were firmly placed on his abdomen as Angel used his original set to promptly pick up Niffty by the back of her ascot. With gentleness, she was placed onto the cold hardwood floor. Niffty giggled as she sprinted over to the opposite couch as Angel’s breath slowly returned to him.

 

 

“Don’t blame me. Ya did say ya liked it wet n’ wild, legs.”

 

 

Angel managed to recover, producing his facade once more.

 

 

“Oh…You know it baby~”

 

 

“Yeah whatever. Sure you do.”

 

You shook your head as the two bickered. Regardless of their supposed disagreements; Husk still gently offered the drink in his grasp to the other soul. It was bestowed as if in silent, gruff reverence; but not before a gentle flick was presented to the other sinner’s forehead. A subtle grin tickled your lips.

 

"It's obvious Angel finds interest in Husk but…Well, It seems like the bartender carries a torch for the playboy just as much…or at least a soft spot…I wonder if the cat’ll mention it, or even pursue him eventually…’

 

“Ahem…”

 

Attention was pulled from your silent musings to the soul who sat next to you. Pentious adjusted his top hat before neatly placing his hands atop his lap as he looked to you expectantly. His tail curled around the couch, the edge hiding just underneath the cushions as the bickering of the less than subtle lovebirds became your backdrop. 

 

“Sssooo…Ssssoldier? What type of...Ehmm…Prosse do you write?”

 

“Oh, uh…well I’m prone to dabbling in the occasional story from time to time, but I mostly just write poetry…”

 

“Ah…Poetry you sssay…?”

 

 

You nodded, patting the cover of the paperback resting in your lap. You couldn’t recall ever having very many conversations with the snake, let alone the other patrons. After your work as hotel collaborator and secret heavenly ambassador, most of your free time not spent in the library was allotted to the radio demon. He held you to a strict schedule most of the time; and more often than not, building relationships with the others outside of necessary hotel tasks wasn’t made a priority.

Perhaps now with finding a little more time on your hands than you were used to; you would make more of a purposeful effort to build closer relations. Starting with Pentious.

 

“And you, Pen? Do you also find enjoyment in art?”

 

“Perhapsss not art itsself, perssse, but I do consssider mysself a man of ssspessific craft!” 

 

“Oh? You're a tinkerer of sorts?”

 

“Not quite” he chuckled before puffing out his chest proudly, “I am the great ssssir pentioussss, villain extraordinaire!  I am not a mere tinkerer, my dear, but an enthussiassst of elaborate machinationsss!”

 

“Sooo…you're an inventor then?”

 

The snake nodded, his eyes glowing with excitement. The eye on his hat was even greatly affected, growing misty from such saturated emotion.

 

“Precisssely!”

 

 

Nodding in understanding, you silently mused more on your own skills. You were mostly a poet and vaguely an artist. Though it was one thing you at least recalled you liked in heaven, sketching in great detail since your fall hadn’t been in the cards. Constructing  monuments worthy of exceeding word and ink into physical dimension and shape was even less of a possibility.

 

 

“I see…Unfortunately, the extent of my own talents reaches  only into weaving  literature or crafting imagery…So I only really consider myself adroit with a pen or pencil. Nothing more…”

 

 

“That doesssn’t sssound unfortunate to me, Ssoldier…After all, many masstersss of their own craft practice one ssspecific sssubject at a time until perfection…I sssupposse it jusst meanss you are truly decent at what you do, if ssso.”

 

 

You looked up at the snake, surprised. Soft appreciative laughter escaped from reticent breath as you tapped your nails against your paperback.

 

 

“Well…Thank you, Pen. I’m glad you at least think so…”

 

 

“I’m sssure the othersss would agree.”

 

 

A shrug lifted your shoulders in uncertainty as you glanced down at the cover of the book in your lap. Your fingers curled over the malleable parchment. The precursors of leaving handmade bookmarks tempted the first few pages.

 

 

A feeble sigh was added under your breath. You weren't unaware of your own skill, but you didn't consider yourself as truly grand as the snake allegedly believed. He gave you too much credit. 

 

 

“Maybe…I dunno…I just want to get to the point where I can successfully expand my artistic expertise into different avenues. I mean, other than what I usually choose to entertain myself…”

 

 

“Well, I may not be verssseed as well as you in traditional artsss, but if…If  ingenuity and novelty are what you desssire, I could perhapsss asssissst you with inssstruction and sssharing the techniquesss I’ve learned with my own line of work over the yearsss…”

 

 

Looking up at him, you caught Pentious fiddling with the edges of his top hat as he looked away, color slightly saturating the dark scales on the edges of his cheeks.

 

 

“That…that isss, ehm…if…if you would find it ussseful and worth your time, of courssse…”

 

 

“Yeah, Page, let him show you some of those techniques he’s got hidin’ up his sleeves. I hear he’s especially great with his hands~”

 

 

Abject terror was hidden under the guise of disgust as the snake snarled his nose at the idea and turned his head away. You could tell the color in his scales were only enriched due to the harlot’s insinuation. Slightly aghast yourself, you turned your gaze tentatively from a very loose-lipped,  amused Angel back to an obviously self-conscious Pentious. The snake crossed his arms as a frustrated huff left him.

 

 

“How incredibly uncouth! As if I would ever disssshonor a lady with sssuch brazen crassssnessss! For sssshame!”

 

 

“Ah ca’mon Snakeboy, don’t be such a prude! I mean, you heard the lady. She hardly gets out; and for fuck’s sake, she has her nose stuck in a book most days! You could shoot your shot and show her a good time. Y’know. Let her have some fun and live out some of those fantasies she's read about~ ”

 

 

A laugh on the verge of being too loud burst from his chest. He whipped invisible tears from his eyes as he counted on another set of his hands at the possibilities. You adjusted in your seat, your fingers already twisting at the seams of the skirt of the new uniform Charlie had issued you a few days prior. You looked into your lap, thouroughly embarrassed.

 

 

“Or if you're old fashioned, just wine and dine her. That’d give ya the opportunity to show ‘er her around your ship, maybe even give her a demonstration on how you use your big tools. And hey, I mean, just look at her! Her thighs are as thick as the books she reads! I bet they’d open just as easily~”

 

 

Pentious cut the spider off, whipping his head around to face you. His tophat was taken from his crown and placed as a barricade between you and the gentleman's face. You didn’t have to see him to know how pigmented his face was just by the way the snake spoke. The poor sinner was so affected his lisp was more prominent than usual. Panicked words tumbled from behind his fangs.

 

 

“S-sssssoilder, believe me, my….My intentionssssss were–Nothing….Absssssolutely nothing untoward in the sssslightesssst was inssssinuated or planned when I offered my sssservicesssss…I-I–!”

 

 

The snake was cut off before the rest of his insistent rebuttal could be voiced as Vaggie leaned over the couch behind Angel. One forearm supported her weight as she cleared her throat forcefully.

 

 

“Alright, that's enough liquor. I’ll take that!”

 

 

Before Angel could protest, the one-eyed gal yanked the already empty martini glass from his hold. Perhaps she had heard the latter part of the conversation he piloted?

 

 

“Bar’s closed for you, Angel. It's wayyy too early to be drinking this much.”

 

 

Angel lethargically reached for his stolen glass before realizing the effort was too great and slumped his hand back down. He chose to flap  his wrist flamboyantly instead before supporting his chin as his elbow reclined on a spare pillow.

 

 

“Pffft. Bitch have you eva heard of day drinkin’? Anytime is a good time for booze…”

 

 

Glaring at him, the girl turned the glass over into the closest potted plant. Once she rid herself of the remaining contents of Angel's poor choices, she placed the empty glass on the side table provided. 

 

 

“...Yeah. Right. Especially in a place where you are trying to get clean from all that…I still don’t understand why Alastor insisted on us having a bar…let alone having one to begin with…”

 

 

"It's the only thing makin’ this shithole bearable to live in,” for emphasis, Husk took a swig from his bottle. Vaggie sighed, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Her words were paired with a less than enthused scowl and an emphatically sardonic thumbs up.

 

 

“....Thank you for that, Husk. Really appreciate the input…”

 

 

As Vaggie took her seat on the opposite couch whilst in the middle of conversation with the others, you looked back to Sir Pentious. His hat was still indisposed in front of his chest as his visage told of his silent struggles. It seemed as if he was experiencing the highest form of an anxiety attack. The snake’s stare darted from his hat to the floor repeatedly as his claws tightened around the rim of his decorated chapeau.

 

 

Quick to offer him aid, a gentle hand was placed atop the epaulets embellishing his shoulders. His gaze darted down to you. Worry silently reflected behind misty, serpentine eyes as you spoke in a hushed tone as to not draw more embarrassment to the sinner and to yourself. You could feel the pigmant rise in your cheeks every second you thought more on what Angel insinuated.

 

 

“It's okay, Pen. Really. Regardless of what Angel tried to insinuate, I…I know you didn’t mean it like that…You…You were just trying to be kind,” Patting his shoulder, you swept some dust away from his uniform. The tassels hanging down brushed against your fingers as you did, “and I wholeheartedly appreciate it.”

 

 

The poor snake looked as if he were about to weep an ocean into his lap.

 

 

“...Truly?”

 

 

You nodded.

 

 

“...And, if time ever permits, I'd very much like to learn from you. And who knows? Maybe doing so will give inspiration for new, unique pieces of my own, or collaborative works with you down the road…”

 

 

The relief and budding excitement that visibly appeared on the sinner’s face knew no bounds. He gave a gentle but accentuated bow of his head to you, the scales on his hood glimmering underneath the hotel lights.

 

“It would be a great pleassssure to teach you, Missss Page, ssshould ever the opportunity find itssself!”

 

Donning his tophat, the encouragement you gave certainly lifted his spirits. You swore you witnessed him dance in his seat as his tail wrapped around the back of the couch. Sir Pentious’s eyes closed as his tongue flicked in the air to taste the remnants of the relief he surely felt. His chest was puffed with pride at the possible prospects you had promised further in the future.

 

 

Chuckling, you shook your head and looked down at your novel,  flipping over the front cover. 

 

 

Would time even allow for such an occasion? You weren’t sure the leisurely effort would be anytime soon. The priorities you allowed yourself first and for most were gaining your memories, returning Alastor’s one, simple request and then planning to do everything within your power to head back to Heaven. Though it wasn’t the entire truth to say you weren’t excited at the attempt to make a deeper friendship than before. You just hoped the opportunity would be before you went back home.

 

 

If you could go back home, that was… It was a sentiment you mused on often, paired with the silent pondering of the legitimacy of the Hotel. Would it ever prove successful? You helped the princess with daily exercises, trying to recruit new sinners and the like; but so far nothing had come of it. You wanted to wholeheartedly believe in this place, to believe in Charlie; but you could tell that whatever remained of your optimism had slowly dwindled.

 

 

Perhaps personal encouragement was in such short supply due to making sure everyone else was pleased; which in turn only caused you undue stress. That was quite possibly the whole reason Alastor allowed you this mental vacation. He had repeatedly mentioned that your cognitive state needed optimal relaxation for any attempts at recollection to be successful. 

 

 

Was it that your mind was over burdened with the fear of failure, the crushing weight of expectancy? It was plausible. What-ifs leaked into the many cracks of your consciousness and lingered on the border of your sanity. Ghastly, discouraging whispers of never attaining your goals, your memories, incessantly haunted the very halls of your heart. It was a hapless inner struggle that left you tired each day that doubt was secretly let in.

 

 

 

Had you even remembered anything within your allotted time off? Did you have anything of merit to show Alastor you had tried? Poetry was produced per usual, at his behest, but that still didn’t seem to jog remembrance of any kind. The whole situation frustrated you and it had come to the point you wanted to claw out your own brain daily.

 

 

The only constant throughout the entire process was the varied visions of your mysterious stranger. He popped up more often now, between the words written in your notebook and the ideas encouraging your words forth. More often than not, thoughts of your stranger left you with a terrible headache afterwards; but his faint, ghostly laughter steadily showed itself and made the pain worth it. The subtle mischievous notes of his silent joy often kept you company when you were alone, placating your fears whenever he arrived.

 

 

Despite your best efforts, each mental retreat taken with the stranger in mind only continued your own sentiments that you had gone crazy. Perhaps you were insane, repeating the same mannerisms over and over only to expect different results. You would only ever receive failure if you continued the path you were on now. Something needed to change, but what? 

 

 

Your eyes bore holes into nothing but dried ink on dead, scented wood. A silent, defeated sigh left you. Your thoughts were already occupied; and not with the world in between the pages you wished to escape into.

