Sweet Dreams till Sunbeams Find You

by RadioDoe

Summary:

Grievously wounded by Adam in the Battle for the Hotel, Alastor’s dreams take a bittersweet turn as he struggles to recuperate.
Set at the beginning to Season 2 of Hazbin Hotel, with flashbacks to the 1920s.
(I’ve decided to just assume that the Sneak Peak clip we got of Baxter is from Episode 1.)

Chapter 1: Lay Me Down to Sleep

Alastor motioned his goodbyes to the trio, raising the afternoon paper in thanks for it. Tucking it under his arm as he started down the timeworn path, a pair of coneys and a gun slung over his shoulder.

Golden rays streamed through the lush vegetation that crept up upon the overgrown trail, dappling the gravel in the warm radiance of the prolonged afternoon sun typical of late summer. Small critters dashed about in the undergrowth and the sound of insects buzzed away in the fresh air.

He may have been born a city boy, and he still loved the hustle and bustle of town. But Alastor had found he’d become increasingly fond of the wilderness too, it had a sense of calmness and freedom that he craved deeply. Perhaps he was just getting old.

The greenery slowly opened up as the elevation rose slightly, revealing an ageing wooden house on posts in the middle of a small clearing.

The Family home was very out of date at this point, it’s architecture speaking of glory days long past. The land sat on a natural ridge, which had protected it from the worst of the storms over the years. The seasoned structure stood firm, a sense of security set against the cerulean sky.

To his left he spotted a lean figure in a straw hat, crouched amongst a well-established vegetable garden in front of the outbuildings. The flower laden boater swivelling to the sound of his approach.
He raised a hand in greeting with a little wave, pulling his game from his shoulder to show that he hadn’t come home empty handed.

Gingerly standing from her post among the mirliton, she wiped her hands off on her stained powder blue apron as she came to greet him.

“Éy laba kouzin.” She smiled as she reached her arms out for the rabbits. “I’ll take those for you.” Alastor hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion at her behaviour. It wasn’t like her to be offering to do his chore for him, she sighed. “You need to go have a talk with a certain someone.”

“Me?” He balked as he visibly stiffened, reluctance coursing through him. But the look in his cousin’s eyes was one of adamance.

“She won’t talk to me.” She insisted, shrugging as she averted her gaze. An undertone of hurt in her voice.

After a moments indecision Alastor groaned. “Fine, if you really think it’s that important.” Begrudgingly releasing his grip on his quarries as they were taken away. He was not at all happy about having the reliably cathartic activity of skinning them for dinner stolen from him.

She gave him an apologetic smile as she turned and headed toward the kitchen without him, stopping by the garden to pick up her basket of produce along the way. Alastor glancing toward the main house with apprehension.

He usually avoided getting too involved with this sort of thing, preferring to focus on being a provider. Sticking to the societal norms on this particular issue. Not so much out of any firm convictions or anything, more as an excuse. This just wasn’t something he was good at, and he really didn’t want to fuck it up.

Suppressing another sigh he trudged toward the old clapboard building, the weathered stairs up to the front porch groaning their complaints loudly with each step. Up on the decking an elderly lady sat off to his right, swaying slowly in her wicker rocking chair. Crochet shawl draped around her shoulders and a handheld tambour frame nestled in her lap.

Hearing his approach, she looked up at him from her work as he stepped up onto the Gallery. A broad smile flowering across her tired features. “Bonswa Louis, komen to yê?”

Ah, apparently today was a forgotten how to speak English day. No wonder someone was feeling a bit isolated. “Mo byin mærsi, Mèmè. Konmen lê zafær?” He responded to the misnaming and bent down to give the fail woman a kiss on the cheek as she proceeded to tell him about her day, none of it had happened of course.

He listened patiently, solemnly watching her embroider handkerchiefs with the initials of people who would never get to use them. It was frustrating, but he wasn’t silly enough to try to remind her that her husband and both her children were dead, it’s not like it would accomplish anything other than upsetting her.

Nodding politely to the nonsensical ramblings, he eventually managed to take his leave to go put his firearm away.

“Twa pli tar mô shær, Mo linm twa.” She called after him.

Taken by surprise Alastor hesitated. “Love you too, Nana.” He murmured, but she had already gone back to her needlework.

Alastor slipped out of his muddy boots as he opened the door on the far side of the gallery, turning around as he entered his room to close the transom window lift above him before it got too late. As much as he liked a nice breeze, he wasn’t interested in being eaten alive by mosquitos tonight.

Throwing the second-hand broadsheet onto his bed, it bounced on the mattress with the front page lede visible. Some article about those nine lunatics in Germany, that had attempted a failed coup d'état last winter.

Alastor already knew the story, they had all been charged with high treason. But with a sympathetic judge that had hardly mattered. Pfft, Typical. Out of the ones who hadn’t already had their sentence suspended or had been just outright acquitted, most were already out early on good behaviour.

The Radio Newsreader had found one of them in particular to be rather concerning, some crackpot that had fought and been wounded in the Great War. What was his name again? Oh, yes that’s right… Röhm, that was it. Definitely someone to watch.

