Down In Hell

by MeralAce

Summary:

I ran from home successfully but got murdered the same night and ended up in the Pride Ring, Hell.
[The writing gets better in chapter 3]

[Self-indulgent fanfic, it's gonna be weird. I'm not gonna post regularly on this]

Chapter 1

A young girl closes her eyes and breathes in the cool air of the town of Dover as the cab she stepped out of drives off.

It's currently night time and she's near the docks, perhaps she could use the money she stole from her father's office to rent a night at one of the hostels then take her leave via ferry to Calais.

She feels a wave of contentment rush through her at the thought of her runaway plan having gone right so far. Her parents hadn't suspected a thing when she left the house with her rucksack, but they're probably already wondering where she is by now. Not that she cares, anyway.

She starts to walk towards the hostel she had searched up on her phone a few weeks back. It's dark out, and there's literally no one around.

At least that's what she thought until she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, realising that someone just stuck a knife into it. 

She lets out a yelp and is forcefully turned around to face her assaulter, only to be met with a hard punch to the face. Along with repeated knife blows to the chest. She feels her legs giving up on her and collapses onto the floor, and the unidentified figure dragged her over to the cliff-side. She begins to feel her vision darken around the corners.

The assaulter then throws her down to die in the ocean.

She falls unconscious before hitting the water.

Notes:

yes, yes, I know it's short, but it's simply an introduction to the story.

Chapter 2: Welcome To Hell

I feel myself falling from a certain height before eventually hitting my back on the ground, sending a sharp pain throughout my body.

Ground? Wasn't I being thrown into water?

I let out a groan and rub my aching temple with my extremely pale, almost completely white hands.

Wait what? I was never that white, right?

I stare at my hands for a moment, blinking multiple times, but it still seems extremely pale.

"What the fuck..?" I mumble as I notice the tip of my nails seeming sharper than it usually was and my fingertips are faded black.

A large bombing sound can be heard from afar, causing me to flinch and look around frantically.

The atmosphere is all red. There's buildings and shit, but everything looks weird. Not to mention everyone also looks weird. Like, why the fuck do I see an unholy amount of furries here?

"Where... am I?" I ask and as if to answer my question, I notice a large sign which reads 'Welcome To Hell' and underneath it is a sign that reads 'Next Cleanse, 365 days'.

What the fuck is a 'cleanse'?

So I died and went to Hell? Well, that's just shit.

Wait.

I died and I went to Hell?

I died?

Oh, fuuuuuuckk!

"Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why!?" I hug my arms tightly. "It's not fair- It's not fair!"

I begin to feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes but I rub them away.

No. No, I won't. Not right now. If this is Hell then I sure as hell don't want to just stay put, it can be dangerous.

Where do I go? I'm so fucking confused right now.

 

---

 

I eventually find myself staring at one of the TV screens on the shops display along with some other... people. Or Sinners as they say down here.

I stand in silence for a moment and think to myself, what the fuck did I just watch?

The Princess of Hell?

On TV?

Singing like a Disney Princess about something called the Happy Hotel?

And why was there such loud static noises coming from some red-obsessed guy behind me?

The screens change to some guy with a TV head and I just turn away.

These past few minutes have been so damn weird. I had caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass display earlier, showing that I look different.

I'm dressed in a black turtleneck, dark grey cargo pants, blue and purple trainers, or sneakers as they call it in America, and a pale blue jacket with a fluffy hood. My skin was extremely pale, and my fingertips are faded to black. My hair colour is still dark brown, let loose. But now I've got dark brown bunny ears and a small and fluffy bunny tail. Oh, and I checked my feet too. I have bunny feet. As for my eyes, I have golden pupils and a dark red sclera.

Where do I go? Where do I go?

Chapter 3: Hotel

I slowly walk away from the glass display filled with TV's which has the TV head guy talking and consider going to the so-called Happy Hotel which the Princess was speaking about during the commercial, but I throw the thought out of my mind. I should try and get used to my surroundings first. Who knows, maybe the hotel is some sort of trap. Then again, she seemed hell-bent on proving that redemption is possible.

...Is it possible?

I take in a deep breath as I lean against a wall of one of the random shops in the area, looking at the red sky. My daze drifts down for a moment, focusing on the large building quite far away from where I stand. The large sign reads Happy Hotel.

Maybe I should go over there.

 

---

 

I find myself standing outside the entrance to the Princess's hotel for redemption, wondering what could possibly be waiting for me on the other side. Death? No, I'm already dead. Torture? Misery? Anguish? This is meant to be Hell, so maybe. But what have I got to lose?

I lift my right hand and knock gently against the door, waiting for a few seconds as I shuffle my feet.

The door opens, revealing a tall and slim girl with white-skin and blonde hair tied up into a low-loose ponytail. She has red pupils with light yellow sclera and she has rosy lips. Her fingertips are black and pointy. She's wearing a pale red jacket and a bow-tie.

"Oh. My. God!" The Princess, as I recognise her from the commercial, squeals out. "Are you here to become a resident at the Happy Hotel?"

"I- Um..." I trail off, not knowing what to say.

"Oh, Vaggie! I told you that singing would do the trick!"

A new voice interrupts the encounter, "Babe, give her a second to talk..."

She has long grey hair and yellow eyes with light pink sclera. She wore a white minidress with loose straps and two grey crosses on her chest and a light grey belt. She's also got a grey choker and arm length gloves, the left one being fingerless.

"Oh, right, sorry." The Princess apologises, "I'm Charlotte by the way, but you can call me Charlie, and this is my girlfriend, Vaggie!" She points the girl.

"Hey." Vaggie responds.

"Hi." I respond nervously.

"Oh! And Angel is inside, I'm sure you'll see him around later-" She takes in one deep breath. "Are you here to become a resident?"

"I..." I clear my throat. "Well, I was thinking about it... but no." Her smile turns into a pout and I let out a small laugh. "I was wondering if I could work here instead?"

"Work here?" Vaggie repeats.

"Oh, yes!" Charlie squeals, grabbing my hands excitedly into hers. "Of course you can work here!"

Vaggie crosses her arms, "Sure, you can work here. We'd love it if you did." She gives me a judgemental glare. "But why would you want to work here?"

"Vaggie! That's not nice!" Charlotte whines.

"N-no.. It's understandable..." I wave a hand. "We're in Hell. I bet it's not often you'd find someone trustworthy..."

"Yeah, it isnt." Vaggie pauses. "Hold on a second..." She squints her eyes at me. "How old are you? You look... young. Eighteen? Nineteen? Twenty?"

I smile softly, "I'm fifteen, actually."

Both Charlotte and Vaggie's jaws drop, "FIFTEEN!?"

"Yup... I'm fifteen..." I respond with a nervous chuckle.

"Wait," Vaggie replies. "You died at fifteen, yes. But how long have you been here? You can't possibly be new-"

"Today." You interrupt.

"What."

"Today." You repeat. "This is my first day in Hell. It's been around an hour or so..."

"You... You died at the end of the extermination?" Vaggie questions, dumbfounded.

"Oh..." Charlotte's eyes water a little. "You're only a kid... That's... that's so... sad..."

Vaggie clears her throat. "How about we go inside, then we can decide what job you can do here and also introduce you to Angel."

"Angel?" I ask. "The spider-guy that was recorded fighting in the... Turf War thingy? The Porn Star?"

"That's him..." Charlotte says cheerfully despite the small tears that had gathered up in her eyes. "And I'm sure he'll love having someone else around other than me and Vaggie for a change!"

"Babe," Vaggie places a hand on her shoulder. "I think we should also let Angel know she's only fifteen first in case he says anything... inappropriate around her."

"Right! Let's head inside!" Charlotte leads us in, closing the door and then Vaggie goes off to the reception desk.

"Okay, now about that job..." Vaggie starts as she leans against the desk. "You can work as literally anything since we don't have any other employees."