 

 

For once, you just wished to forget about remembering. You wanted to forget the stress of it all, to reconnect with your creativity in a way of enjoyment rather than making poetry a chore as an avenue for your memories to channel into. You were doing your best, and your best was all you could do. It was all anyone could expect of you.

 

 

If that were the case, then maybe you were doing what you needed to all along? Was nothing else truly necessary?

 

 

A deep breath settled into your lungs, taking brief residence within, before curling over the pages in your lap.

 

 

‘...Your best is good enough…’

 

 

Though encouraging, your thoughts took little effect. You couldn’t help but doubt inwardly if failure was all you would ever receive, despite your best attempts at remembering you were a work in progress. Perhaps your memories were too.

 

 

Gentle fingertips strummed along the edge of the flyleaf in your hands. The distant voices of your companions gathered in the lobby were nothing but white noise.

 

 

Was he, the recurrent visitor often housed within your mind, the memory? Was that the case? Were you remembering, just not in the exact way Alastor or you anticipated…?

 

 

It was probable. You’ve had more vague pleasantries with the mysterious stranger inside your head in the past week than previous, yet each moment was out of place and scattered. What was provided were only nuanced feelings, semblances to possible reality. A smell–perhaps cologne– vaguely haunted you with its unnamed and irrevocably addictive scent; or the faint recognition flooded your tongue when you tasted your favorite taffy for the umpteenth time. 

 

 

Even your stranger's voice was a variant, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. You couldn’t remember a single phrase specifically voiced, but somehow your heart knew its timbre as if the sound was formed within your very chest at the beginning of time.

 

 

Did those random instances count as memories? They were nothing concrete, but that was all you had…

 

 

Would that make do? Would that be enough to appease Alastor?

 

 

  ‘...Page…Regardless of what he, or anyone, says…You, and your efforts, are good enough…Alastor can get mad in the same pants he gets glad in if he so desires; but you have done your best…He can’t ask more of you than what you’ve already given...’

 

 

With a final sigh, your head cleared as you drew your hand to absentmindedly fidget with the bowtie of your uniform. Another attempt at resuming from where you had left off in your book was made as tired eyes scanned the expanse of the bound sheets you held. Words made quick work of taking form and residence within your imagination. 

 

 

That was until interruption proved unavoidable.

 

 

“OKAYYY~!” the chipper voice of the princess wafted gleefully throughout the lobby, each rapid step accompanied with the reverberation of wheels spinning against hardwood, “Sorry for being late, buuuut I had a few last minute things to prepare~”

 

 

Charlie practically sang from excitement as you marked your place,shut your book and placed it on the coffee table. You would reward yourself with reading after you were able to successfully get through today's lesson.

 

 

The princess gained the acknowledgement of the other patrons as she cleared her throat and called the meeting to order. A plethora of multicolored dry-erase markers could be briefly seen huddled in her hands before they were hidden with folded arms behind her back. She rocked back and forth on her feet as multiple snaps of a marker cap removed and readorned itself in her hands.

 

 

“Soooo, to begin, I just wanted to say that I’m tremendously happy everyone could make it out today for our lesson!”

 

 

A few whispers were shared between Angel and Husk, which were mostly ignored after a convincing, stern glare from Vaggie.

 

 

“Usually we have a group activity planned where everyone gets involved, and that still may be the case, but I thought it would be fun if we did stuff a little different today, y’know? Spice things up~!”

 

 

A brighter beam travelled from the princess, through the crowd and over to you. Wrinkles formed at the bottom of your bowtie with how hard you twisted ans clutched at the ribbon. You swallowed. 

 

 

“And, with that being said, you all will be surprised to know that today’s activities weren’t planned by me, buuuut by our very own– drum roll please–”

 

 

Per her girlfriend’s exuberant request, Vaggie played along and gave a makeshift sound of anticipation with each rapid slap of her thighs. Nifty also played along, the hem of her dress ruffling. Giving slight effort yourself, your heart quickened its pace as your hands shook with each repeated sound.

 

Charlie looked at you. Overflowing with excitement, she ripped the sheet away from the board.

 

 

And with horror, you realized the princess had written your name...

 

 

Notes:

Hope you enjoy this chapter~!

Chapter 18 is already written and should be posted either in the next few days or next week^^

Stay tuned~<3

Chapter 18: Her Presentation

Summary:

"People only see the decisions you made, not the choices you had…"

 

"We judge ourselves by our intentions; and others by their actions…"

 

"In vino veritas" (In wine, there is truth")

Notes:

Words and phrases with (*) at the end of them will have translations after the chapter in Author’s notes.

Enjoy~

 

 

Regardless of if you previously knew of the princess' plans to have you lead the activity that afternoon; you didn't want to present. You really didn't want to.

 

 

“....Page was gracious enough to lend her time to come up with a few activities for you all, and I’m sure it’ll be a blast!”

 

 

Crickets followed. Charlie gave an awkward laugh and clapped for you out of pity of no one else doing so; her smile more manic than usual. Vaggie joined in giving applause. She seemed less enthused than her partner, but gave audible support regardless.

 

 

“…Woo-hoo~! Yeah...Isn’t that great, guys?!”

 

 

More crickets ensued. You wrinkled your skirt further with your nerves, entwining fingers into dark pleats. You wanted to hide your face in your hair, to disappear. If it was long enough, you would’ve perhaps chewed on strands to provide an excuse to leave in pursuit of finding relief for your stomach.

 

 

Why had you volunteered in the first place? It wasn’t in your nature to lead or provide instruction in front of groups, big or small. It was an art you were lacking in and were perfectly content with not understanding. It was what you preferred. The center of attention wasn’t for you; no memories were necessary to learn that fact. Still the question persisted. Why did you go to the princess a week prior, insisting on helping with this week's activity? Regardless of how much pressure you notice the princess was under, you could’ve asked to help with another activity all together.

 

 

Wasn’t this yet another large reason you were due a vacation in the first place? Becoming available to far too many souls and providing assistance when you were drinking from a theoretical empty cup yourself was not the way to relax. But you couldn’t help it. It was engrained in you to offer care; in whatever way that looked like…   

 

 

Did Alastor’s reception of your private words truly inspire you to take charge of your own fear that much? Admittedly, his rare encouragement was something you weren’t expecting; but it didn’t change the fact that you were exceedingly glad for it. In a way, was volunteering to do something uncomfortable your version of paying him back for his own vulnerability? Even if he wasn’t present to witness your effort? 

 

 

Maybe it would be a favored topic of discussion? You could envision it: rare, unadulterated laughter rolling forth from the demon as you would recant your pitiful tale. Would he enjoy your failure and your fumbling words? Or would the demon offer yet another rare bout of advice and “convenient” benevolence instead? You wondered if his laughter would be the same timbre regardless in any form, kind or cruel.

 

 

…Why did you want to hear him laugh? Possibly at your expense, no less? 

 

 

Would the sound of his misplaced joy replicate the cadence of the mysterious soul who dwelled within your thoughts? Why were you hopeful?

 

 

…Why was it something you wished for?

 

 

“So, how about it, Page? Are you ready to explain what you have planned for us today?”

 

 

Blinking, you turned your head to regard the princess’ expectant grin and Vaggie’s raised, questioning brow.

 

 

“U-um…” you swallowed, your mouth instantly dry, “Yeah…yeah I…sure. I can…”

 

 

No you could not. What were you even saying?

 

 

‘Focus. No need to panic. You’ve been practicing in your room in preparation for today all week. You have your notes. Just…Just go according to plan…’

 

 

You looked down in your lap, the heat enveloping your cheeks in a rushed red as you pushed yourself up from your cushioned seat. Your breath shuttered as you made your way to the whiteboard, slinging your bookbag over your shoulder for its comforting weight.

 

 

Charlie was gracious enough to hand you a marker. You gave a soft smile in return before opening and closing the marker lid; peering over your shoulder at the quiet souls staring you down.

 

 

Gently, the Princess coaxed you along, pushing you closer to the whiteboard.

 

 

“So! Why don’t you first write down what the lesson is about or offer a quote? Ya know, something to start us off with so we have a feel for how the exercise will go today.”

 

 

“Sure…I can do that…”

 

 

Swallowing the hesitation flooding into your stomach, you raised your hand. Unsatisfactorily, ink steadily flowed onto the whiteboard to form squiggles, subjecting your fellow hotel members to all of your anxious inadequacy.

 

 

Line and mistakes were once again formed that needed to be cleared to retain your dignity as an artist. Grabbing the eraser, you offered yourself a clean slate to work with each time it was needed.

 

 

Finally, the word "Forgiveness" was neatly presented in an amalgamation of gently looping cursive and swift print. Relieved, you laid the marker to rest with an abrupt clank after the fifth attempt at writing the word.

 

 

Turning around, you blanched. For all the intelligence within you, you would never understand how Alastor managed to thrive continually in the presence of an unseen audience, attentive to questions received as if it was simple, natural. There was nothing natural about it, not to you. Your thoughts were nothing but a beached whale, utterly stuck and longing for the comfort and safety of the sea. You felt out of place. The center of attention was not something you wished for, but these were the circumstances you had vowed to help with. In any case, you would give the best effort you had.

 

 

Even if it killed you.

 

 

‘Just start small and stick to your notes. You….You can do this…right?’

 

 

Wordlessly, to buy yourself more time to collect your thoughts, you rummaged into the depths of your satchel for your folder. Once skin graced plastic, the item in question was procured and opened before seven sheets of paper were collected. You retained one for yourself, setting it on the coffee table.

 

 

Taking your cue, Niffty bounced up to you to take the paper and passed it out to everyone with maximum efficiency. A brief thank you from the princess and countless sounds of paper being flipped over collided in the air as you swallowed down the apprehension threatening to close your throat.

 

 

A lanky arm waved one of the spare sheets of paper. The corner of the looseleaf was dog-eared and dangled in between a dainty index finger and thumb.

 

 

“Hey, uhh… Tutz? Mine’s blank. Is it, y’know, supposed to be like that?”

 

 

Your eyes were still glued to the inside of your bag as you rummaged into it. The plastic folder previously placed on the coffee table was empty, which didn’t make sense as you were certain you had placed them in your bag.

 

 

 Oh, where were your notes?! 

 

 

A brief glance was stolen towards the grandstaircase further beyond the heads of the souls you were to teach.

 

 

‘Don’t tell me they’re in my room….’

 

Sighing, you placed your bag onto the hardwood floor and scooted it away with your foot.

 

 

‘Okayyy! Change of plans…. Guess I’m goin’ off script….How the hell do I do that…?! Oh, this is gonna suck so bad…Its going to be an absolute failure…!’

 

 

However panicked you were, the faint voice in the back of your mind couldn’t help but repeat an earlier sentiment. Would your failure be worthy enough of Alastor’s laughter, of his appreciation? Why did you want him to notice your struggles again?

 

 

Angel’s question was lost to the frenzy in your head. Luckily the princess answered for you amidst your quiet disarray.

 

 

“Yup! That’s the point…Or…At least I think it is? Either way I’m sure it’ll be ah-mazing~!”

 

 

Evening your breathing  to a calmer pace, your thoughts slowed as you regarded the princess giving a subtle thumbs up for further encouragement.  She would never know how much you appreciated it.

 

 

Finally registering Angel's question, you chuckled nervously.

 

 

“Thanks for reminding me, actually. I almost forgot the pens…Here…”

 

 

Successfully managing to navigate around the coffee table without bumping into it and bruising yourself in the process, you gave the pens to Pentious to pass around. 

 

 

“Sssooo…Are we going to be writing? Iss thisss why we need paper?”

 

 

“Oooh, I know what we’re doin~ You’re gonna give us a class on how to write that spicy shit you say you “don’t” read, right?” Angel smirked as he lifted a brow suggestively.

 

 

“No! No, no, no, nothing like that!”

 

 

“Okayyy then…bummer…” Despite your nerves ascending into space, you noticed the spider finally take a look at the whiteboard behind you before glancing at his own piece of paper in confusion, “Wait…What the Hell does a random ass sheet of paper got ta do with forgivin’ a bitch?!”

 

 

“Come on guys, enough teasing.” Vaggie glared at Angel as he lifted his hands in mock surrender. Husk snickered as the spider shrugged his shoulders and crossed his lower set of arms indignantly.

 

 

“I wasn’t teasin’ that time. It was a genuine fuckin’ question!”

 

 

“Which I'm sure Page will answer for us. Just give her a minute.” 

 

 

 Charlie gestured to you, giving the okay to continue.

 

 

“Go ahead and start whenever you're ready.”

 

 

“Okay…So, uh…This is paper…”

 

 

“Yeah. We get that.” Husk offered a snort as an unamused laugh glided under his breath. He took a sip from his liquor.