Swinging the 20-gage off his shoulder as he removed his flat cap, Alastor stepped up on an old wooden stool. Reaching to carefully place the shotgun on the wall hooks just below his model-94, far out of the reach of little fingers. Slipping into his house shoes, he proceeded through to the salle in search of the family’s future.

He instead found a rotund ginger tom laying flat on his back in an armchair. Barney trilled at him as he passed so he humoured the lazy mouser with a brief pat between the ears, yellow eyes closing in bliss. His Nana’s friends had been quite apprehensive when she had first gotten him, warning her not to leave Alastor alone with the creature lease he cause it harm. He’d been rather offended and didn’t understand why they thought that.

He'd never had a real pet as a child, animals weren’t allowed inside the house. But he’d been quite fond if his grandparents previous cat whenever he and his Monman had visited, a cantankerous grey moggy that refused to be pet but would insist on sitting in his lap. Alastor finished up with a scratch to the senior feline's chin before continuing in his search.

Once as a boy he’d tried to keep a pet toad he'd found in a canal, hiding it in a jar under his bed. The glass had been smashed against the door frame and poor Toby had been rather gruesomely smooched under boot when he got caught. He never tried that sort of thing again. He was still angry about it, that amphibian was innocent, it didn’t deserve to die like that. He’d bawled for hours despite the beating.

He was about to go call up the stairs in north cabinet to his old room, when a lone figure sitting at the end of the picturesque dock caught his attention through the loggia windows. The setting sun causing the ripples on the surface of the water to twinkle like golden stars in the bayou beyond.

Alastor was just reaching for the cool touch of the backdoor's handle when a searing pain ripped through his chest. His ears ringing as the world around him blurred and he fell to his knees in agony, rigid hands gripping uselessly at his shirt front.

---------------------------------------------------------

The Radio Demon woke with a start, excruciating pain tearing through him like hellfire. The angelic wound across his chest was screaming in agony, his static running wild.

Suppressing his panic, Alastor grit his sharp teeth together as he pulled himself out of bed. Stumbling across the room over to his bathroom vanity, bouncing off the walls and door frame as he went. With considerable effort he looked up at the deranged smile that met him in the mirror.

Wow, he looked terrible. Drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, he reached for the small vial in front of him. Popping the cork and downing the painkiller in one go. The demon gasped as the soothing elixir spread throughout his abdomen, bringing much needed relief from the battle injury that was taking way too long to heal.

Gripping the edge of the sink with one hand, he slowly slid down, sitting on the edge of the tub to catch his breath. A set of crimson claws running through his fur as he tried to remember the dream he was just having. He had a feeling it was another one to do about when he was still alive, he’d been having those a lot lately. But it was no use, it had already completely melted away.

Ah well, it’s not like that time of his existence mattered anymore.

Chapter 2: My Soul to Keep

Alastor fixed his tie as he emerged from his bathroom. Showered, dressed and having regained his pristine composure. He was however, starving.

The energy it was taking to recover from his fight with Adam was draining his demonic power almost as fast as he could replenish it. Any lesser demon would have surely perished from the imbalance alone. But thankfully, Alastor had certain “resources” in his dimensional back pocket to draw upon.

The Eldritch Horror smiled maliciously as he clicked his fingers to disappear the door to his Hotel suite from the hallway outside. Before casually wandering deep into his bayou, somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Pendulous willow branches swayed listlessly in the breeze, dipping into the water and creating gentle ripples that disappeared into the rushes. Alastor came to a stop in a small clearing of solid ground, the tree cover was at its’ thickest here, his guest would be unable to take flight. Yes, this will do nicely, he thought with a smile.

Summoning his cane, he ran his thumb along the poorly repaired break as he inspected the area for where to begin. Using his staff he began to draw a simple summoning circle in amongst the undergrowth, stepping back to admire his work before reaching into his pocket dimension.

Holding a clawed hand over the scratches in the dirt, he called forth one of his captives from the very attack that had left him so loathsomely weakened. He’d managed to imprison many of Heaven's foot soldiers in his magical traps during the chaos of the battlefield.

The forest floor glowed with sigils, an exorcist angel appearing in full armour in a burst of green fire. She looked around in confusion, first at the trees then at the missing weapon that had just been in her hands. From her perspective it would have seemed as if she had fallen straight through, from the assault on the old hotel to now.

She spun around frantically, looking for the filthy demon behind this maddening trick. But Alastor had already dissolved into shadows.

In truth he was rather disappointed he was having to consume so many of his prisoners so soon after acquiring them. They were so delicious he had wanted to make them last, but there was no point in savouring them if this injury ended up erasing him first.

Alastor called forth his shadow poppets, sending them scurrying through the undergrowth just out of sight. He cast echoes darting about the edges of the clearing, slowly closing in on her. Inky tendrils slivered through the water surrounding her, appearing just out of the corner of her eyes. And finally, the Pièce de resistance... the distant laughter of her already devoured sisters, calling to her to join them.

Without her commanding officers the cannon fodder was lost, flustered and directionless. As a result, she reacted to the monstrous illusions perfectly, she bolted.