"Can I work as..." I start. "Like... maybe as a cleaner? Actually, no. I don't think that's something I'll like doing."

"What would you say you're good at? Writing, cooking, talking, cleaning?"

"I'm good at writing, drawing, solving problems, not the math ones. I'm also good at working together, and being creative."

Vaggie snaps her fingers. "How about you help us make the advertisements? Maybe writing a sort of article for Sinstagram? Take a photo or two to advertise? Then again this places condition doesn't seem too appealing for advertisements..."

"I can help with advertisements!" I respond excitedly and Vaggie smiles.

"Who the fuck is that?" I hear someone call out from behind me, so I turn around and see the white spider demon who I assume is Angel Dust.

"This is our new employee, Angel." Vaggie informs. "She's fifteen and just arrived today."

"Fifteen?" Angel tilts his head. "And a new arrival? That's fuckin' young for Hell. What's her name?"

"Her name is-" Vaggie pauses. "Erm... what is your name? Actually, before you say it, I'll let you know that it's pretty common for Sinners to change their names when they die. So, don't say your name if you don't want to."

"Oh, okay..." I hug my arms. "I'll change my name too then. I... wanna be called Meral."

"Like Meryl..?" Charlotte repeats with the wrong pronunciation, popping out of nowhere.

"Well, it's pronounced Mi-ral, but I don't mind if you just pronounce it as Meryl."

"That sounds nice! Does it have any special meaning?" Charlotte asks.

"Or it's just another one of those random names people take down here." Vaggie adds.

"Umm... It means gazelle in Kurdish and Turkish." I say. "I've always liked how pretty the name sounds."

"Gazelle, Huh?" Angel smirks. "I woulda expected somethin' like Bunny. Bun. Bonnie."

My cheeks, pale since my arrival to Hell, turn pink from embarrassment. "No." I pout.

"Yeah, I'm callin' ya Bonnie, kid."

"Well, it's so nice to have you around, Meral!" Charlotte smiles widely and excitedly. "Vaggie, you said she'll be helping with the advertisements, right?"

"Yeah, Charlie."

Charlotte let's out another excited squeak, but all of us freeze when a knock is heard from the closed entrance door.

"Um... Is that... supposed to be another resident?" I ask.

"No, Bonnie, I'm the only resident here." Angel responds slowly and a bit quietly, then turns to Vaggie."Maybe it's just a fan of mine wantin' to fuck me now that they know I live here-"

"Angel, shut the fuck up-"

"I'll go get the door!" Charlotte says, walking over to it and Vaggie and I watch, while Angel sits down on the couch, sucking on a popsicle.

Charlotte opens the door wide, a man dressed in all red standing in the other side, "Hello-"

She slams the door shut instantly, not letting him finish his sentence, causing me and Angel to snicker.

She opens it again then shuts it, turning around to look at us. "Vaggie, it's the Radio Demon."

"Uh... Who?" Angel asks, taking the popsicle out of his mouth.

"Don't let him in." Vaggie responds, alarmed.

"What do I do..?" Charlie asks and opens the door again.

This time I can see the man more clearly. He's slim, dapper and really tall, probably about seven feet. He has beige colored skin, a large and sharp yellow toothed smile etched across his face. He has a pinkish-red, angled bob cut with black tips at the end and two large black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, similar to deer ears. He also has two small black antlers. He has dark red sclera and bright red irises with thin black pupils. He's wearing a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white which is ragged along the bottom. Under that he's wearing a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with right red cuffs. He's got a dark-red oval shaped monocle over is right eye. He's wearing a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, he's also equipped with black gloves with red fingertips. He's carrying a cane with a vintage style microphone attached to it.

"May I speak now?" The man asks with a transatlantic accent, like the ones they used in those old movies I would watch at home, and a radio effect on his voice, as he patiently waits for a response from the Princess.

"Yes, you may." She answers with a confident demeanor.

The man reaches a hand out, letting himself in. "The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart! I saw your fiasco on a picture show and I just couldn't resist! What a performance!" He laughs. "Why, I haven't been that entertained since the Stock Market Crash of Nineteen-Twenty-Nine!" He plays with the microphone attached to his cane. "Ah... So many orphans..."

Vaggie stands in front of him with a spear in her hand, blocking him from walking any closer. "Stop right there, cabrón hijo de perra! I know your game and I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone here, you pompous, cheesy, talk-show shitlord!"

"Dear," Alastor uses a finger to move the spear away. "If I wanted to hurt anyone here..." His voice distorts and a load static can be heard emmiting from him. "I would've done so already..."

Charlie and Vaggie stare at him with disturbed looks on their faces.

So, he's the guy who was behind be when I was watching the commercial earlier today...

He resumes, "No! I'm here because I wish to help!"

"Say what now?" Charlotte splutters.

"Help!" He repeats, laughing and bringing his microphone closer to is mouth, tapping it. "Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing!"

The microphone opens its eye, "Well, I heard you loud and clear!"

"Um..." Charlie starts, "You want to help with..?"

He shadow morphs and appears behind her and Vaggie. "This ridiculous thing you're trying to do!" He explains. "This hotel! I wish to help you run it!"

"But why?" She asks with suspicion.

He laughs... again. "Why does anyone do anything?" He asks. "Sheer, absolute boredom!" He answers proudly. "I've lacked inspiration for decades. My work became mundane, lacking focus." I decide to sit beside Angel on the couch and I witness Alastor shove Vaggie to the side before continuing to speak. "Aimless! I have come to crave a new form of entertainment!"

I decide to stop listening in to their conversation, turning to Angel. "Who exactly is the Radio Demon?"

He shrugs, "Dunno, don't care." He then smirks. "All I know is that he's good lookin'."

I let out a light-hearted laugh, "He looks funny."

"That too." He replies and takes out another popsicle from the pack and starts to suck on it.

I go back to listening to the Radio Demon and Charlie's conversation, "Of course, dear Princess, I do not believe in such term!" He chuckles. "Redemption. What wacky nonsense." He shakes his head. "Oh, the non-existence of humanity! No, no, no, Princess. I doubt there's anything left that could save such loathsome sinners!"

He looks over to Vaggie, who looks offended, and Angel, who just shrugs, then to me as I tilt my head at his words. I raise a brow as his gaze rises to my bunny ears and lingers, but then he instantly looks away. "They were given a chance, my dear!" He tells Charlie. "Their chance was the lives they lived before! The punishment is this!" He puts his arms out, gesturing to his surroundings. "Redemption is simply not possible."

"So, then." She begins. "How do you say you want to help me if you don't believe in my cause?"

"Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" He pulls Charlie close to him and twirls her. "I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment, only to then repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pits of failure!"

Charlie removes his hand from her back. "Right."

"Yes, indeed!" He grabs her by the waist and drags her away. "I see big things coming your way, and who better to help you than I?"

"Uh, so..." Angel takes the popsicle out of his mouth, looking over to Vaggie. "What's the deal with Smiles over there?"

"Wait, you've never heard of him before?" She squints her eyes at him. "You've been here longer than me!"

Angel shrugs and I open my mouth to talk. "Who is he?"

"The Radio Demon." She responds. "One of the most powerful Overlords seen in Hell?"

Angel shrugs again. "Eh, not big on politics."

She leans in, "Decades ago, a sinner made his way into Hell. Seemingly overnight. He began to topple Overlords who had been dominant for centuries." She explains. "That's kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he started to broadcast his carnage all throughout Hell just so that everyone could witness his ability. Sinners started to call him The Radio Demon," She looks over to me as I let out a laugh and cover my mouth. "Yes, I know, pretty lazy. Anyways, many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world's most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing's for sure," She continues. "He's an unpredictable source of danger, a wicked spirit of mystery, and a violent monster of chaos, the likes of which we can't risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!"

I let out a thoughtful hum. "I dunno, Vaggie, he just looks weird to me. Creepy and weird."