 

 

"Right, of course….Um…Well, to answer your question Pentious, yes, we will be writing today. In…In this activity, I want you all to think of the most vile things you could possibly come up with. The most crude, horrendously dispicable things you could ever say to someone…I'll even do it too."

 

 

You clicked the cap on your own pen to show your plans to participate, giving a brief glance back at Charlie for reassurance. Instead of offering her exuberant grin and the encouraging thumbs up she displayed before, the poor thing was on the verge of tears. Was it due to the mere mention of writing something down that would hurt another? If only to reassure the Princess, you made sure to elaborate.

 

 

"D-Don't worry…You don't have to read what you write out loud, nor do you have to show anyone else. This is just a personal growth excersise, of sorts…Sooo…Let's take, say…Five minutes to jot down as many words as possible?"

 

 

Not expecting to receive any questions so soon into your presentation, you gestured to Angel who had his hand raised. You hoped it wouldn't be anything you'd have to extensively think over for an answer. Your thoughts weren't organized yet.

 

 

"Yes Angel?"

 

 

"So, what if, hypothetically," the spider offered air quotes to aid his words, "That kinda thing is their kink? Like, they like that sorta stuff? Y'know, dirty talk? To be degraded and stripped of their self worth? All that shit?"

 

 

"Thennn…Uh…Just use words they um…Wouldn't like? Hypothetically? Or just think of things you wouldn't want to be called yourself. that still would apply in this case, I think…"

 

 

Angel shrugged before looking back down to his paper, seemingly accepting your answer. Releived he had no other objections to offer, you passed a quick look over the rest of the patrons as an additional phrase of instruction sparked your interest.

 

 

"Oh! And if you can, make sure to use both sides of the page…"

 

 

'Its not good to waste paper…'

 

 

You were answered with the miscilanious sounds of scribbling against parchment as the seconds multiplied into minutes. There were a few people still writing when you called time.

 

 

"Okay! That should be enough words now…why don't you guys take a look at your sheets and silently go over what you wrote for a moment…"

 

 

Pausing, you allowed everyone to review their work.

 

 

"Are you all satisfied with your work?"

 

 

As soon as you were met with nods did your grin brighten slightly. your lesson seemed to be going well so far, but the next part was the kicker.

 

 

"Okay. If so, I want you to just go ahead and rip it apart."

 

 

For emphisis, the sheet in your hands was split in jagged parts down the middle. The sound satisfyed a peculiar part of your brain somewhere far within. Though all your actions only seemed to do was waste perfectly good paper, you wanted to prove a point. A physical representation of your hidden sentiments seemed like it might work best with the audience present.

 

 

"Oooooh! Can I stab mine? I wanna stab mine!" Giddily, Niffty waved her hand above her head as she exclaimed. You laughed, nodding.

 

 

"Sure, go wild. Mess it up however you want."

 

 

Following Niffty's lead, the rest of the souls present began decimating their spare sheets littered with cruelty. Most crumbled or tore their pages. Niffty, much to her insistence, punctured countless holes into hers. Pentious made an attempt to fold a crane into his, painstakingly curling the sensitive corners until his paper could possibly fly. Once the princess took notice of the snake's peice, the nephillim clapped with a countenance full of gleeful praise before looking to you for further instruction.

 

 

As you watched the others continue their craft, you couldn't help but ponder that if Alastor was present if he would've burned his sheet entirely. Most likely he wouldn't have participated at all, choosing to silently—or not so silently— make fun of the struggles that would result from the patrons' efforts instead.

 

 

Why did your thoughts endlessly regard him?

 

 

"Alright. Now that they are thouroughly distorted from their original, intended shape, I want you all to change them back to how they were before. Without magic."

 

 

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kidding me…" Husk grumbled, swiping a paw over his face in frustration. His paper was the epitome of wrinkles, score marks from his claws dragging down the countless curses he wrote.

 

 

"Sin a'nimo de ofender*…That's kinda impossible? We're not miracle workers…"

 

 

"Just trust the process, Vaggie! Even if her methods are a little out there, I'm sure Page has a good reason for all this…"

 

 

"If you say so…"

 

 

The princess' knight only gave a wan smile as tiny pieces of paper fell through her fingers into her lap. She looked tremendously doubtful.

 

 

"OH!! This is the perfect excuse to use my new art supplies~! I'm gonna get some glue~"

 

 

"Please not the pink glitter glue, hun…It'll get everywhere."

 

 

"Aww booo! You're no fun!" Charlie laughed, sticking her tongue out playfully, "But fine, if you insist, I'll just get the regular, boring, glue instead…"

 

 

A soft laugh escaped Vaggie as she looked over her shoulder with a wink, blowing her girlfriend' retreating form a kiss.

 

 

"Sabes te amo mucho, Quidera~"*

 

 

"Hey, Princess. While you're up, go get us some tape, will ya?…I sware, I'm gonna need a fuckton of it to even get this to stick…"

 

 

Charlie tucked some hair behind her ear as the flush in her cheeks from Vaggie's previous flirting never left.

 

 

"Yup! Sure thing Husk. I'm on it."

 

 

You took a seat and crossed your ankles, content with watching everyone try to figure out how to fix their mistakes. Angel's signature laugh greeted the air, much to his intended audience's dismay. A claw was pointed in the spiders face, the last attempt the cat made to remove the sinner from his person.

 

 

"Don't you dare even start, Legs."

 

 

"Don't start what? I didn't even say a damn word, Whiskers~"

 

 

"You didn't have to. You were thinkin' it. I know you."

 

 

Angel purred, sprinkling a few peices of his disasembled parchment onto the bartender's head. The paper tickled the cat's ears as each piece dropped rained into his fur and down his face. Angel smirked, intently watching the way Husk scrunched his nose.

 

 

"Awe…So you know what I'm thinkin'? My, what a romantic…"

 

 

However cute, the moment was cut short by a exasperated groan belonging to the princess' second in command.

 

 

"Hijole…!* Can we please stay on task, for once? Just fix your damn paper!"

 

 

"Says the bitch who was literally just sittin' there flirtin' seconds ago," Angel huffed, folding his arms, "And ain't you the one who said this shit's basically impossible?"

 

 

"Could you at least try?"

 

 

Vaggie's resulting answer was silence and the emphatic extention of Angel's middle finger.

 

 

"Okay everyone! I'm back and I have the glue and tape~!"

 

 

Charlie skipped back into the room just in time to save you from the headache of having to listen to a needless argument. You were silently thankful you wouldn't be the one to stop their discussion from escalating.

 

 

As the princess handed over the needed supplies to Husk, you felt a slight tug on the bottom of your miniskirt. Looking down, you saw the excitment teathered to a bright eye staring up at you paired with a beaming, manic grin.

 

 

"Page! I'm finished! I think mine cleans up pretty good if I do say so myself hehehe…"

 

 

Niffty handed you her piece of paper. Each previous gaping hole created by her trusty sewing needle was filled and teathered together in a embroidered constilation of lines and crimson thread.

 

 

"What do you think? Did I do good?"

 

 

You sighed inwardly. You didn't have the heart to tell her anything else other than brief encouragement. Creativity wasn't the intended purpose of the assignment; but you couldn't help but be proud of her artistic expression. She and the others would find out your specific reasons for the activity soon enough, so there was no need to dim her joy.

 

 

"It looks really nice, Nif. Good work."

 

 

The cyclops giggled, pleased at the praise you bestowed.

 

 

"Thanks! Its a bloodstain! Its supposed to match the ones on my dress. See?" Niffty pointed to the apron on her pink poodle skirt, "I named him Oscar~."

 

 

You nodded enthusiastically, preparing to compliment her on the interesting name she chose further when Angel spoke up. Distnatly simmering frustration could be heard under his voice. You assumed it was due to him being unsuccessful in his own efforts of returning his page back to its former glory. Being prooven correct, you spotted countless stray pieces littering the hotels floor that had fallen from the lanky sinner's lap.

 

 

"Alright Tutz. I think all of us are pretty much done, so why the hell did ya have us do all this? What was the whole damn point?"

 

 

'Well, I'm glad you asked!"

 

 

Getting up from your seat, you strolled back to the front of the group. The shivers that danced in your palms and along your skin were significantly less noticeable than before.

 

 

"So the reason why I had you write such horrible things and then destroy your paper was to represent what can actually happen to a person…Not…Not literally, but in a sense. It was to emphisize my point."

 

 

"…That being?" Vaggie drapped her arms around charlie's neck as she rested her chin atop the other female's head from behind the couch.

 

 

"My point being…" You took a deep breath, releasing it in a rushed stutter, "…That once you've hurt someone, it's much harder to repair the damage. They aren't the same after. The same thing applies with yourself. Even when you've finally healed, you still end up different, like the paper showed us. No matter what we all attempted, we couldn't make the paper how it was before, right?"

 

 

You were met with a few shrugs and nods alike.

 

 

"Well, we all are, in a way, the same as those sheets of paper. You conform to what's been done to you. But…That doesn't mean you can't change. It just means you have to go about things differently, even if you aren't the same as before…"

 

 

The small grin etched to your features was encouraged further by a tearful Charlie who dabbed at her eyes before clutching the used tissues to her chest with pride.

 

 

"…Just like how the princess has shown us with the hotel…Charlie has created a place here that represents that you're never too far gone for forgiveness, regardless of your circumstances…"

 

 

Your chest ached as you spoke, your lungs compressing into your ribcage with every inhale. Your words escaped your lips in a rush. It was as if any syllable was hesitated then the very idea of the word would be extingushed from your very tongue.

 

 

Why?

 

 

"…Along the same vein, though, that…That also means that if we aren't considered too hopeless and are still deserving of a second chance; that would imply others are as well. And, in a way, extending forgivness is beneficial and freeing for the one doing the absolving. Even if you don't get closure. Even…Even if you don't think they are remotely sorry for what they've done to you…"

 

 

The pain intensified to the point you had to briefly pause a few times in the flow of your speech before continuing. Suspecting it was just the remnants of your previous jitters, you tried to pay no heed to the signals your stomach ignited into you. However….This feeling was distinctly different and only grew into a terrible ache at the bottom of your stomach. The pain tunneled deeper into your abdomen, hollowing out your insides to make room for its ruthless, inescapable torture.

 

 

Why? Why did it hurt so much? You were fine mere moments before…

 

 

Focusing on the small crowd, you internally counted their heads as a way to ground yourself; tapping your foot with each number you listed off to keep you from spiralling. Luckilly, your situation wasn't noticable nor was it inconvienent as Angel abruptly rose from his seat and stretched with a sigh.

 

 

"Yup…I'm gonna stop ya right there, Tutz. This is definitely a conversation Imma need a drink for…I'm waaay too fuckin' sober right now…"

 

 

"Angel…" Vaggie deadpans, a sigh on her breath, "You're literally wasted…"

 

 

"And even that is too sober for all this!"

 

 

Cradling the bottom of your stomach, you were greatful Angel insisted on leaving, regardless of however abrupt and disgruntled his exit. It gave you a moment to sit down, compose yourself and breathe. Hearing the others continue to talk brought slight peace, but it wasn't enough.

 

 

"Get me a new bottle while you're at it, Legs. I'm gonna need another if I have to sit through the rest of his shit…"

 

 

"Sure thing, Tiger…" A wink was sent in Husk's direction with yet another nickname affectionately exaggerated from his lips.

 

 

"There better be nothing but water in that cup when you get back!" Angel continued to saunter away, flipping Vaggie the bird without turning back to look at her. You doubted he'd listen.

 

 

Making sure Angel knew of her deep disapproval of his choices, Vaggie yelled another expectation after him as his sillouhette dissappeared behind the bar.

 

 

"And that was incredibly rude just inturrupting Page like that! Lo juro debería darte vergüenza!* I expect you to give an apology when you get back! A really good, sincere one!"

 

 

The princess' dutiful warrior chewed the inside of her cheek as she shook her head with barely contained rage. Looking up at her, Charlie offered a silent hand to the female's cheek in comfort. In return, a tender kiss was placed atop the princess' brow. This only made the blonde expell a timid chuckle as the pigment in her cheeks grew more vibrant.

 

 

"Y'know, that's a good idea. Why don't we all take ten? The rest of you go ahead and get a drink. You guys have been working so hard this afternoon, so you all deserve a break, yeah?"

 

 

"Sounds good to me. You want one, Mi Princesa?*"

 

 

Charlie blushed, answering with her drink of choice. You didn't hear what was requested; preoccupied with trying not to pass out in your seat. You couldn't really hear anything except the ringing in your ears and distant voices. Your stomach was cramping, chewing through and tearing your insides asunder. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back on the couch, trying to focus on the elusive intervals of distant conversation that surrounded you.