Angel laughs, "He looks like a strawberry pimp."

I laugh, my voice cracking.

"Well, I don't trust him!" Vaggie responds.

"To be fair, do you trust any man? Any men?" Angel asks. "Men?"

She runs off to Charlie, leaving Angel and me alone on the couch.

"Okay, but seriously, where the hell did you think of strawberry pimp?" I turn to him.

"No idea." He shrugs, sucking on his popsicle again.

The two of us sit in silence as we watch Charlie and Alastor interact and make a deal, and Charlie stating that he's gonna be helping out for as long as he desires. I close my eyes, hoping to just experience some peace and quiet after just dying about an hour ago.

I hear Alastor in the background asking where the hotel staff is, and Charlie responding with, "Oh, that would be Vaggie. But we also just got a new employee today sitting beside Angel so..."

"And what can you do my effeminate fellow?" The Radio Demon suddenly calls out, right in front of us, scaring the living shit out of me. I flinch and open my eyes, covering my mouth to muffle a screech. His gaze stays on Angel.

"I can suck your dick." He responds proudly.

Mic feedback can be heard as Alastor tries to process what the fuck he was just offered.

"HA! No."

"Your loss." Angel responds.

The Radio Demon then glances at me and I sit up. "And who would you be, darling?"

"I'm Meral... I'm supposed to help with advertising..." I offer him a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you..?"

Alastor laughs, less mockingly than earlier, "My dear, you don't seem to sound so sure of yourself! However, I appreciate the manners!" His grin softens. "Do keep that smile up, my dear, after all you're never fully dressed without one."

Vaggie, in the back, seems to be fuming. "Do keep away from her, fiend. She's just a kid." She warns.

He freezes. "A Kid, you say?" He turns back to me. "How... interesting." He turns away once more. "Well this just won't do! I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up."

He snaps his fingers and a new fireplace replaces the hotel's worn down one as he approaches it and picks up a small figure covered in soot, which opens its eye and stares at the lot of us. It poofs off the soot from its body, revealing a little and cute looking woman with short hair and dressed in a maid outfit.

"This little darling is Niffty!" He informs.

Niffty drops to the floor, "Hi, I'm Niffty! It's nice to meet you! It's been a while since I've made new friends!" She scurries around, eyeing all of us. "Why're you all women? Are there any men here?!" I'm sorry, that's rude." She looks around. "Oh, man! This place is filthy! It really needs a lady's touch!" She grabs a spider and crushes it. "Which is weird since you're all ladies, no offense!" She then take out a feather duster. "Oh, my gosh! This is awful!" She somehow then starts to speed clean throughout the hotel, repeating 'nope', spotting a cockroach and stabbing it with a sewing needle. Shit here is so weird.

We stare at Niffty when a voice comes from nearby. I turn around and see a cat demon with a top hat, bowtie and no pants.

Oh, shit is really weird down here.

 

---

 

"Woah... this is so weird..." I say to myself as I sit down on my new bed inside of the room Charlie had led me too after everything that had happened, like Alastor breaking into song, taking life is a musical a bit too seriously, and some snake guy called Sir Pentious trying to attack and failing miserably. "Shit is way too fucking weird..."

The cat demon, or Husk as he called himself, is now behind the hotel's new bar, drinking cheap booze while Angel flirts with him downstairs. Charlie and Vaggie are in their shared room doing God-Knows-What, while Niffty is chasing roaches around and stabbing them. Alastor's in the kitchen cooking jambalaya which happens to smell nice. And I'm in my new room. My own room. It feels nice to have something of my own.

I look down at the new uniform which Charlie gave me; a white dress shirt, black pants with black suspenders over my shoulders, dress shoes and a dark red bowtie, folding neatly and piled on top of each other on my bed.

"Well, it does look nice..." I mumble.

A knock can be heard from the open door of my room, making me flinch and look up instantly. It's Alastor.

"Ah, my apologies, dear. If I had known you'd be so easily startled, I would've been even quieter."

I let out an awkward laugh, "I think it was the quietness that scared the shit out of me..."

"Oh? Well, too bad, I enjoy scaring the shit out of others." He responds, the corners of his lips lifted higher than before.

I hum in response.

He clears his throat, "Anyways, I just came up here to ask if you were coming down to eat."

"Oh... uh..." I pause, looking down. "Okay. Yeah, I am."

"That's wonderful to hear, sweetheart!" He chuckles delightedly. "I certainly cannot have you missing out on the best dish you'll ever consume."

His gaze drifts down towards the pile of clothes beside me.

"Do get changed before you come down, I'm sure it'll look good on you, Meral." He says with the right pronunciation. "And I hope to hear your opinion on Charlotte's commercial from about… earlier this fine afternoon."

I nod silently in response, feeling slightly sick to the stomach. It was him who was behind me. "I'll be down soon."

"Lovely." He replies, the radio effect on his voice disappears for a moment. He bows dramatically and leaves.

Chapter 4: Deer

After dinner I placed my plate and cutlery in the dishwasher and quickly headed inside my room, shutting the door with a loud slam.

I let out a breath I wasn't even aware I had been holding in and unbutton my shirt's top button to breathe a little better.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

After having gone downstairs, the son of a bitch had put me entirely on the spot in front of all the others. Not to mention he pet me. He fucking pet me. I kept my calm though.

No, I didn't.

I got up and left.

That’s on him for petting me.

I’m not a fucking pet!

Not even a full day down here and I already despise my new appearance. Why did I have to look like a bunny?

Cunt. Cunt. Bitch. Asshole. Cunt. Bastard.

I wanna wring my fingers around his skinny throat.

I am terrible at talking to people I just met, and this guy pet me.

Knock knock

“Meral, dear, may I have a word with you?” Alastor calls out from the other side, being the only person here to use the right pronunciation at all times.

I look towards my door. “No.” I hiss.

After a long moment of silence he responds. “I wish to apologise.”

“No.” I repeat.

“Why?” He responds playfully.

“Because.”

Another pause.

“...Because…?” He asks.

“Just because.”

“Only because?” I can hear the fucking smile in his voice.

“Yes.”

He hums in thought then knocks the door. “Knock knock.”

“What?” I snap.

“Boo.”

I don't respond. I stare at the shut door with a wtf look on my face. Is he seriously making a knock knock joke?

“Boo who?” I finally respond.

“Aww, darling,” He coos. “There’s no need to cry, I just wanna say sorry.”

“Oh you son of a-” He cuts me off.

“Oh, no, Meral.” He says sternly. “Do not finish that sentence.”

I open the door, “Why?” I say with a pout.

His smile widens, “Because it would be disrespectful and extremely un-ladylike.”

I raise a brow, “Do I look like a lady to you? I’m fifteen, Alastor. Teen. I’m sure you’re aware of how teenagers behave, no?”

He chuckles, “Oh, I'm aware, dear Meral.” He then claps his hands. “Now, I believe I owe you an apology.”

I cross my arms to look him in the eyes, trying to show no other emotion other than confidence.

He clears his throat. “Meral… I am… sorry . I am so sorry that you are one adorable little bunny.”

“Bitch what-”

“Ah ah ah!” He waves a finger at my face. “Language, dear.”

“I’ll watch my language after you apologise properly.”

“I already did, sweetheart.”

“No, that doesn't count.”

“It doesn't?” He questions, playing dumb.

“No.” 

“You do look adorable when you pout.”

“Off topic.”

“How is it off topic?” He tilts his head. “We’re talking about you, no?”

“If you’re not gonna apologise, then leave me alone. I just fucking died.”

His eyes widen and his smile tightens. “Pardon?” He says, his radio effect off for a moment before coming back again. “You died today?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Ah… I see.” He chuckles, almost softly, “Then I suppose I shall leave you to it. You deserve a break after such a long day.”

“Bye, Alastor.” I mumble.

“Goodbye, Meral.”

Chapter 5: Morning

Morning time the next day, I woke up feeling a lot more energized than yesterday and headed downstairs where I sat down on a stool at the small bar while Husk wipes some classes, even though they’re dry and unused. He’s probably just doing it for the sake of doing anything since it's awfully quiet this morning.
Angel is sitting on the stool beside me on my right, scrolling through his phone, probably on Voxtagram, Sinstagram or something.
Charlie and Vaggie have slept in or whatever. Not that any of us wanna know. Except for Angel, that is, who keeps insisting that they’re having sex.
Nifty is just cleaning the entire place non-stop as if there’s nothing better to do. Which might be the case right now. But still, she seems to like cleaning a bit too much.
Meanwhile, Alastor is…

I don't know where he is.

He could literally be anywhere.

His room, radio tower, outside…
Or according to Husk, at Cannibal Town, which sounds pretty terrifying even though he said they’ve got rules and all.

“I’m so bored…” I whine, earning a raised brow from the bartender and Angel puts down his phone.

“No way, bonnie,” Angel smirks. “You’re bored? That’s shocking, considerin’ how lively it is right now.”

Husk laughs but with no humour behind it, “No shit it's boring here, kid. What did you expect? Fun?”

“No…” I reply.

“Then stop whining like a child.”

“I am a child.”

“Fifteen is not a child.” He places down the glass. “You’re old enough to know how to behave.”

“I do know how to behave.” I retort, crossing my arms. “I’m just bored right now, that’s all…”

Husk rolls his eyes then looks past me. You figure it’s Alastor.

“I’d have to agree with the youngster here, Husker.” Alastor chimes from behind me, probably materialised from the shadows. “She has such good manners. Though she does also tend to swear like a sailor and forget said manners at times. Quite the contradiction, really.” He sits on the stool on my left. “Do pour me a drink, will you, Husker?”

Husk grumbles something under his breath before doing as told and Angel purrs at him.

“Aww, is the kitty mad?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You told me that yesterday, whiskers…” He leans forward. “And i said only if you watch me, baby~”

Alastor grimaces, making a sort of disgusted sound.

“Not a fan of dirty talk?” I ask.

“It’s improper, darling.” He responds, taking the glass of.. Whatever drink that is, and taking a sip.

“Oh, so you’re old fashioned?”

“I prefer the term proper.” He responds, giving me a side glance.

“And that basically means you think the whole world is improper?”

“Most of the world, yes.”

“Damn.” I tilt my head. “I feel insulted.”

“Don’t be.” He places his glass down. “It’s merely an opinion.”

“Still.” I pout and look over at Husk. “Can I have a drink?”

“No.” The three of them say in unison.

“Why?” I ask, just for hell of it.

“Because you're too young, idiot.” Husk answers, not even giving me as much as a glance.

“I'm not an idiot, you cunt.”

The three look at you with shock. Husk’s brows are furrowed in confusion, Angel’s mouth is agape and he seems a little excited, and Alastor has a look of amusement in his eyes, his smile seeming larger than before.

Alastor clears his throat and tuts. “Now now, my dear, that’s not very polite, is it?”

I shrug.

“What I was trying to say, darling, was that-” I cut him off.

“Sorry, Husk… I have no filter…”

“-Apologise…” He continues. “I suppose I didn't need to remind you?”

“No.” I respond, looking him in the eyes. “I know when to apologise on my own, thank you very much.”

“How adorable.” Alastor pets my head and I attempt to bite his hand, which he moves away. “I see you've gotten your well needed rest, Meral.”

“Yes. I have.” I reply, resting my chin on my hand.

“Does that mean I can annoy you now?”

“You sound like a child when saying that.”

“Oh, please,” He scoffs, waving his hand. “I'm nowhere near behaving like a child.”

Husk fake coughs and I don't hold back my laugh.

“So…” I lean my elbow on the counter. “What do you guys think is taking Charlie and Vaggie so long?”

“Probably doing some kinky role-play.” Angel replies. “Or they’re just suckin’ on each others-” Husk cuts him off.

“There's a child here, you idiot.”

“Said child is clearly mature enough to understand and speak about such topics, whiskers~”

Alastor pets me again with no shame, “Oh, Angel, this darling you speak of is only a little baby.”

I glare at him, “I'll bite you.”

“I'd love to see you try.”

I once again attempt to bite his hand but Husk pushes us away from each other. “Okay, that's enough playtime for you two.”

“And who are you to tell me what to do, Husker?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Alastor.” I cross my arms. “You’re clearly in need of someone telling you what to do.”

Alastor’s eye twitches and his grin tightens, as if he's thinking the audacity this child has, talking to me as if I’m the child.

I smirk, ready to have a full blown argument, but Charlie’s voice calls out from behind us.

“Meral! Hi, good morning, guys! Sorry, so so so so sorry I'm late...” She pants out, and we can see her flushed face. “Meral. Good morning and I am excited to say, "I have a task for you!”

“Oh hell yeah, baby!” I laugh. “I get to work on the advertisements, right?”

“Yes!” She responds cheerfully. “And I'd love it if you and Alastor work together on this.”

My smile tightens, almost straining to remain on my face, while Alastor squints his eyes a little, his smile as large as always.

“Oh.” I respond, trying to seem positive. “That sounds… great.”

“How…” Alastor pauses as if looking for the right word to use. “Exciting.”

“That's fantastic! I’ll be going around and working on the other stuff now, you two get started. Bye!” She runs off, leaving me and Alastor to have to work together.

Chapter 6: Modern Versus Old Fashioned

I glance to my side, where Alastor sits, gripping his glass tightly.

“Well fuck.” I mumble.

“Language, dear.” He responds instantly, any sign of irritation he probably had in him masked by that clearly fake smile he always wears.

I don't respond, simply looking back at Angel who's holding in a laugh then at Husk who looks like he doesn't give any shits.

“How are we gonna start this…?” I start, the words leaving my mouth slowly and carefully as if saying one wrong thing (even though I’ve said plenty in the past few minutes) might cause a disaster. “Like… I don’t even have a phone.”

Alastor scoffs. “Whoever said you’d need a phone to advertise this dingy place?” He puffs his chest- literally. “All you need is a functional microphone, fantastic humor, excellent improvisation skills, and a good voice.”

“I hate to break it to you, but making a post or whatever on social media would attract more people’s attention.”

“Darling,” He draws out condescendingly. “Plenty of people would be listening to my broadcasts.”

I don't say anything for a few seconds. “I have an idea. It’s not anything undoable. It’s simple, really.”

“And praytell, what’s your idea, child.” He questions, scrunching his nose a little.

“Why not do both?” I ask, smiling a little. I oh so desperately don't want to make any enemies down here, and this guy looks like nemesis material. “Just… you do you on radio, and I’ll take care of the more… social media related aspects?”

He hums, “We could, I suppose.”

“Then… I may as well get to it…” I then look down.

Angel grins. “Dontcha worry about that, Bonnie. I’m sure you’ll do great. Or probably decent..”

“...really?”

”D’you know what you're gonna do?”

“Not really.” I laugh nervously. “But how would this sound? Take photos of the important parts of this place, then write a good and eye-catching post on this place.”

“That’s probably good enough.” Husk responds.

“Finally… I can use my nonfiction article writing skills for this shit. I’ll need a good hook and an interesting title. Wait, where did Alastor go?”

“Probably went off to start broadcasting or whatever bullshit he does.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll go to my room and think this shit through.” I mumble before running for the stairs and opening the door to my room.

On my bed, I see a wrapped-up red box with a golden ribbon tied around it with a little note.

I walk over to the bed, leaving the door slightly open, and pick up the box, reading the note.

 

Hi Meral!

Inside the box, there’s a few things that I want you to consider as gifts and hopefully would be helpful for working on the advertisements for the hotel!

I’ve also already put everyone’s numbers in for you!

Good luck and enjoy working with Alastor!

Charlie ♡

 

“Thanks, Charlie…” I whisper and untie the ribbon and open the box.