 

 

You couldn't breathe. Why couldn't you breathe?! A tight, unbearable ache strangled the muscles around your throat, pushing inwards into your esophagus. It was as if invisible claws had wrapped around the circumfrence of your skin, encroaching further into your windpipe. You clutched gently at the base of your throat, compelling air to enter your nose and slowly leave your lips. The feeling never left. It was a noose cutting circulation and trapping blood away from where it needed to go. You made a feeble sound in fearful discomfort as your fingers shook against the goosebumps forming along your skin.

 

 

Something—you didn't know what— grazed your shoulder. Delayed in opening your eyes again, you glanced over to the princess sitting next to you. Since when had Charlie transferred seats, opting to trade her place on the couch across from you to beside you?

 

 

"Did you hear Vaggie? She asked if you wanted something to drink…"

 

 

"Oh…A glass of water'll be fine…Thanks…"

 

 

"You gonna be okay there?" Charlie tilted her head, worry clouding over her usually bright eyes, "You…look really pale…"

 

 

"Y-yeah…Good…Will be good in…In a minute…"

 

 

You still couldn't breathe.

 

 

"Are you ssssure about that, Ssssoldier?" you didn't know when Sir Pentious had made it into the conversation. You assumed he had left to go with the others to look for refreshment.

 

 

You nodded and gave a wan smile, trying to make light of the situation instead. You didn't want to burden the others.

 

 

"Yeah…I just get nervous when I gotta…Gotta talk in front of people…I guess the adrenaline hit my system hard and then left just as quick…Usually just takes a minute for me to feel back to normal…"

 

 

"Well, in the meantime, drink some water… Here.."

 

 

Presented with your requested beverage, the cold glass slid into your hand with ease as you guided the liquid down your throat. Relief bloomed into your chest with the beverage that traversed through you. your lungs were a little more agreeable as the pangs in your abdomen subsided.

 

 

Why did your anxiety shoot through the roof the minute you tried to explain your point? What was it that triggered the phenomena? Thinking of yourself as one who didn't partictuallry get hot around the collar or bothered; you couldn't for the life of you recall speaking on anything remotely sensitive or scary.

 

 

The more you searched, the more your ponderings became baron. The sensation only left confusion in its wake as the stress in your chest increased. You were on edge, more so than usual, and you couldn't understand why…

 

 

"Not trying to rush you, Pagina*, but do you think you're good to still present? The break's almost over…"

 

 

Looking over to the woman who addressed you with a new nickname, you nodded wearily. It felt nice to know that within the couple of months residing within the hotel you were finally considered of high enough esteem to earn Vaggie's respect and subtle endearment.

 

 

"Yeah….I'm feeling some better." It was slight truth. The scalding sensation everytime a breath was taken had subsided into cool, manual effort. Your voice was labored; but that was the extent of your visual struggle.

 

 

Leaning forward, you placed your arms on either side to push you from the couch cushins. Charlie hovered over you, grabbing a hold of your arm to steady you in her obvious concern.

 

 

"Now there's no need to push yourself! If you aren't up for it, Vaggie or I can take the lead on the rest if you need more tim-"

 

 

"No, no…I…I made a commitment, a promise, to you guys that I would do this today. I intend to keep my word..."

 

 

'And I won't be a burden…'

 

 

---

 

 

Alone, except for the distant company the princess and her knight provided across the room at the bar; plush cushins provided further support for your back as you reclined deeper into the couch. Your chest had finally calmed from the unexpected tempest your mind became. Closing your eyes, musings of what all had happened lulled behind your eyelids in a dizzying pictureshow:

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The rest of the lesson went as well as you could've expected, all things considered. Despite your mental and physical discomfort, you pushed through your presentation with minimal pushback. Your lungs subtly ached, but that was all that came of your sudden spell.

 

 

Yet, despite the way your demonstration ended, there was bound to be questions and opposing views with the material you had chosen to share. Angel's arms had folded as you recalled his and Husk's shared looks of disdain when Charlie offered for the others to ask questions.

 

 

"Ssso…What I sssuppose I got from your…ehm…lesssson was that…You have a choice to forgive….But it'ssss okay if it takessss a long time…?"

 

 

"Yes! Exactly! However long you feel it takes for the situation to not affect you as much…And just because you forgive someone doesn't mean you instantly are friends again. You can wish them well and not be close, if you so choose…"

 

 

Your slightly brighter countenance was met with the confusion in everyone else's.

 

 

"It's like…You can wish for them to eat, just not at your table? In a sense?"

 

 

"Ah…I think I ssssee what you mean…"

 

 

"But that doesn't always have to be the case. If improvment is seen on the other party's end, then there is possiblity for reconsilation and a closer bound; but that is all based on the situation and personal preference…"

 

 

Sir Pentious had nodded, seemingly satisfied with your responses.

 

 

"I…I also want to point out each person is different, so this is entirely up to what you decide is best for you…I'm just offering a different road you can take to go about living your afterlife. Y'know…Just trying to help point ya in the right direction"

 

 

You had pointed to the ceiling with a tiny shrug.

 

 

"In the end, forgivness, giving and or recieving it, is your choice and no one else can make it for you. Though, if you do decide to do so, you may find that the benefits outway the cons tremendously…"

 

 

Silence encroached into the room, each beat of your heart louder than the ones that came before. Why did you insist on explaining your reasons further? It was a concept surely everyone understood, regardless of their views on the subject.

 

 

The internal worry you possessed dipped further into the recesses of your stomach upon hearing Angel audibly sigh. The sound was laden with frustrated weight and unregistered gloom.

 

 

"Yeah, well, all that's bullshit…And regardless of the pros and cons or whateva else you're spoutin' off , I'm not buyin it. I mean…why would I? why would I easily let someone have access to all this," the spider gesticulated to himself, the fluff on his chest puffing further out of his suit than normal, "When they broke my trust ta begin with?"

 

 

Taking a prolonged sip of his "water", Angel glanced to the side. His tone had shifted, you remembered, as he tapped his claws against the glass, swishing around the clear liquid inside.

 

 

"So to tell me some useless fucka deserves my forgiveness? Just 'cause it's outta the goodness of my heart? Yeah, no, fuck that. That's the biggest load of shit I've eva heard…You don't know what I've been through and you don't know my life, so don't prod into things that don't concern ya…"

 

 

Yawning, the spider stretched the top pair of his arms over his head as he leaned forward and got up from the sofa.

 

 

"So, if we're done here, I gotta get ready for my next shoot…I've wasted enough time already…"

 

 

Sauntering away, Angel's suit ruffled at his shoulders but remained taut at his back as he stuck his lower set of hands in his pockets. You watched him walk away, your mouth failing. Nothing but mute timidity left you, your fingers finding new purpose in their old habits down the bottom of your uniform vest.

 

Why did you feel compelled to make the sinner understand where you were coming from? That wasn't your job, to make him change, or to convince him to do so. You were only there to lend a hand and offer gentle guidance.

 

Still the feeling wouldn't leave, only providing tumultuous waves to crash against the contents of your breakfast in the pits of your stomach. Your words fumbled, but they left you in a desperate frenzy all the same.

"You're…You're right, Angel…"

 

 

The sound of footsteps slowed. Old hardwood planks creaked under the weight of the spider's previous retreat.




"…I don't know what you —or anyone else for that matter— has been through, nor do I claim to know what happened to you all…Every…Every situation is different."

Looking down to the comfort of hardwood under shoes, you swallowed and offered your voice again.

"After all, people only see the decisions you've made…Not the choices you were given. No one has any room to judge you on how you chose to navigate and live your life unless they themselves have walked a mile in your shoes…"

 

When you glanced back up, the sinner had stopped walking. Angel didn't look at you. Instead, he turned his head to regard your words in silence.

 

 

"But…" You breathed, fingers curling into the clothing gathered in your timid fists, "Despite it all, I think everyone can at least benefit from a shift in perspective…Even if its only a little one…"

 

 

You could tell Angel's top set of arms were crossed in front of his chest. Manicured claws dug into the sleeves of his pink, pinstripe suit; squeezing with the effort to keep all the adverse thoughts you knew he harbored inside his mind. He had still stayed to listen to you, however, so perhaps that was a good sign?

"I…I'll just let ya go with this…If you had been the one to make a mistake, then what would you want someone to do to you? If we all lead with that sentiment in mind, then….I dunno…Maybe things could change?"

 

 

"Welp, looks like you're in the minority on this one, Tutz. Literally nobody else but you and the princess thinks like that…"

 

 

"But, maybe that's the point! If we all could just try—"

 

 

"Shut up! Just fuckin'—"

 

 

Angel whipped around to face you in exasperated fury. He had grabbed the nearest drink closest to him and threw it past your head. The glass had barely knicked your cheek. You would bruise with the force of its momentum.

"—Stop!"

 

A few shouts of surprised disapproval gathered together in quiet room, but they were drowned out as the collision between glass and wood created a discordant cacophony behind you. The remaining liquor in the sinner's glass dripped down the decorative wallpaper in the wet clatter as you timorously turned to look at the damage. Your vision was blurry, blinding your assessment as your chest yet again surged in panic. Had you been alive, it most likely would've been enough to collapse your lungs in fright.

 

Looked back at him, you watched as angel curled his lower set fists. A newer set of eerie, glowing pink eyes stared daggers as he sighed and smoothed out his hair.

 

"….Page, look. You've got a good heart or whateva; but for the love of fuck, just give it a rest, would ya?! Not one soul thinks like that down here. Absolutely no one is gonna put anyone else above themselves in this shithole…"

 

 

Preemptively, you had taken a step back as he reached for another glass, only to watch as Angel drained its contents dry. The sinner slammed what little remained down on the side table closest to him. A few drops of condensation sloshed onto the old mahogany table in its wake.

"And I know you're new, but you've been in Hell for how many months now?! So, if you haven't noticed that its a dog eat dog world out there, kill or be killed; then there's seriously somethin wrong with you and its time to wake the fuck up from whateva fairytail your livin' in. No one has the time to worry about shit like remorse or guilt or how they made some otha random asshat feel when they're literally strugglin' and fightin' for their afterlives every single fuckin' day!"

 

Leaning on the side table, he let go of his glass, and covered the side of his face with a loud laugh ringing throughout theroom. he pushed himself up, his footwork wavering as much as his unsteady voice.

"…Morals like that are only gonna get ya killed…It's betta you learn that now…"

 

Releasing his grip on the liquor glass, Angel offered one more phrase of "advice". His words were slurred, a result that mixed the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consummed with the sinner's heightened, poorly controlled emotion.

 

 

"…And anotha thing: how about you practice what ya preach and see what that gets ya down here. Then, and only then, can ya bitch at me all ya want…"

You remained silent as you watched him retreat on unsteady, determined legs. What else was there to say? Angel was in no mood to be receptive to any words you could've offered; and you didn't know if you had it in you to speak without tearing up.

 

 

Sucking in a breath, you massaged one of your temples and flopped against the decrative pillows adorning the couch. Your eyes stung from the force of holding back sudden tears. Ashamed, you blinked them away. You wouldn't cry infront of company.

 

 

As could be expected after an interaction as heightened as that, mutliple voices addressed you. The sounds offered apology and concern as they flitted in and out of your vague registration. Lucidity to the conversation wasn't offered until you felt the pain of fingertips brushing the forming bruise on your cheek. You flinched, looking to who had touched you.

 

"Shit, Sorry! I-I just wanted to check on you. It looks like it really hurts! Are…are you sure your okay?"

 

You were glad Charlie read between the lines when there was no answer given as you chose to look down into your lap. The princess nodded, declaring she would get you a bandaid and an icepack. Apparently you had bled from the slight contact of the liquor glass making a detour into the side of your face on its way to the back wall.

"Qué indignante!*" Vaggie bellowed. You couldn't understand the words she spoke as her foot become a conduit of appeasment for her irritation. She continuously cleaned up the broken glass Angel's rage left behind, mopping furious circles into the floor to clear it of any remaining liquor. Vaggie's flats tapped in rythmic succession on hardwood, offering a cadence you wished would disappear. Each continued sound only provided more fuel for your growing headache, "Lo juro, 'el es un gran cretino sinvergüenza!*"

 

 

Quieter moments greeted you as you hugged onto one of the pillows provided, attempting to hide your face into the tassles hanging from its corners. It wasn't as comfortable as your pillows in your hotel suite; but it did provide solace and disctracted the growing urge to sob. You breathed in and stifled a cough when dust agrieved your lungs as you saw something move towards you out of the corner of your eye.

"…Ssssolider?" Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, the Snake sinner awkwardly patted as the fabric of your shirt wrinkled under his palm, "Ehm….Though I'm inclined to agree with the lanky harlot that your pressssentation was a bit…Unique and posssssibly naive, it wasssss…A good effort? I….I can sssssee that you tried your bessssst, I sssupossssse…"

 

 

Looking up from the pillow that obscured your face and vision, you managed a small dismal smile and a quiet phrase of gratitude. The snake nodded and turned his face to the side as he patted your shoulder a few more times. Pentious' claws hovered over where they had graced, lingering for longer than anticipated. There was a stutter on his tongue, as if there was more he wished to convey but thought better of it.

 

 

Pentious retracted his hand to his side as you watched him slither away in silence.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

"Page? I got you a new ice pack…Well, its not an ice pack, if we wanna be technical, but frozen peas. We didn't have any more of the regular ice… So hopefully this still works…." You heard an awkward laugh before the princess cleared her throat, "Uhm…H-how's that bandage holding up? How's your face?"

 

 

The last of your reverie disipated into the far corners of your imagination as you opened your eyes. They were slightly bloodshot from being closed for several minutes. They burned as you blinked repeatedly from the harsh lights over head to the bag of frozen vegtables folded in a towel presented to you.

 

 

"…As well as one would expect. Thanks Charlie…" You chuckled as the demon belle handed over the fresh bag in exchange for your used one. There wasn't much that had melted from your previous icepack, but you wouldn't complain about her need to check on you. The blonde had insisted she keep an eye on you while you rested in the lobby and you wouldn't deny her. She had visibly looked worried, tears sparkling in her eyes.

 

 

Though you suppose the Young Morningstar's excessive tears were also due to the extreme pride she held in your work that afternoon. As she played nurse and bandaged your bleeding cheek, she kept raving on about how good of a job you did; even voiceing some of her favorite concepts you shared. She went so far as to say she would plan some lessons solely around some of the points you brought up yourself. Excitement bubbled into each phrase and you couldn't help but feel undeserving of such esteem, considering what had happened with Angel.

 

 

Was it something you had said? You didn't think you had mentioned anything remotely offensive; but you didn't have the best track record with taking notice of your words infront of others when frazzled. Perhaps your nervous motormouth had gotten the best of you, capturing your tongue in a dangerous dance that only caused deep frustration for the others.

 

 

It wasn't just Angel who seemed uncomfortable, you noticed. Husk had also looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but in the room, more so than usual.

 

 

"Nice work, Mi Vida.* That bandage work is coming in nicely…"

 

 

"Awww you think so? Thank you!"

 

 

"Mhm." Vaggie chuckled, placing her Mojito down on the coffee table, "The Hello Kitty bandaids really make things better, huh? Let me guess…You ran out of the usual duck ones?"

 

 

"Yup, sadly…It doesn't help that dad ends up hoarding those when we do have 'em in stock though…"

 

 

"Guess we'll just have to make do until we can order new ones, then…"

 

 

'….The devil likes ducks…?'

 

 

Distracted with you own thoughts, you glanced up to see Vaggie lean down to press a kiss to one of the apples in Charlie's cheek. Whilst the princess was distracted, her knight took the semi melted bag of ice from her.

 

 

Tossing the half melted water up in one hand a few times, Vaggie looked to you and pointed at her eyepatch with a gentle grin.

 

 

"I don't have to tell you this as I know you're already aware, but you're in good hands. Charlie's the one who doctored me up when I lost my eye…It was how we met, actually…Mi Princessa* saved my life…"

 

 

Vaggie glanced over to the princess with eyes that screamed pure admiration. It only made Charlie chuckle as she swatted her girlfriend away playfully. A subtle version of your usual smile graced your skin as you watched them interact. They were adorable together…

 

 

Snapping the first aid kit shut, Charlie handed you a bottle of pills for the pain. Even if it was a simple cut on your face that you were most capable of healing yourself within minutes; the princess still had rushed to help you and wished to releive any pain you may have experienced, regardless of how small the injury.

 

 

Not wanting to hurt Charlie's feelings, you unscrewed the containter and downed one small pill; chugging the remainder of your water from your earlier break. To keep your free hand busy, you traced a pattern into the miniskirt of your uniform and looked down once the medication was swallowed. Nothing you did helped your worry as thoughts ran rampent behind your eyes. Things you wondered if you should've said instead or things you shouldn't have said at all called out to you, shouting into your already full head.

 

 

"I know that look. Are you still hung up about what happened? Pagina…No te preocupes por eso*…The asshole was also completely sloshed, so he was going to be more unbearable than usual…"

 

 

Taking the available seat on your other side, you glanced over to Vaggie in surprise as she placed her hand on your shoulder and gestectulated as she spoke with the other. She had gotten you out of your own head again.

 

 

"And, though he could've been way nicer about it, Angel did have a point. Not everyone thinks like you and Charlie; Nor do many people hold the same beliefs. Sometimes, it takes a little while for certain people to warm to new ideas, like Angel and Husk. I mean, we are asking them to basically change their whole world view. And I can already tell you now: that's not gonna come easy or fast for most people down here, especially to those two; so I wouldn't let what Angel said get you down…" Vaggie nudged your shoulder, " Just think of it as…Tough encouragment for the future, yeah?"

 

 

"Vaggie is right. Just keep doing what you've been doing, Page. They'll come around. I know it. Just give them time…"

 

 

Humming in agreement, Vaggie reclined further into her seat beside you and crossed her legs.

 

 

"And, though its probably not the way I would've gone about teaching them, your idea was really unique…"

 

 

"Thanks. I appreciate it…" Lost in thought, you swirled the liquid in your glass and sipped on the cool, clear beverage.

 

 

Less bothered than before, your breathing evened into a slower, reasonable pace. Vaggie was right. Letting what Angel said affect you wouldn't do you any favors; and you didn't need anymore added stress. Wondering if there was yet another error on your part you could've corrected wasn't worth your time, nor would it help you to excessively worry about everyone else. You needed to focus on yourself for a change…

 

 

But how were you to do that? Especially when Angel's parting words took up residence in your head more than they should've. Was there truth to Angel's drunken musings? Had you been a hypocrite but just couldn't remember it? How could you do better, to know for absolute certain that you had done the very best you could do? What would encourage the others to give Charlie's dream more of a genuine effort? What would inspire them? What would convince them?

 

 

What would convince you?

 

 

'Practice what I preach, huh…?'

 

 

Hidden epiphany ushered itself to the forefront of your rememberance; and for once it was a thought that presented itself as something positive.

 

 

What if you showed encouragement by example?

 

 

"Hey…Guys?"

 

 

The two females regarded you, Charlie displaying a curious grin as Vaggie's was hidden behind the mojito she consumed.

 

 

"I…I don't know if I've mentioned it before…I know that you both are trying to get me back home and that I'm helping with the hotel in the meantime; but…"

 

 

"What is it, Pagina?*"

 

 

"I think…I think I may want to join…"

 

 

The smile the princess gave was exhuberent as she looked to her girlfriend before claiming your hands in her own.

 

 

"Do…Do you really mean what I think you mean…?" Charlie's excitment couldn't be contained.

 

 

"Yeah…" you breathed, the corners of your own lips curling in a timid grin, "…I think I want to try the redemption program…for real…"

 

 

Notes:

List of Spanish words/phrases Vaggie uses in Chapter 18

 

(Let me know if there are any errors please^^)

 

No te preocupes: "Don't worry" (No te preocupes por eso: " don't worry about that") (No te preocupes por nada: "don't worry about anything") (this is informal speech used with someone you know well like a friend or family member)

 

Hijole:An interjection used in mexico and latin america to express, surprise, exasperation or admiration. often translated as "wow" "wow!" "Man" "Whoa" "gosh" "Jeez" in english.

 

Sabes (you know) Te amo mucho, quidera~: you know I love you so much, dear.

 

Mi vida:My life

 

Mi Princesa: My princess.

 

Sin animo de ofender: "without the intention of offending"

 

Lo juro:I sware

 

Debería darte vergüenza!:“you should be ashamed" or "You should be embarrassed" or "shame on you"

 

Pagina:literally means Page as in the piece of paper/ looseleaf (Vaggie's nick name for page)

 

¡Qué indignante!:"How outrageous!" ( expresses feelings of strong anger, shock, or disbelief at something perceived as unfair, wrong or unacceptable. It conveys the idea that something is incredibly offensive or morallly offensive.

 

Él es un gran cretino sinvergüenza:He's such a shameless jerk.

Chapter 19: His Visit

Summary:

"Wise men don't need advice. Fools won't take it." ~ Benjamin Franklin

Alastor moved his salad fork two inches to the right.

 

 

The device wasn't off kilter—far from it—but the adjustment was made for his amusement. Regardless, the silverware was flicked entirely into the floor. There was no need of the thing anyways. What salad would he ever deign to eat in a town fit for carnivorous sin?

 

 

An utterly useless thing it was. What good was it if it served no purpose? It was out of place, presented as a prim and proper ornament only. It was an accessory, insignificant, inept in design and sorely out of place considering where it held residence.

 

 

Ugh. What an utter disgrace it's mere appearance was to the table…

 

 

Alastor's eye twitched. Never did he think he would be reminded of you when compared to a simple, insignificant utensil. The realization had him fuming. Was he crazed? How had you brazenly intercepted his mind even in the mundane?!

 

 

A growl hid in his throat as he pulled at his shirt collar with a thin, burgundy claw. Alastor loosened his bowtie only to reassemble it in the same fashion as before for the third time that evening. Hidden Frustrations were released into the fabric at his neck, grumbles versed between the stitches in his smile.

 

 

Brought from brief distraction, the subtle clatter of useless cutlery was down to its last clipped vibrato against polished floorboards. His ears flicked at the curt sound as the discordant memory of it reverberated into his mind. The displaced melody fled, and with its retreat the demon cleared his throat.

 

 

His smile was reduced to a fragment of its usual splendor upon the bitter coalescence of his teeth. A particularly displeasing speck on the wall had caught the remnants of his wordless complaints and the sight irked him. He glared at the blemish a moment longer to ascertain what had interrupted his esteemed brooding.

 

 

Ah. A roach. Where was Niffty when he needed her? Hoping it would feel shame for ever landing in his line of sight, Alastor glared at the living nuisance until glowing verdant tendrils appeared from his back. They stabbed their target with ease, quashing the life shortly lived amidst the refined antique frames decorating his gracious hostess' humble abode.

 

 

Was it's life really worth living anyways? The Radio demon's signature grin grew at the thought. Perhaps it was a unique sinner he laid waste to instead…

 

 

Upon the tendrils finding purchase on antique wood and floral decor, a singular picture frame fell from the force of his murder. Promptly was it caught in-between phantasmic whisps before the thing could shatter to the floor a moment later.

 

 

As soon as it was collected in his grasp did the frame fall loose, slipping from the sinner's hold. easily required, his umbral servant placed it to the wall. A subtle nod was rewarded to Alastor's shadow as the overlord watched with a tilted head. To his satisfaction, the antique frame was readorned onto floral wallpaper as originally intended. Alastor joined in the task; readjusting any frame left askew in his slight massacre.

 

 

Fortunately, his work was nearly complete when the bustle of skirts and the sway of fabric turned the corner to regard him.

 

 

"Are you alright in there?"

 

 

He didn't look, entranced with making sure the details of his inopportune "hunting" would remain unnoticed.

 

 

"Just dandy, Rosie! Addressing a slight issue with the wall, is all..."

 

 

"There was…An issue with the wall?"

 

 

A swift flick of one of his tendrils wiped the wall clean, creating a new slate amidst the old decorations. Alastor dusted off his gloves, his crafted, amused grin never faltering.

 

 

"Not anymore! Haha!"

 

 

A playful scoff rose above his invisible audience as his hostess finally made her entry.

 

 

Light clatter of silverware against teacups and assortments of hors d'oeuvres paired with petite four sang in her hold. Refinement at its finest, her skirts glided with ease into the parlor to meet her esteemed guest.

 

 

There was a shake to her head, the feather on her hat flitting with the force of Rosie's playful mood.

 

 

"You and your theatrics, I swear."

 

 

Alastor laughed in reply, reclining his microphone in the corner behind his chair as he crossed his legs. He glanced up in acknowledgement. An amused grin was presented in exchange for the fragrant drink extended his way. He accepted her hospitality, the dark herbal blend warming his palms.

 

 

"Yes? And what of them?"