Inside, there’s a brand-new phone (branded Voxtek, whatever that is), a cool black 4K camera, and a laptop and wires and cables.

Time to get to work and prove Alastor wrong.

 

---

 

I plop onto the couch downstairs in the lounge, sighing and smiling as I glance at the time on my phone. It reads ten-thirty-six. I spent nearly three hours on this shit.

Speaking of which, I had chosen a purple wallpaper, downloaded apps, and made a bunch of accounts on different social media platforms before taking photos using the camera, transferring the photos to the laptop, and writing a full post on my new Voxtagram account page.

I then looked for Charlie, showed Charlie, got it approved by Charlie and posted it with all the required tags.

The next thing I gotta do is find Alastor and boast that I am better than him at this shit. Or just ask him how he got on and not begin a petty rivalry with a guy who’s said to tear apart those who disrespect him.

“Since you’re sitting on that couch with such a prideful expression then it’s safe to assume you’ve completed your assignment, darling?”

Speak of the devil- or rather, in this case, think of the devil.

“Yes,” I smirk as I turn around to face Alastor, who’s standing behind the couch. “I’m done.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Meral!” He responds, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m sure you’ve done an excellent job.”

I clench and unclench my fists, which he clearly noticed since he looked at my hands and back up at my face. “And I suppose it’s safe to assume that you’ve also… completed your assignment?”

A laugh escapes his throat, “Yes, of course, my dear. I have done my part. And quite impressively too, might I add.” He ruffles my hair. “So don't you worry, mon petit lapin.”

“Really?” I furrow my brows slightly and respond, my tone calm but unamused. “Your little bunny? Don’t call me that.”

“You understand French?” he questions, his eyes squinted.

“Yeah, they taught it in school.” I stretch my arms and back, then crack my fingers before sitting on the couch normally rather than slouched. “You?”

“Me?” His tone of voice sounds confused.

“Where’d you learn French or whatever?”

“I didn't learn it.” He answers, materializing into shadow and appearing back, seated beside me on my left on the couch. “My mother spoke it when I was younger and I caught onto some of the vocabulary.”

“Ooh, cool.” I respond, my voice devoid of any sarcasm, but rather laced with interest. “But seriously, don't call me that or I'll call you Bambi.”

“Excuse me?” He squints his eyes, his smile tight, and the sound of a radio screeching can be heard.

“Nevermind…” I mumble as I avert my gaze, my ears drooping a little.

The sound of a notification comes from my phone and I look at the lock screen.

Oh, the post already has a few likes and a repost. The repost is from Angel’s account (I know since the user is called Angel Dust and has the blue checkmark right beside it) and the likes are from a few other sinners.

I turn off the phone and put it back down beside me on the armrest on my right.

“What brought you down here?” Alastor asks, breaking the silence between the two of us, and places one leg over the other, propping his cane against the couch.

“What?” I tilt my head, one ear lifting in curiosity.

“Your sin, crime, reason for being down here, Meral.” He elaborates. “And it's ‘pardon’, not ‘what’, dear.”

“Wouldn't that be as personal as asking your jailmate why they’re in prison?”

“I suppose it is.” He shrugs, fiddling with his cane.

I groan dramatically, leaning back again. “I’m so bored….”

He raises a brow, “Are you implying that I bore you, sweetheart?”

I glance at him and grin, “Maybe.”

“Hmm, how about you go find some dolls to entertain yourself with then?” He responds, his voice coated with condescension.

“I’m fifteen, not five, you son of a-”

“Don’t,” He harshly cuts me off. “Don’t finish that.”

I furrow my brows, falling silent.

How come when I swear he simply corrects me but now, for the second time, when I almost called him that he seems so pissed and uncomfortable. Maybe he just likes his mom or something and genuinely doesn't like the insult? If so, I probably should not say it to him again.

Alastor then speaks up again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” I blink twice.

“You have a look in your eyes and I hate it.”

“What look?”

He doesn't respond, and as if on cue, Niffty appears out of nowhere, and places a little flower in my hair that looks like a daisy, and starts giggling maniacally.

“I knew it’s gonna be pretty on you!” She chirps, jumping excitedly.

“Um… thanks..?” I smile a little.

“You’re welcome, Meral!”

Alastor gets up, patting Niffty’s hair before walking off, “I’ll be off now, dear, I have important things to attend to. Until then.” He bows theatrically, materializes into shadow, and dissolves into thin air.

I turn back to the maid, “How’re you?” I ask, hoping to start a non-awkward conversation.

“Oh, I'm feeling great!” She squeaks out. “I’ve been cleaning, tidying and cleaning, and killing those pesky bugs, and tidying up!” She pauses. “And did I mention cleaning?”

“Yes… you did.” A soft laugh leaves me. “And did you say killing bugs?”

“Mhmm! Yes!” She giggles creepily.

“Sounds… interesting.” I let out a nervous laugh.

“Then maybe you can join me sometime?”

“Uh.. no, I’ll pass.” I smile politely.

She pouts. “Oh, okay.”

I feel my heart clench at the sight and bite the inside of my cheek. “Hey, no… don't look at me like that. I… I'll think about it, okay?”

“Okay!” She smiles and scurries away with her feather duster.

I reach for my phone and check the notification, it’s from Vaggie.

 

-Did you fucking hear what Alastor said on his goddamn radio???

 

I furrow my brows and respond.

 

-No, why?

 

Vaggie then texts back.

 

-He put barely any effort into it!!!

 

I’ve only known this guy for a day, but why am I not surprised?

Chapter 7: Scolding

“-you’re not taking this seriously, Alastor!”

The entire time Vaggie has been scolding Alastor, I've been holding back giggles, literal giggles. Mainly because, One, Alastor’s half-assed job was hilarious, and two, because of the calm and careless look on his face as he sat next to me the whole time Vaggie had been ranting.

“Vaggie…” Charlie places a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. “Calm down, it’s not that big of a deal…”

Vaggie’s eye twitches. “Not a big deal? The stupid overlord said he’s here to ‘help’ and he’s not doing anything to help !”

I raise my hand, instantly put it down, and speak up, trying to diffuse the situation. “Um… Technically it's only been… What…? A day? Not even a full day yet since he’s come here…”

“Still.” She hisses.

“Woah, chill out, girl.” I let out a nervous laugh, leaning back onto the couch.

“The infant’s correct, Vagatha.” Alastor pipes in, his shit-eating grin on display as always. “I could always try again~.”

“Infant?” I instantly face him, my neck cracking, a pissed smile making its way to my lips. “I was defending you, you old man.”

He gasps dramatically and places a hand where his heart should be, feigning offense, even though the look in his eyes indicates he did get offended. “Me? Old? You’re impossible.”

“Sure.” I reply dryly, my bunny ears (which I’m still trying to get used to) drooping as they have for most of the time I've been dead.

Alastor pokes my cheek. “I’m not old.”

“You are.” I respond, looking him in the eyes.

“I’m not.” He continues, the look on his face almost like a pout, but his smile is still there.

“Alright then, how old were you when you died?”

“Quite personal, don't you think?”

“If you don't say, then I'll just assume you were in your sixties, peepaw.”

“Forty.” He responds sharply, his face close to mine.

“That's old.”

“No, it isn't.”

“It is-”

Vaggie then interjects. “That’s enough from the both of you! You’re acting like children.”

We both move away from each other, sitting back down.

I cross my arms. “I am a child. He has no excuse.”

“You, my dear, have no excuse either.” He scoffs. “You’re fifteen, for the love of God. Not five.”

“So?” I raise a brow, completely ignoring Vaggie’s facepalming. “I’m an adolescent. My hormones are acting up.”

“Excuses.” He scoffs again.

“Both of you, stop that.” Vaggie intervenes again.

“Please..?” Charlie adds on.

Angel, sitting on one of the stools at the bar, speaks up. “Damn, I think I’m gonna enjoy stayin’ here.”