 

 

Briefly, a ginger sip was made as the sinner enjoyed the scalding blend gifted between golden teeth. The aroma was comely and the taste elegantly bitter. Yes, it was most agreeable.

 

 

"Don't tell me you're not amused?"

 

 

Alastor placed his beverage to the side before he gave his attention to her in full, a smirk playing at his lips.

 

 

"Ha! Please! With you there's never a dull moment!"

 

 

"Truly, you're too kind," he chuckled as the demoness sat adjacent, "and I am most thrilled to oblige."

 

 

Taking a spare napkin set aside for use other than elegance, Rosie brought it to rest neatly into her lap.

 

 

"…This place has gotten dull without such lively company. It's been a while, Alastor."

 

 

"…Has it been that long?"

 

 

"Years, dear. Seven, to be exact…"

 

 

"Well then! Time just flies, I suppose…" Alastor stole a sideways glance at the grandfather clock across the parlor as if it would give tangible answers for his absence. Instead, it continued to spindle time's thread with each stoic tick of its hands, "Though I'm deathly certain I saw you just a few months back at the annual meeting? It was quite the productive one, wouldn't you say?"

 

 

Rosie's lips pursed around the edge of her teacup, her brow giving way to a refined, bewildered crease.

 

 

"Your point is sound, and yes it was; but don't try to swindle me out of an answer, mister. You know what I mean," she mimped, a playful chide provided in her tone, "You haven't come by in ages! I thought you enjoyed our visits?"

 

 

"Oh, trust that I do; but I found myself just needing to get away from it all. "

 

 

Glancing away, Alastor admired the wallpaper decorated in repositioned picture frames coated in slight dust, if only to dodge more specifically targeted inquiry. A hand was lightheartedly flapped at her as he reached for his cup, offering placation with half-truths and falsehoods.

 

 

"It was nothing serious or of great import, really. Just me taking a well earned sabbatical… Surely, my years down here have earned personal leisure and to allow myself such repose?"

 

 

"Of course dear! Don't mistake my curiosity for ill-intentioned scrutiny. Just merely asking where an old friend has been, is all. You've been missed, and you can't blame a lady for wondering."

 

 

A mildly genial laugh was offered as Alastor took another sip of his coffee.

 

 

"…Well I'm glad my absence has struck up quite the intrigue."

 

 

"Yes, you've had the town buzzing! Though I can be assured that sentimentality alone hasn't brought you to seek out my company, if there have been years since your last visit."

 

 

The polished silver tray was slid further towards him to allow its delicacies easier access. Metal brushed against ceramic as the flowers adorning the center of the table deposited wilting roses to fall upon the decor and doilies present. Alastor picked one up to admire, the remaining life of it crumbling further in his claws. The dust was flicked away before it was deposited onto the napkin residing in his lap.

 

 

"Before we discuss business, however, I'd be correct in assuming you haven't eaten yet. Are you hungry?"

 

 

"Absolutely famished!"

 

 

Alastor had closed his eyes, propping the back of his hand on his forehead and leaned in his chair. It was a calculated facade crafted solely to assure the previous topic of discussion would be forgotten.

 

 

In hopes of his hostess choosing to focus on his behavior instead; Alastor opened one eye and looked to his friend with interest. Was his performance adequate enough for the purpose it was made to serve?

 

 

Rosie clutched her chest with a laugh as she witnessed him strike a pose. Alastor's ruse was successful.

 

 

"Well, we wouldn't want you withering away further in your seat, now would we? Dig in, dig in! I've prepared plenty and even made extra of your favorites…"

 

 

Reaching forward, the demon served himself with the distinct thought that perhaps his empty stomach was the source of his earlier frustrations. His desire for answers—and the sorely fought effort it was to ascertain them—had left him with a baron stomach and frayed nerves. Only his usual cup of java reserved a place in his stomach from that morning as he settled a portion of the provided snacks onto his own plate.

 

 

"Perhaps it was best I haven't eaten yet….Meals are always better taken with company; and I haven't had yours in so long. So! Tell me, Rosie, what's new with you?"

 

 

"Like you've stated before, nothing of very much import from my end. However, you're in luck! The meats we'll be sampling today have just come in fresh this afternoon, so I'm delighted you're in town to try them!"

 

 

A phrase of slight interest quickly passed over his tongue as Alastor procured one of the aforementioned wares. Between his fingers was a severed one—a pinkie— manicured and delicate. No sooner had he taken a bite did his mind weave enthralling ideas that the demon preferred would've stayed hidden within the far corners of it.

 

 

"So, Alastor, I'm sure you can only guess who darkened my door this morning?"

 

 

"…Susan?"

 

 

"Susan!"

 

 

As the seamstress chattered on the demon nibbled further, his ears flatter against his head then previous. The mere mention of that cantankerous old hag was enough to give one indigestion…With a voice full of disdain, Alastor's smile merged to a strong, upturned grimace.

 

 

"…And, pray tell, what did the ornery ole' bitch want this time?"

 

 

Skin tore in between words and sharp, golden incisors as a bloodied tongue savored the taste of fabricated pain. He wondered if the flesh he sampled had belonged to a screamer, and if said voice had befitted the meager remains it left behind. He mused further as bone was crushed under the weight of his pallet.

 

 

How would you sound? What agony would you create? How would you further entangle him in your enthralling mystery?

 

 

“Well, let me just say that what she voiced wasn’t pleasant.”

 

 

Each crunch brought him closer to the supposed discovery, the taste more satisfying upon thought of you. Excitement swelled within him. The pondering that perhaps your flesh would be just as tender, just a savory, grew into his mouth and lingered in the back of his mind. The feeling sunk deep into the marrow of his bones like a disease, malignant and devouring. You infiltrated into the depths of him and he could do nothing but sit in bewildered awe; wondering how you had ever managed to do so.

 

 

His tongue swirled over gore-gilded bone in impatient curiosity; memorizing every distinct crack, tendon and spare sinew. The taste was mediocre, fine at best.

 

 

"…Is anything that comes out of that maw of hers pleasant?"

 

 

No.

 

 

Again, he was dissatisfied. The savor didn't perfectly compare to the supposed taste he believed you to possess. His mouth would remain wanting, longing, searching in coveted haste.

 

 

Would his curiosity, in both degrees, ever truly be sated?

 

 

"…Alastor. Manners dear…"

 

 

"Hm?" the sinner's fork was raised to his lips before the slight wrinkle in his brow was offered. A bemused daze shrouded him.

 

 

"Your face…" The lady overlord gestured her thumb over her lips, tapping her cheek twice for good measure.

 

 

"What of it?"

 

 

"It's in need of cleaning.. You have blood dripping freely from your chin."

 

 

A bright, teasing laugh reverberated past her lips as Rosie extended a spare napkin across the table. The deer's ears flicked downward for the briefest of moments. Chagrined by his personal display, he brought his own thumb to inspect the corner of his grin, swiping and grimacing when he pulled his digit away to spot debris.

 

 

So, it had gotten to the point that you consumed him so thoroughly he wasn't aware of himself nor the sensation of claret leaving his lips. disgraceful. It was indeed a shame he had let you affect him to such a degree as to forget himself.

 

 

"Ah...Yes…It would appear so…"

 

 

Alastor took his attention to the picture frames again to save face as he dabbed at his mouth. Subtle laughter, a tad too teasing for his liking, wafted through the air to greet him. Irked, The demon glanced indignantly at her.

 

 

"…You seem distracted…and disturbed, more so than usual." Alastor raised a brow at her observation. Were his inner problems that noticeable?

 

 

"Ha! How astute of you…" his clipped laugh was briefly paired with a roll to the eye as a grumble hid under his breath. Once his lips were absent of anything other than skin, the soiled napkin fled to his lap. He choose to absently stir what little remained in his cup with his spoon. Keeping his hands busy was the next best distraction from you.

 

 

"Well, there's no need to get hissy with me, so lighten up a little on all that brooding, would ya? You know I'm just joshing!"

 

 

With unfortunately uncanny timing, whirring and pops of the familiar kind danced in the air between his ears. Alastor's microphone sprung to life with blooms of colorful white noise, brief yet harsh. The demon's ears flicked downward at the sudden change in frequencies as his counterpart braced her palm to one of her ears.

 

 

A distant, nameless voice from the past was presented in the form of a commercial relatively widespread to the public. It was one everyone seemed to know. Each phrase was dusted out with dull static mixed with sunny music. The words lulled into the room with a chipper, overly transatlantic, cadence before the mic fell silent once more…

 

 

"….You aren't you when your hungry…!"🎵🎶

 

 

Rosie's grin was shaded by her fingertips as her eyes closed with the growing amusement she failed to stifle. Upon her laughter meeting his ears, the hotelier's ears flattened for a moment in unspoken embarrassment. The fur bristled underneath his clothes as alastor's phantom snickered, mirroring the product his microphone was compelled to advertise. A well hidden sarcastic roll of his eyes concluded with the minute shake of his head. What an inopportune time to be interrupted by his own machinations…

 

 

Nodding genteelly, Rosie gestured to the microphone propped against the back of Alastor's seat.

 

 

"Yes, I'm inclined to agree with the thing.…I think its within our best interest that you go ahead and eat. You'll rip someone's head off otherwise…That is, if you haven't already had the pleasure of doing so today. You're unbearably hangry…"

 

 

A sigh left the sinner as his fork stabbed into a particularly interesting eyeball, veins bursting upon contact. Of course it's iris would be the color of yours; though fogged over and undoubtedly more dull in comparison.

 

 

Alastor brought the organ to his lips in disinterest. If it wasn't actually you then he didn't want to taste it…

 

 

If it wasn't you then he didn't want to eat at all…

 

 

Though hunger pangs had struck him repeatedly in the days that passed, that very same sentiment was the sole reason he denied the urge.

 

 

You were to blame for all it…You were ruining food for him. How exceedingly unfortunate…

 

 

The urge to consume was ignored to the point, he realized, he hadn't eaten for several days. Nothing was filling or deemed appetizing. Everything he found that could've sounded even remotely appetizing to his tastebuds and to his cravings was denied and forcibly rejected. If boredom, unsatisfaction, had a flavor; then it certainly tasted of ash and exactly like everything else he was forced to eat…

 

 

…That was, unless there was thought of you.

 

 

Catering to his Hostess' request, Alastor chewed slowly on the orb at the other end of his fork. Membrane and blood vessels burst into the side of his cheek with barely any effort on his part. This time he was sure to have a bit more class.

 

 

His Stomach offered a subtle growl in its rebellion as his mouth also disagreed with what the sinner deigned to feed it. He had waited far too long to eat. Indigestion grew from the same bite that promised sustenance. He stored the remainder of the morsel on the inside of his cheek until Rosie glanced away; choosing to stow it away in a spare napkin instead. The evidence of his wastefulness was tossed into shadow as he watched it disappear into black underneath prim tablecloth.

 

 

Becoming lucid to the conversation, The demon noticed Rosie tap her claws against her teacup. She peeked at him just under the rim of her swooping, feathered hat with an unassuming glare.

 

 

"But I suppose eating's a hard feat to do when your mind is full and elsewhere, as I can see yours is…"

 

 

Perhaps his subtlety was lacking more so than he thought… Once again, that rare moment of sloppiness and invigilance was something he would blame on your influence…

 

 

"well I can't very well let my guest be dreary for long. So! What's the fuss about? Why did you wish to schedule a private meeting with me? Usually, before your very extended leave, you actively sought out a bit of spontaneity and would just pop in if only to say hello…"

 

 

The bewildered pout his friend sent him was strangely disconcerting and he couldn't place a reason for the feeling. Rosie's ebony eyes were obscured further by her Merry Widow hat, casting shadow over her cheeks and lips in a uncanny display…

 

 

Fortunately, the startling notion of her features vanished as soon as it came. It was quite odd…Perhaps his seven year departure, for her, was a bit touchier of a subject than the sinner realized…

 

 

"Does it by chance have something to do with the rumor of that new project your working on?" Silverware traced the rim of her cup to stir what was left as Rosie guided more tea to travel inside. With the designated amount to her satisfaction, her spoon was placed to the side with a dainty hand in exchange for sweetener "What was it, darling? Your new "charity" case? You made vague mention of it last we spoke…"

 

 

A refreshing change of subject relieved the unknown tension in Alastor's shoulders; however burdensome talking of that place was. A sigh billowed into his breath in an answer relinquished.

 

 

"…I've found myself in the role of hotelier as of late."

 

 

"A hotel? Say, is it that same building that used to be the summer home for the Morningstar's a few blocks away?"

 

 

"Yes, yes, the very same..."

 

 

"Well, well! Look at you moving up in the world! And casting your charm onto royalty no less!"

 

 

His previous sigh turned into a sharp grumble, squeezing his tongue in his amplified disgruntlement.

 

 

"I, for one, wouldn't write home about it… it's nothing so extravagant…"

 

 

"Oh? I mean, sure, It's a bit run down now; but I've heard the place used to be pretty ritzy there back in its heyday...A prime spot for a party!…And, oh, the ones his majesty could throw! Never been to one myself when they were hosted, of course; but word does travel fast in these parts; as I'm sure you are aware. I bet the rumors don't even do them justice…"

 

 

"It most certainly is not." A huff was sent into the air as Alastor glanced to the side, "And in all my years here, no party worth my time has ever been hosted there…"

 

 

Offering a tsk, Rosie dabbed at her lipstick with the dark cloth appointed at her side.

 

 

"You're brooding again, dear. Go on, take another bite…"

 

 

Begrudgingly, Alastor complied with an inconspicuous grumble. The other Overlord's grin brightened, rose tented teeth casting a beam with a pleased chuckle as she shook her head.

 

 

"Now, Alastor, for as long as I've known you, you've never been one to make a habit out of contriving deals that aren't to your benefit. With an outsiders point of view, you certainly seem to have all of your ducks in a row; and you have shown yourself to be more than competent to wrangle the souls under your charge,"

 

 

With a deflated huff, his hostess rested her cheek in her palm as her other arm propped up her elbow with all the elegant grace the demoness had at her disposal.

 

 

"So your problem evades me! Just what is it that troubles you, friend?"

 

 

"Absolutely nothing…"

 

 

Even if aid was needed, it wouldn't be voluntarily admitted from his lips. The information would have to be coaxed from him, pried out from in-between his metaphorical clutches; as if he were a dead man garnering naught but the world's rarest treasure.

 

 

Of course, you weren't nearly that extravagant a prize…He would, however, admit that you were a unique gem, vexing as you were.

 

 

Yes, regrettably, some credit was due to you; being versed well in the things that utterly confounded him… If it was your purpose to do so, to confuse him to the point of savoring both your rare allure and adversity; then uncertainty was a lesser known talent you possessed. Yet, it was a subterfuge he would outmatch eventually…

 

 

"Bushwa!* You wouldn't have made an appointment to meet with me if it wasn't for anything important, so I'll have none of that. And I can clearly see there is something wrong… I dare say it's to the point that you sound like you have a porcupine stuffed deeply up your behind! You are far too stuffy this evening… No, no we can't have that!"

 

 

Her hand fell underneath the tablecloth a moment before procuring a silver flask. Before she even unscrewed the top, Alastor could smell the delicate, peppered notes of the Rye within her hold. Distraction in the form of one of his favorite vices in a glass was just what he needed…

 

 

Rosie decanted a couple of knuckles of the liquor into an empty glass obscured by the centerpiece separating them. Collecting it into her grasp, the cannibal offered the spirit with a coaxing, soothing tone. The sinner took the drink with as much care as it was gifted.

 

 

"…So go on. drink and spill. Just what has you so out of sorts?" Alastor opened his grin, but took pause as his counterpart raised a palm, "and, before you even start, no, I won't take "I don't know" as an answer… Should it even come to that…"

 

 

A chuckle wheedled into the radio host's breath, offering the briefest of respite for his frayed nerves.

 

 

"…You wound me so…A radio host always finds something worthy of discussion; and if not well…Improvisation is a strong suite of mine… "

 

 

Alastor brought the rye to his lips. The intensity of the tasteful burn soothed his over extended patience.

 

 

"Haha. And I should say this is hardly the time for it! No, I require nothing more grand than the truth if you would be a dear and elaborate?"

 

 

Pausing, Alastor glanced to the side as he took another prolonged sip of his rye. The knuckle of liquor sloshed in the glass as he pulled it away from his lips and swirled the liquor with the motion of his wrist.

 

 

"…Do you recall the poems I briefly referenced last we spoke?"

 

 

"Mmm…Vaguely…Wait. Are you talking about the ones you received randomly through the window to your studio one morning?"

 

 

"Indeed."

 

 

Rosie propped her chin atop her clasped hands in interest.

 

 

"What of them?"

 

 

"Well, you'll be happy to hear I've partially ascertained the identity of this mysterious poet."

 

 

"…Partially?"

 

 

"Yes. Said poet is one who's mind, and past, evade her. Her memory is absent…"

 

 

Rosie nodded in silent understanding. The largest feather that rested above the brim of her hat lulled down her shoulder at the slight movement; prompting his continuation.

 

 

"So, a deal has been garnered. I've taken her on as my client; and as agreed, it is part of our contract to return her to herself and allow the reconciliation of her memories. In exchange, a favor will be asked upon at a time I deem convenient…"

 

 

"Interesting…" leaning forward, the tablecloth wrinkled under the weight of Rosie's poised elbows, "...Now, do forgive me for prying but I'm a tad curious: why has this individual's problem become such a personal concern for you? In all the time I've known you, you've never been one to make an uncalculated move when conducting business. Along that same vein, however, shining light on someone's past would stand to prove a challenge…"

 

 

"Surely you don't doubt my capabilities to conquer such a feat?"

 

 

His only response was the ginger display of Rosie taking another sip of her tea. Quiet, faded billows of steam wafted into her lips as she partook in refreshment.

 

 

"There's no doubt here. Only curiosity…"

 

 

With his pride bruised by her borderline interrogation, Alastor took pause. Dramatic or not, he made his reluctance to provide the information Rosie took interest in entirely clear. She seemed far too interested for his liking.

 

 

He was of the inclination to deny her the answer to such curiosity, but paused before a phrase resemblant of his agitation escaped him. He had come to ask for advice, to seek council with a like minded equal. Denying information requested to rescue the slightest amount of the pride that shattered would do him no good. If he wished for answers, he would need to first share more of himself.

 

 

The demon removed his monocle before offering breath into the lens; wiping it free of the debris that wasn't present. Alastor would allow her question; but came to the decision that he would make her wait for the answer. A simple mind game, perhaps, but it was punishment for the audacity to question him and his personal goals; even if that claim was denied or conveniently veiled.

 

 

"…There is… Perhaps a probability that this individual may have personal ties to me. It is the sole reason I extended the invitation for an arrangement to begin with."

 

 

"So, to make sure I understand you adequately: you may know this girl? And you think because you may have shared a past with her you are equipped to return what she has lost?"

 

 

The lens the radio demon held was once again placed over his eye. Minor adjustments were made so it rested comfortably as he looked to his counterpart.

 

 

"I've stated as such."

 

 

"Well! You've been holding out on me! That's quite the intriguing situation…" A delighted chuckle drifted through each word as Rosie clasped her hands together, "And I can only assume you've come to me for some pointers on how to do that, correct?"

 

 

"…To a certain extent…"

 

 

"And just to what extent, exactly?"

 

 

Alaator shifted in his seat, glancing away to the comfort of the antique picture frames adorning the wall. He took a sip of his liquor, letting the burn and his planned words rest in his mouth for a moment.

 

 

"...To the point…" he paused, "…That I must implore your ideas..."

 

 

"Isn't that brain of yours full to the brim of adequate ones already? Why do you need to borrow mine, darling?"

 

 

"Yes, well…Despite the best of them, my efforts to appease and unlock this poet's brain have all been…" abjectly chagrined, Alastor's ears twitched but remained tall and attentive, "… Quite lacking, to put it plainly…"

 

 

"Nothing you've tried has worked?"

 

 

"Nothing so far…"

 

 

"So all of your attempts have been in vain, then? Hmm… What a conundrum…"

 

 

The petit four residing within Rosie's prim grasp was discarded to the side as she smoothed over the napkin the snack rested upon.

 

 

"Luckily for you, matters of the heart are my specialty! So, hit me with all the details and lets see if we can't unlock this girl's heart and head for you."

 

 

"Just her head, preferably…"

 

 

Alastor rolled his eyes over another sip of his liquor as his ears twitched for the umpteenth time during the interaction. The sound of the other overlord scooting her chair away from the table encouraged more of the motion of his ears. Taking a glance, confusion partially bridled his tongue as he watched her jaunt across the room in her unnamed search.

 

 

'Her heart is useless to me…Unless, of course, you plan to unlock it from within the depths of her chest cavity and present it to me on a golden platter to sample her taste to my utmost delight…If so, then by all means! Please, do entertain the thought…'

 

 

At the thought his penumbra purred into his mind, peculiarly sated. Perhaps the devious thing was proud that Alastor had come to that desire of his own personal volition rather than waiting for sweet temptation to carry what remained of his mind away.

 

 

The sinner cleared his throat before more time was wasted on lingering, intrepid wants. Such desires were misplaced.

 

 

…At least, they were at the moment.

 

 

"You still can't take a joke can you?"

 

 

"Ha! Now, who said anything about that? Humor, dear, is my specialty…But, my sense of it is neither here nor there…"

 

 

Adjusting his stance in his seat, Alastor used the back of his chair as an arm rest as his confusion was quieted. He observed Rosie place her hat on the provided hook, but not before resetting the feathers on the top of it to lay were she pleased. As if absentminded, her voice carried curiosity over to him from across the parlor in the form of a change in topic.

 

 

"…Have you, by any chance, brought those poems with you?"

 

 

"I haven't."

 

 

His response was immediate, almost clipped. The demon was aghast at how the pitch of his voice was less favorable than he anticipated. When he allowed himself to speak again, Alastor cleared his throat and introduced a wheedling lilt to his words. The subtle purr and buzz of static lulled his speech into one that would convey his subtle wish for pardon on the subject.

 

 

"…They're still kept in storage somewhere within my studio; and that girl has the rest confined in her little book, I'm afraid…"

 

 

Alastor's dissuasion sounded a bit more contrived than he would've liked, but the majority of it was truth. To even allow another access to what was made for him specifically was an affront on his pride. He wouldn't dare navigate nor condone such unprecedented stupidity. No. Your words were made just for him, and him alone; and he would keep it that way…

 

 

"…Hm. What a shame. I was so looking forward to reading them; especially if they have you intrigued…" Rosie cast him a look over her shoulder. Mock disappointment was mixed within a conveniently placed playful tone, "…I'd hoped that some discoveries could be made with their aid, but I suppose not…"

 

 

Coming back to the table, now without her hat and a different shawl draped onto her shoulders, Rosie reclaimed her seat. Rosie's voice was precise but calm as she placed a tea packet into her cup before slowly pouring the boiled water from the designated kettle for a refill. She glanced at Alastor as he raised his hand to decline her silent invitation for more of the beverage.

 

 

"Well, if the poems aren't available to tell us anything; then I'll at least need some type of information about this girl. If she is who you think, then surely you have a sense of who she was as a person… Why don't you go ahead and tell me about what you know of her, for starters."

 

 

"…She was someone I remember knowing a few years into the latter part of my days topside…"

 

 

"What's her name?"

 

 

Obsidian eyes closed as Rosie blew into her cup. Puffs of steam undulated from the top of her glass and away from her face as the brim of the teacup was reacquainted with her lips.

 

 

"As her memories currently evade her, we've thought it best to give her a placeholder name until some semblance of her past returns. We've decided upon the name "Page" until then—"

 

 

"I meant her true name, dear… You do remember it, don't you?" One of Rosie's eyes opened to peer over at the sinner. An arched brow was offered over a new moon glinting with interest.

 

 

A final gulp drained the contents of Alastor's glass as his grin pursed at the dry finish. With a narrowed eye, his vision traveled down the reflection of the bottle of rye to his right. His arm extended to collect the liquor.

 

 

The knowledge of her name was a secret harbored quietly; but one he hadn't sought to retrieve from nearly a century of other memories. It had been a purposeless phrase, a call that would've received no response should he have deigned to use it after death.

 

 

The full sound of it traveled in an exhale, as if an incantation, as he closed his eyes in concentration. Each syllable tasted foreign and stale from disuse. Yet, the familiarity and sweetness of its tune—once it lulled in and out of his voice—was something he couldn't deny.

 

 

Why was it he didn't care to remember the cadence of it until after he was prompted?

 

 

"She must have been a rather important dame to have you remember her name in its entirety, middle name and everything…Was she? A special someone, perhaps~?"

 

 

"…Having known her for that brief period of time, she held residence within my household…So I suppose….To a small degree…"

 

 

"Seems like she was quite the gem to be worthy of cohabiting with you, my friend. Are you sure this isn't a matter of the heart?"

 

 

Alastor brushed her teasing tone to the side with a roll of his eyes, allowing it to take flight through one ear and just as eagerly leave his other.