“Yeah, same.” I grin.

“What? Ya like arguin’ or somethin’?”

“Yeah, no, maybe. A little.” I shrug, leaning back and mumbling. “Parents behavior can impact their kids.”

I hear Alastor’s radio static thing and he looks as if he wants to say something but doesn’t.

Charlie then clears her throat, trying to gain our attention. “Okay.. how about we let this go now. Alastor’s… um… offhand attempt at sponsoring this hotel was not cool, but we can just… let this go.”

Alastor hums dismissively.

Charlie continues, “Now, Meral, since you're new to Hell, how would you like to go out a little? Maybe get used to this place?”

“Sure, I'd love to.” I reply sweetly, a polite smile on my face.

“Alright then!” She then looks at Alastor. “Could you go with her please?”

My smile falls. “I changed my mind.”

“Oh, I'd love to do so, dear Charlotte.” He responds, his voice dripping with amusement.

My head snaps in his direction. “Oh, so you’re a babysitter now?”

“Watch it, darling.” He responds, his voice sharp. “I’ll run out of patience eventually.”

“I can't wait.” I reply sarcastically before crossing my arms.

He chuckles, “ You look like an adorable little baby bunny, dear~”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment or insult?”

“Both.” The corners of his lips curl upwards. “Maybe more of a compliment than an insult, though.”

“I'll take it then.” I respond without looking at him, an extremely small smile making its way to my face.

“Now, there’s that smile I've been trying to get out of you.” He coos and my smile instantly drops. “Oh dear, why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Because I don't like you. You’re rude.”

“I’m rude?”

“Yeah, you.”

“No, you-”

“Stop being childish, Alastor.” I cross my arms.

He opens his mouth to retort but pauses and tilts his head.

“Why is it that you keep crossing your arms like that?”

“No reason.”

“You seem… bothered.” He says, his tone oddly sincere rather than taunting.

“No shit. I’m still adjusting to death- the afterlife- this- whatever the fuck it is-” My voice cracks and I stop.

“Right, of course.” He props his cane against his knee. “You don’t exactly… behave as if you’re troubled. Rather, you communicate as if you’ve been down here for decades-”

“I didn't even get to live for two decades.”

Angel chokes on his own spit. “Jesus- you sound so miserable now.”

“I’m fine.” I respond easily with a simple smile, having been used to it.

Alastor arrows his gaze, “Are you certain-”

“I’m fine.” I repeat firmly. “Really.”

“Then if you’re fine, we should take our leave now.” The deer replies, standing up, straightening his suit, and picking up his cane.

“Perfect.” I get up as well, standing directly in front of him.

He extends a gloved hand waiting silently for me to take it, which I do, grasping it tightly with my black-leather short-glove covered hand.

Chapter 8: Outside

“Fuck…” I groan and cough, my hands on my knees as my back is bent and I'm facing the sidewalk which is covered in my puke.

Alastor, who by shadow morphing slash teleporting slash whatever unholy magic he used to rig us out here after I took his hand causing me to puke, dares to make a disgusted sound at the sight of the near-clear bile of the ground.

“Are you…” He begins, slowly walking close, making sure to keep at least three feet away from the pile of acid. “Alright?”

“No- yes, I'm fine.” I grimace at the sight and step back. “Gross. Fucking- gross. I hate vomit- I hate it so much-”

Hate or fear? As far as I'm concerned, every time I've ever felt like puking, I was scared. I begin to feel the tears forming in my eyes and I rub them away, and Alastor takes a neatly folded dark red handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to me.

“What for?” I ask.

“Your eyes. And for the filth dripping on your chin.”

“I'm not using a handkerchief to clean puke. That’s disgusting.”

“I insist, dear.”

“No way, no, never.” I quickly take out a pack of tissues from my pocket, taking a piece out and cleaning my chin and mouth before throwing it in a bin.

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“It's not about being stubborn, it's about not using a handkerchief to clean bile. That’s just nasty. Tears? Yeah. But bile? Never.”

“Darling, I assure you, it’s quite alright. I can always get it washed later.”

“I'm well aware you can, Alastor.” I respond, straightening my back. “It's simply that I personally can't use it for such… stuff.”

“If you say so, Meral.” He sighs.

“God, why am I even bothering to speak formally?” I mumble to myself.

“Because it's proper?”

“Yes.” I say before I start walking, on Alastor’s left side, by the street. Alastor then quickly switches sides, making sure I'm on his right.

I stop in my tracks. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“You’re doing the thing- that thing gentlemen do- walking on the side of the road when with a woman.”

“What's wrong with being a gentleman?” He tilts his head.

“I'm not saying there’s anything wrong.”

“Then why are you complaining?”

“Because I want to walk on the left.”

“Hmmm, no.”

“Why not?” 

“My gentlemanly instinct won't let me.”

“Bullshit.” I cross my arms. “It's not that hard, just let me walk on that side.”

“Apologies, dear infant, but I simply cannot lower myself to such improper ways.”

“Alastor.”

“It's a no, darling.” He gently links his arm with mine, despite being probably a full foot taller than me.

Speaking of height, being a sinner demon has increased my height,like it has with most of the others. So instead of being five-feet-something, I'm around six-feet-something now.

“You're so stubborn yourself, y'know?” I comment as we walk. “I can't believe you have the audacity to call me stubborn, you hypocrite.”

Without giving as much as a glance he responds. “You're lucky you’re only a child. I wouldn't have hesitated on tearing your soul apart and broadcasting-”

“Yeah, yeah, broadcasting my screams for all of hell to hear.” I cut him off. “Vaggie said and I also did a bit of online research.” I then gasp. “Speaking of online research, there's barely any shit on you. Whatcha do? Kill anyone who got info on you?”

“Something of the sort.” He responds. “You're so disrespectful yet so polite when you want to be. A fucking contradiction.”

“Did you just swear?”

“That's a sign that I'm losing patience.”

“With the way you're talking to me, I can hardly find any fear in me. In fact, none. And thanks for the compliment.”

“That was no compliment.”

“Calling me polite is a compliment.” I laugh a little. ”Maybe if you praise me for that more I'll actually behave.”

“It's ‘praise me more for that’, not ‘praise me for that more’, my dear.” He chuckles, tapping his cane against the pavement as we walk through Hell’s streets. “I’ll only praise you if you're planning on being genuine with that.”

“I like to work with praise and rewards. I don't like behaving and doing what I'm told if I don't like it often. Even if I do like what I'm told to do, getting praised is like a bonus and an encouragement.”

“Well then, I'll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, now where are we heading?” I ask, my bunny ears pointing upwards in curiosity and excitement.

“Well, for starters, I was considering you to meet a friend of mine, but I don't believe we're on such terms yet, so I've decided we go buy you some things.”

“Things like…?”

“Things like clothes, entertainment, and necessities, not that the hotel doesn't have any.” He stops us in front of a store. “Just in case you might want something special for yourself.”

I narrow my eyes. ”What's the price? My soul?”

“Hmmm, no, not yet.”

“Not ever, you mean.”

“No, not yet.”

“You're not even gonna deny it? Wow.” I scoff lightheartedly and I earn a menacing grin from him so I gaze at the store. “I’m paying with my own money- Fuck, I dont have any.”

“Which is why I'll be paying.” He answers cockily.

“I'm not owing you shit. Only money. No interest. Which I'll pay back in full when I have enough since Charlie said she'll give me a paycheck at the end of each week.”

“Are you striking a deal with me, infant?”

“Yes.”

“You've clearly thought it through.” He bends over, extending his hand. “It's a deal.”

I take his hand and force myself to remain calm and composed despite my heart beating hard in my chest as the green light flashes as a sign that the deal is sealed.

“There were no loopholes in that, right?” I ask.

“Unfortunately for me, no, there weren't.”

“Good.” I smile innocently. “Now let's go in!”