 

 

"Quite certain. Though our housing situation was nothing so contrived. Nothing more than an arrangement of benefit for two consenting parties….Meeting her was, perhaps, serendipitous at best. If it could even be considered that…"

 

 

"Ah, I see~ So you were friends with benefits, ey?…" An arched brow was paired with a smirk.

 

 

"Exactly!"

 

 

"…You have no idea what that means, do you?"

 

 

Alastor tilted his head. What was the old girl getting at? Of course he did. He wasn't daft.

 

 

"I do if it implies there were no feelings involved. Our partnership was strictly just for mutual gain. She served her purpose, as did I."

 

 

Rosie blinked before shaking her head with a sigh that transformed into an amused chuckle. With one graceful swoop, she grabbed the whiskey neatly placed neatly between the two. The spirit was poured into whatever remained of her tea before the flask was capped and discarded back into her lap. Her spoon followed suit, colliding into the cup as she stirred in the additional spiked flavor.

 

 

"…You're just digging yourself an even deeper grave, hun…"

 

 

"Pardon?"

 

 

"Nevermind…"

 

 

A growl hid under the smoothness of his voice as a hand was flapped genially in his direction. Alastor had come for answers and all he was met with thus far were needless questions. Had he been blessed with the answers already, then there wouldn't have been a reason to conduct this meeting in the first place. She still deigned to allow confusion a seat at their table when he would've wished it banished from the building entirely…

 

 

"Though, just for clarification, I do have to ask once more…Are you certain she wasn't anything else to you?"

 

 

'…Nothing other than my wife…'

 

 

How plain did he have to be in order to dissuade further questioning of that kind? He had already declined that fact. His wife, and the knowledge of her, still remained too deeply wedged into the reaches of his subconscious. He couldn't recall if he had cared enough to consider her special, even if he wished to retrieve such ideals. The only vague identity his brain allowed at present was the knowledge that she was someone Alastor had been bound to. Even then, that situation was only mandated by a piece of cardstock adorned in elaborate ink. Nothing more…

 

 

Alastor snickered to himself at the sheer coincidence. How very similar the thin lines between his past and his present were. Even so, it wasn't enough evidence for your case to convince him yet. Vague hints wouldn't do him any good. He needed to know for absolute certainty who you were…

 

 

"Must we do this line of questioning again? What else is there to say? She was just a companion who held a high place in my home. Nothing more…"

 

 

Silence was stoked as he found his mind slipping away. His thoughts wandered freely until they captured and pawed at a most curious concept. Why was he so insistent of keeping Page's possible history secret from the one he asked assistance of? The reason shouldn't have been so serious to warrant such reluctance. No, he just wished to keep his own past secret, to keep the nefarious reputation that proceeded him, even in the company of an admirable friend.

 

 

However, the thought that something else was the source of his reticence would not leave him be…

 

 

"You aren't giving me much to work with, you know…"

 

 

Finally lucid to the conversation, a verbal jab was added playfully into his voice to convey his thinly veiled annoyance with both himself as well as the topic at hand.

 

 

"Then we are on common ground, dear…", Alastor tilted his head. The bones in his neck cracked into place as he swirled the liquor in his glass just so, "But I trust you can do a lot with a little, yes…?"

 

 

"Its not impossible, but it will prove difficult without knowing all of the details. Surely you know that."

 

 

"Oh, but I'm sure you're most capable regardless…"

 

 

"Hm…Well, is there a particular moment you want to recraft for her to experience?"

 

 

"I thought we have established as much before…That tactic has already been attempted, multiple times, might I add; and as such did not prove useful…"

 

 

"Considering this girl may indeed the be the person you spent the latter part of your life with—not to mention was given the honor to reside within your home— surely there are more instances than you can count on your hand that happened between you that can be chosen from…"

 

 

The previous silence that afflicted them bred into the air until Rosie's expression perked up. Her visage softened as she took her napkin from her lap to provide a place for her teaspoon to rest.

 

 

Was that…Was that pity she sent his way?!

 

 

"Unless of course…You don't remember the time you shared together…I wouldn't blame you, if so. Many years have passed since you were among the living…"

 

 

Why did the words she offer make his face sting and his chest ache? He wasn't so incompetent as to forget his own past. No, that inadequacy was already fulfilled by you; and you had claimed that label all too readily for his liking. He would not match your failure with like minded abandon…

 

 

"Don't be ridiculous…" He chided, a tsk in his tone as he waved her statement away, "Why would I offer my services to aid in that girl's remembrance if I myself had difficulty recalling the past we possibly shared? The notion is completely preposterous!"

 

 

"Not to jump to conclusions, darling, but if you had no difficulty recalling the past then you would've shared more information with me than you have by now…" Rosie took an inhale, her ebony lips pursed, "Instead of replicating past moments verbatim, why not offer a similar experience? Bring her along for a picnic, go out dancing. Hell, take the girl on a boat ride through your bayou if you think she'd enjoy it. Anything! If you can't return her memories, then just make ones worth remembering…""

 

 

Rosie's eyes mirrored her hand that directed him to seek out his plate to partake in yet another bite.

 

 

"Now eat, won't you? You've been eyeing at that piece of meat on and off for the past thirty minutes …"

 

 

An unnoticed huff rolled underneath the demon's breath as he compelled his fork and knife to make meager, halfhearted cuts into the provided flesh. Usually the sight would be appeasing and easily devoured in mere minutes; but that wasn't the case that evening. You were still Hell bent on making him suffer this misfortune of having nourishment continuously go to waste.

 

 

Oh, what he wouldn't give to have you be his main course instead…

 

 

It would be pretense, of course; but would he deign himself the fantasy of your supposed taste to aid his meal yet again? It didn't work earlier that afternoon; but perhaps if he was desperate enough, if he wanted it enough…

 

 

…Such impropriety should've burned his face to a crisp! Especially when he would purposefully be exposing his trusted confidant to such indecency. He should've been fully chagrined by the thought, but the effervescent rumbles in his stomach encouraged his desire further…

 

 

Was exchanging his pride worth the momentary relief in his stomach? Oh, such intrepidness would be his downfall…But he couldn't go on like this. He needed to eat...

 

 

Perhaps he would find out if his most recent flight of fancy would be worth the risk of less decorum…

 

 

It didn't take much for a more strategically placed cut to glide through the offered venison tenderloin on his plate. As silverware was pressed firmly into stake, and flesh was squeezed gently with metal, did myoglobin weep freely in a dazzling scarlet wash. Color saturated underneath his portion on the plate, dripping as readily as an overly sodden sponge.

 

 

He held no doubt you would've been the same if you were the one under his hold…Oh, to have you eagerly bleed for him instead…Alastor's chest tightened at the idea.

 

 

Ah….How absolutely breathtaking...

 

 

Urging his fork forward once a sizable piece was acquired, his lips parted in preparation for the coveted delicacy. Silver and flesh greeted his palate as golden bone tapped gently on the utensil once his lips enveloped his prize. The sinner closed his eyes at the taste in sweet reluctance as his mind granted him a dazzling picture show of you:

 

 

What a feast you were, garnished on his table cloth; bare and unseasoned yet extravagantly clothed in naught but the soft, taut skin you were reborn into… He cradled your hand in his—oh so delicately— only to present your arm onto his ornate plate. You were fresh and waiting; wanting for him to make his mark, to bleed you of all sense and reason. To send you into the same madness that afflicted him…

 

 

Oh, the passionate fire he would fuel your soul just for his own cares to be washed away…

 

 

'Such a persuasive little thing…Oh, but if you insist, darling, then I shall indulge…'

 

 

Alastor forwent the silverware, grazing his teeth instead along supple flesh; amusing himself with your anguished delight…His enthrallment was delivered further with the timid, diffident whimpers you ceaselessly fed him. Each fresh plead was a relaxing melody you cast, carrying out such wicked, desolate sentiment…

 

 

Every scream—as he imagined his teeth grafting deeply into your skin— was enough to enthrall him completely. His dark whimsy only grew with each fascinating resonation he imagined. Each one was laced in such latent nature it compelled the fur on his neck to stand at end, commanded and alert.

 

 

Excitement pooled into his mouth as his prehensile tongue traced over the morsel sampled, tempting further enjoyment. He chewed slowly, flavor bursting beneath his teeth as tender tissue gave way. The delight given to him nearly melted away before he could truly enjoy the fullness of it.

 

 

Ah, ah ah….You wouldn't get away from him that easily…

 

 

Greed lead him to indulge in yet another slicing spree, this time dipping the chosen morsel into the whipped bone marrow provided. He swallowed reluctantly, wishing to savor every previous ounce consumed.

 

 

His next bite sent him soaring. Eyelids that were previously closed fluttered at the second taste he took with exaggerated relish. The pungent, high savor claimed his tastebuds fully. In a sapid dance, the flavor continued to tighten over his tongue in a piquant, sharp undertone…How phenomenally potent your taste would be…

 

 

A faint rumble of his vocal chords released his displeasure at how teasingly your screams faded from his mind. They flitted just out of earshot, just out of reach…Your concealed fright was elusive. No matter how much his thoughts demanded, the feeling of your blood dripping through his fangs drifted into nothingness. You fled from him as much as a prized hart giving chase…

 

 

Would he seriously have to beg you lure him in, to humbly plead for further enticement within the restraint and safety of his inner palace? Why was it an option he would willingly consider; to gratuitously prostrate himself before your divinity if only to gain the slightest satisfaction of your essence on his tongue…?

 

 

The sounds he missed were intensely convincing; their absence the resounding, elusive echo of a siren's last song. His displeasure wouldn't deter your retreat, even in its affectionate growth.

 

 

However, if such kitschy* tactics would beckon you closer; promising your tangible presence in his grasp, then…

 

 

Would he deign to offer you such carnal music of his own in return? Would his intentions be rewarded with your sweetly profane recitals…? His mind could only anticipate such decadent, corrupted poetry screamed for him alone… Ah, what vexing bliss….

 

 

You were his utter delight, his darling muse, his treasured meal and the last of his sanity…

 

 

His…

 

 

Whoever you turned out to be, you would be his all the same…

 

 

Another bite was expeditiously stolen, fueling more of his obsession. The epitome of you—everything you were and everything you could be—was all claimed into a final, titillating swallow.

 

 

…Even in pretense, you were perfection…

 

 

"….Mmn~…!"

 

 

Alastor was lost to the music your elusive voice weaved. The bottoms of his oxfords resonated faint taps underneath the table as he sauntered deeper into his hubris, preening himself for the pretend game he had won. His microphone lulled to life, gentle feedback spreading through the air like a disease. White noise and various hums of distant songs from a bygone era flipped from channel to channel with overly dazed frequencies. Adding a taste of whiskey to the mix only encouraged what remained of you to swirl on his tastebuds with a brilliant, renewed flourish. What a glorious finish…

 

 

The display—though trivial— was reciprocation to the intricate, bewitching dance you had initiated. You burdened his mind with abundant wonder; yet left him with the sting of curiosity and an eternity's worth of musings to further confound him.

 

 

Despite your continued vexation, he was of the mind that a reward for your efforts was owed. It came in a rush of an elicited purr underneath his breath; riddled with ample static and satisfaction as it stole the use of his lungs. It was reserved —rare— softness given in thanks for a meal well earned.

 

 

Ah, the image of your tender gaze closing for a second eternity; letting loose whimpers of audible pain as he gorged himself on what would remain of you had afflicted his poor dead heart with several palpitations. His ears flicked downward behind the ebony spikes slowly growing from his crown as he glided his tongue over sharp golden bones. Were you truly worth the pain he felt in his chest? Oh, but what a rush the imagined experience of you was…

 

 

Would the real opportunity measure up? Were you deserving of the grand ovation he wouldn't be opposed to bestow?

 

 

As his breath settled and his lungs ceased their tremors within their cage of bone; he came to the conclusion that he supposed you were worth the trouble… Though, in trade for his audibly bruised pride, he expected a reservation for the finest piece of you eventually; garnished, gilded and desecrated under his bite…

 

 

Oh, but what to choose….Everything he saw fit to sample was indeed fine—

 

 

"…Was it that good?"

 

 

Rosie's words awoke the alarms that had the proclivity of remaining dormant within him. They fiercely pealed on, each screech aiding the notion of his possible error to retain his curated facade. His smile twitched. The feedback from his mic held such an octave that Alastor specifically designated concern for the drinking glasses set before them. He opened his eyes wide, thinly shaped dials rotating briskly as the sound of channels being skipped returned in a rushed crescendo.

 

 

He was caught in an indecent state of mind as well as disposition…

 

 

And with abject horror, he was presented with the despicable realization that his spine wasn't the only thing stiff…