“Who are you to give orders?" He mumbles to himself.

“Your mom?” I respond with the fakest innocent smile.

“Watch it.” He growls. 

“My bad.”

The two of us head inside of the store, which seems to contain pretty much anything the one pound shop back at home did, except some more.

“Holy shit- is that a slinky!?” I squeal excitedly.

“A what?”

I pick up the slinky from the shelf and look at it in awe.

“You kids are so strange…”

“It was fun to play with as a kid, haha…”

I then notice an aisle of sketchbooks and pencils and erasers and watercolor paint and alcohol based markers and-

“Oh. My. God.” I bite my tongue to prevent a happy squeak.

“They’re just art supplies.” He deadpans.

“And it means only so much for an artist.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Well, I love to draw and I was doing it for GCSEs.” I pause. “Speaking of GCSEs, there’s no rule for kid’s having to go to school after going to hell, right?”

“No, fortunately for you.” He then stars me in the eyes. “You’re British?”

“Grew up there, yeah.” I responded. “But no, I’m Kurdish.”

“What's it like?”

“Kurdistan or Britain?”

“Both.”

“Well, I lived in London and… it was boring . But there were some nice places, like malls and stuff. As for Kurdistan, I've never been.”

“So you were born and raised in London?” He asks, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Grew up in London. I was born in the Netherlands, but my family left there when I was an infant.”

I flick through one of the mixed media sketchbooks, feeling the texture of the pages.

“It's perfect.” I whisper out in awe then turn to Alastor. “Is there a limit to how much I can spend here?”

“Five-hundred.”

“Five-hundred what?”

“Hell bucks.”

“That's what the currency is called here? Damn, sounds lame.” I look back at the art equipment and at the sketchbook in my hands. “Five-hundred sounds like more than enough.”

“It’s supposed to be.” He then bends his back down to inspect whatever I'm looking at. “So, what will you buy, sweetheart?”

“Okay, this honestly sounds like a little too much now, but a sketchbook, that pencil, eraser, sharpener and ruler pack, watercolor, and the brush pens.”

“You’re going to use watercolor in a mixed media sketchbook?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, how about you look around for some other things?" He tilts his head to an almost ninety-degree angle. 

“The only other thing I'd need would be electronics, but I have a good feeling you’re going to refuse to use your money to buy anything like that.”

“Why, you know me so well!”

“Figures.”

I notice an aisle with small portable tech and instantly reach for the tiny red and yellow rectangular radio.

“Okay i’m done.”

 

---

 

Alastor and I walk back to the hotel as I carry the shopping bag in my hands, a victorious smile on my face, having been walking on the side facing the road instead of letting Alastor do what his so-called gentlemanly instincts tell him to.

“You’re oh so stubborn, my dear.” He begins as he walks beside me.

“So are you, my dear.” I reply.

“And childish.” He adds on.

“You’ll see a childish being when you look in the mirror.”

“Darling, what did we say about being impolite?”

I groan. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” He says as he pushes the hotel entrance open, gesturing for me to head in first, which I do, figuring that he wont stop being his gentlemanly self.

Charlie, appearing from the lounge with a big smile on her face, approaches us, “So, how was it? Did you two get along? No bickering, right?”

I glance at Alastor and back at Charlie with a smirk. “Nah, we argued.”

Alastor raises a brow then the smile on his face grows. “Unfortunately so, Charlotte,” He adds. “The infant and I simply… cannot get along.”

Her smile falls. “What?”

“Sorry, Charlie…” I apologise, shaking my head in fake disappointment, which she clearly can't tell is fake.

“It's… okay.” She then places both her hands on her hips. “I’m gonna try again next time! Bye guys!” She says, running off.

I look back at the Radio Demon, “So, she's gonna make a plan. How sweet."

“Most likely.” He replies, chuckling, “Though I’m sure we wouldn't mind being civil with one another, no?”

“No, we wouldn't.” I fake yawn, stretching my arms and back before walking towards the staircase. “I’m going to my room for a bit.”

“See you around, little one.”

I pause at the gentleness of his tone then turn around, “See you around, Old man.”

He deadpans, “Wow, darling. Simply wow .”

I let out a laugh, “Alright, alright. See you around, Alastor.” I turn around and climb the stairs to my room.

Chapter 9: I Hate Life

I stare at my laptop screen in shock, my mouth clamped shut but my eyes wide, my ears pulled back.

My account.

My social media accounts from when I was alive.

They’re still accessible.

How the fuck!?

I decided to download all my content, reposting them on Hell’s version of the same social media platforms.

Surprisingly, Hell has it’s own version of AO3 called Archive of our Hell and it looks the fucking same.

Eh, who cares?

I finish adding the VPN and other shit that Angel told me to add to my laptop and V-Phone since according to him, the CEO spies on people, and I then finish posting all my content on Hell’s platforms and just leave my old account from when I was alive abandoned and shut my laptop, sighing as I lean back in my desk chair, leaving the device on the desk and getting up to sit on my art supply covered bed.

My old drawing may be gone, having drowned with my corpse, but at least I can continue writing and shit down here, isn't that right?

And this time, my mom can’t stop me!

“Darling, who are you talking to?” I hear Alastor question from the open door.

“Was I saying all that aloud?”

“Yes.”

“Ah fuck.”

“Language, dear.”

I don't respond, simply stacking the art supplies on top of the sketchbook, then putting it beside the mini radio on the desk beside the bed, my bag and jacket on the chair, like it would have been in school.

“How well would you say you’ve adjusted?” He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Pretty okay, honestly.” I sit cross legs on my bed, my back against the bed frame.

“No one to miss up there?”

“Only a school friend.” I then pause. “And maybe some family members.”

“Parents?”

“Half-sister.” I scoff. “Never my parents.”

“I suppose it would be too invasive for me to ask why?”

“Yes.” I then look up at him. “Do you want anything?”

“No, I simply came here to check up on you.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused. “What is it with you?”

“Darling, must there be a reason for me to make sure you’re alright?”

“This is Hell. It's the least I expect from anyone.”

“Too bad,” He chuckles, walking over, his cane tapping against the ground, and sitting on the edge of my bed. “You know, a wise woman once told me that when you’re stressed or upset, you should always seek support from those around you.”

“Is said wise woman your mother?” I ask with a sly grin, “Since no one probably loves an asshole like you besides a mom.”

He arrows his gaze, “Yes, it was my mother.” He then puffs his chest. “And I'll have you know, I was loved by many, if not all of New Orleans!”

“Damn, I didn't know a whole population could be blind.” I quip and he lets out a scoff.

“Oh, please , you mannerless excuse of a woman-”

“And did you say New Orleans? New Fucking Orleans?” I ask, clearly interested.

“My, what a colourful language.” He responds, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“So you’re from New Orleans?”

“Yes.” He answers, fiddling with his cane.

“What's it like?”

He turns his head, facing me, his finger tapping against his cane a few times as he hums in thought. “Colorful, musical, crime-ridden, entertaining, segregated, filled with bigots, but quite enjoyable for the most part. At least for me.”

“Segregated? What era did you live in?”

“The early nineteen hundreds, my dear. I thought it’d be obvious.”

“Wait wait wait wait.” I run both hands through my hair. “Do people age down here? Like.. at all?” 

“Darling, Hell is eternal.”

“So I'm gonna be stuck looking fifteen!?”

“I'm afraid so.”

I groan dramatically, falling on my back, onto the soft mattress. After a few moments I look up at him. “To answer your question, yes, I suppose it should've been obvious… since you’ve got a Mid-Atlantic accent. But that was common in the North. New Orleans is in the South, right?”

“Correct.” He praises, patting my head before retracting his hand before I attempt to bite. “I’m impressed you even know a thing considering youngsters these days are so attached to their… rectangular shaped devices.”

“You mean Phones?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“That explains why you’re so old fashioned.” I sit up, turning to face him full body. “Grew up in the damn 20s?”

“I was a grown man in the twenties, darling.”

“I keep forgetting you’re old when you act like a child sometimes.” My eyes widen and I gasp in excitement. “DId you serve in the war? What was it like? Was it cool? Gory? Maybe traumatising? Was it-”

“Yes, I served in the First World War, if that’s what you’re referring to. It was enjoyable, sometimes. Only the moments where I'd manage enough time to slaughter someone with my darling knife instead of those rather quick-finishing guns. Though, for the most part it was… traumatizing and inhumane. Not that I was ever humane to begin with.”

“What?” I blink.

“Oh nothing you need to worry your silly little head about.”

“But I wanna know what you mean…” A whine escapes me.

“Meral, you can easily guess.”

“Murder?”

“What else?”

“There's more?”

“I suppose I'll leave that for another day.”

“Fine…” I sigh. “I waa know more though.”

“About what?”

“The twenties.” I respond, sing-song. “I’m a writer and I just love adding historical context, so please?”

“Only if you tell me something about yourself in return.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then I won't tell you more.” He pauses, glancing at my shut sketchbook. “Have you begun making any artistic pieces yet?”

“Only some sketches..” I mumble, having always been awkward about my art.

“May I have a look?” He asks, his smile softening at the edges. “You’re free to say no, of course.”

“No, it's fine, you can look.”

He picks up the sketchbook,flipping through the first few doodle-filled pages, containing drawings of him, Husk, Niffty, Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie, and some other characters from fandoms he’s probably never heard of. And one sketch of my school crush, whom I shall never confess to. Some of the sketches have been coloured in with brush markers and include some messy backgrounds.

“My my, you’re quite good at this, Meral.” He praises, patting me on the head like I'm a child (or a pet). “I’ll admit, I expected worse.”

“What.”

“Hmm?” He tilts his head, his lower eye lifting and the corners of his smile curling upwards as he feigns innocence. “I’m merely saying that I thought drawing was a simple hobby, and that you drew like an amateur.”

“I feel heavily insulted.”

“You do?” He cackles. “Well, it’s not my fault you're oh so very sensitive.”

“Alastor, I hate you.”

“Now now, my dear, that’s no way to treat your friend, now is it?”

“Alastor, you’re insufferable.”

“Meral, you’re pathetic.”

“Alastor, you son- fucking hell!” I groan, burying my face into a pillow and screaming into it.

“And sensitive.” He adds cockily, and I lift my head, only to see him fiddling with his cane.

“You’re old.” I hiss.

“You’re young and inexperienced.”

“You use a walking stick.” I smirk and a loud radio screech is heard.

“It's a staff .” He growls.

“Riggghhht.” I answer sarcastically.

“It is.”

“Mhmm.”

“Meral.”

“Yes?”

“Stop behaving so childishly.” He frowns.

“Stop being so old.”

“I’m not old.”

“Oh, so very old.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.”

“Meral.”

“Yes, grandpa?”

“Why, you little shit.” He splurts, his eyes widening as he appears to be insulted.

“Holy shit, you swore!” I force myself to sit back up.

“Yes, I did and I might do it again.”

I get a message on my V-Phone from Angel on FuckChat (yes, that's Hell’s version of SnapChat) and I check it out.

‘Hey, bonnie, rate my fit.’

And a photo of himself is sent after, and he’s dressed in a maid outfit in a recording studio.

I text back ‘wtf’

He texts back ‘Yeah ik it's weird, but it’s hot, right?’

I text ‘it suits you but it's way too kinky dude’

“Darling, must you use that accursed thing when we're in the middle of a conversation?”

“Technically there’s nothing more to say.”

“Yes, but that filthy rectangular brick…” He fake gags. “I simply cannot stand the mere sight of it.”

“Okay, old man.” I respond nonchalantly as I continue to type.

“...Who are you… texting?” He asks after a short silence.

“I'm surprised you even know what that is.” I place my phone down beside me. “Angel Dust.”

He deadpans. “Of all the people you could have chosen to befriend… you decided a porn star was the best idea?”

“Said porn star is actually quite a great friend.” A small smile makes its way onto my pale face. “Better than some of the friends from school…”

He chuckles, but it's humorless. “Fake friends, I'm assuming?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “But one of them I actually care about so much. She's just so sweet and.. Well.. good. Sure, a little morbid, but so am I, and we have a lot of things in common! We both draw, write, and are fans of the same horror game franchise! I dont think ive ever had a friend who had so much in common with me before…”

“Morbid, you say?” He tilts his head. “How… peculiar to be hearing that from a fifteen year old.”

“Oh, I love morbid shit. Murder, cannibalism, crime, violence, the whole thing.”

“I see.” He cracks his knuckles. “You were two abnormal yet talented children.”

“Teenagers.” I correct him firmly. “And unique, not abnormal.”

He sighs dramatically, “Oh, my darling, Meral. Is it truly that difficult for you to see that you're a mere infant compared to me?”

“One day, I’ll be fifty and you will have no right to call me that.” I answer back, feigning sadness.

“You'll still look fifteen.”

“Technically, I'm fifteen, but I look older. Like… twenty, maybe. And I blame my dark eye circles for that.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it…” He narrows his red and sharp eyes. “They do make you look older than you are. I suppose looking fifteen should be no problem for you then?”

I gasp. “Wait a fuckign minute- i can legally smoke in a few months-”

“Meral, darling, I'd advise you not to.” He then lowers his voice. “Besides, there's no law in hell stating a minor cannot drink, smoke or- nevermind.”

“Or what? Have sex with an adult?” I ask and he doesn't respond, but his lips turn to a thin line, but still a smile. Sort of. “Gross.”

“I'll admit, there are quite the… unsavory types down here. So, do be careful.”

“Let me guess, basically everything that's illegal on earth is legal here?”

“It depends, but yes. However, that doesn't mean there aren't punishments for some of the crimes. Every district here in Pentagram city is ruled over by an Overlord, and Overlords set rules. Disobeying them when in their districts can lead to unwanted consequences.”

“Amd you're an Overlord, right?”

“Precisely.”

“I simply can't find it in me to be afraid.” I respond, my voice taking a teasing edge. “You're too… not-scary.”

“Meral, I have only known you for two days, but I'm starting to believe you are God’s punishment for me. You’ve probably just arrived late.”

“You're giving me a good reason to bother and insult you, Alastor.”

The two of us remain silent for a few minutes, though it's somewhat comforting.

“Meral…” He speaks up. “If it won't be too much of a bother for you… How would you like it if we did a little art challenge?”

“Art challenge?”

“That is, if you're interested.” He giggles. Literally.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I'll draw you, and you draw me. Let's see who does it best. The winner will be decided by… Husker.”

“No.”

“Why not?” He asks innocently.

“Because you own his soul. He's probably gonna say you're the winner.”

“Fine, Niffty.”

“No.”

“Charlie?”

“...She’ll probably say it's a duel.” I laugh. “She's too nice to declare a winner.”

“Fine, then Vaggie?”

“How about we just decide among ourselves?”

“But, darling, that'll be no fun!” He whines.

“Let's just get started.” I lift up my sketchbook and he summons a sketchbook, with his name painted cursively in golden on the cover and we both get started on drawing.

“Alastor, what the fuck?”

I stare blankly at the sketch he’s making. Of a bunny. In the outfit I'm wearing. A literal bunny.

“Sweetheart, you have no right to complain when you've decided to sketch a literal deer in a suit.”

“Still.” I say. “I feel insulted.”

“And not to mention, you forgot to draw the antlers.”

“I’m tempted to draw your head mounted on a wall.”

“Now, Meral, let's not get graphic.” He chuckles.

I shut my sketchbook. “I'll admit, you actually draw good...”

“Thank you, darling. I must say the same to you.” He looks at his wrist, pretending to look at a watch. “I'm afraid it's getting late, my dear. I’ll be off now.”