Taking up the hunt, the Eldritch presence tracked his quarry keenly as she fled through the woods in a blind panic. A shapeless menace weaving through the canopy at a contented pace, eager to feast but also enjoying the chase. His meals always tasted better when they were soaked in desperation, after all.

Clearly not used to running on her feet, it wasn’t long before the so called warrior angel tripped and fell. Her light armour torn in places and her knees scuffed up, she ripped the helmet off her head and tossed it against a nearby tree as she gave into her despair in a spectacular tantrum.

With that petulant display, the pursuit was all over far too soon for the hungry demon’s liking. But it was for the best really. As much fun as he was having with this little game, he admittedly didn’t have all day.

The malevolent shade surrounded its weeping prey with glee, closing in and engulfing her in a dark embrace of shadow and mist. She whirled around in horror as the darkness fell upon her like a blanket, the creepy swamp disappearing from view. Chuckling darkly at his ensnared victim’s fear, The Radio Demon began to reform into solid matter, swallowing greedily as he did so.

The Angel screamed in terror as she felt herself falling down into the staticky distortion, plummeting through warped space into the void. Alastor revelled in the sensation of his victim being drawn inside him as he rematerialized standing where she had knelt moments before. He felt her shrunken form fill his digestive chamber, bringing relief to his insatiable hunger.

His stomach groaned and gurgled as the despicably divine being floundered about in a panic, like a pigeon caught in a cage. The delectable irony of the souls of Adam’s own loyal minions being used to heal the very wound the first man had inflicted was not lost on him. Alastor licked his lips vindictively as he stoked the small lump.

She raged valiantly against his palm, eliciting a contented sigh from the monster.

But enough of this, he had work to do.

Ignoring his breakfast’s desperate struggles, the Radio Demon turned back toward the Hotel, summoning his broken staff once more and hooking it into the crook of his arm as he reached for the door.

The corridor beyond was mercifully empty, far too early in the day for a certain Arachnid perhaps? He wondered, before reminding himself that that had been in the old hotel. Angel and he no longer shared a floor. No, now he was stuck on the same level as that accursed overgrown confit de canard.

He thinks he would have preferred the dam Spider honestly.

Not particularly in the mood for attempting the stairs with his injury, the Overlord began walking towards the elevator, praying he wouldn’t run into the Devil. He was almost there when his hopes were dashed, the pompous fallen angel appearing at the other end of the hall. Alastor’s static fizzed in annoyance as he turned to step into the elevator.

“I say Bambi! Hold the lift, would you?”

Alastor did not respond, pressing the close door button repeatedly. His eye twitched as he realised the sorry excuse for a King was going to make it. Giving up, he resorted to running his claws down every single floor button before dissolving into mist.

He quickly shadowed through the cracks in the floor and down into the dark shaft below as he heard the fallen angel enter the car just in time. Exclaiming “Oh, what the fuck!” as the doors finally slid shut behind him.

Amusement rippled through the demonic shade as he slithered down the cables at speed, reaching the ground floor in no time and slipping out the bottom of the doors onto the landing. Reforming, he briskly made his way along the corridor in search for caffeine. Twirling his semi-mended cane while humming cheerfully to himself.

------------------------------------------

By the time Lucifer entered the kitchen Alastor was already posted up in the corner with his favourite novelty mug and the morning paper. “Well Good Morning your Majesty! So nice to see you coming down to mingle with the commoners!” He boomed joyfully.

The dishevelled Devil rounded on him, clearly about to give him a piece of his mind.

“Morning Dad!” Charlie’s delighted greeting stopped him in his tracks. Only then did he notice the presence of his own daughter and her girlfriend in the room.

“I-oh… Charlie! Morning! You too Maggie! And what a lovely morning it is.” He chuckled awkwardly, recovering quickly. Shooting daggers at the Radio Demon, but not wanting to be the one to seemingly start something out of nowhere in front of his daughter.

Vaggie absolutely noticed the tension, but Charlie was way too engrossed in the joy of having her worthless dead-beat father back in her life. She began gushing to him about the next phase of her silly redemption project, but Lucifers attention couldn’t help but wander.

It didn’t take the deer demon long to notice that the King was eyeing the broadsheet in his hands, it was clear he wanted it. Well too bad, it was Alastor’s subscription. It he wanted the newspaper so badly he could get his own, he took a languid sip of his coffee as he pointedly ignored the golden prick.

The Princess held her portable telephone up to her father’s face, waving it back and forth in her hand.

“Yeah, everyone is really interested in the Hotel now! It’s all over social media!” Alastor did not like the sound of that. “People all over Hell want to know what we do here!” The bubbly blonde was bouncing from foot to foot with so much barely restrained mania that Vaggie had to try to calm her down.

While they were distracted, a searing pain streaked through him suddenly as the laceration over his heart acted up out of nowhere. With considerable effort he managed to suppress the sound of a record scratching from playing. But crimson claws still tore at the edges of the articles as his eyes flew shut, completely missing the confused reaction and suspicious glance the King of Hell shot in his direction.

The Overlord focused on regaining his nonchalant composure, pretending to be disinterested and not concerned at all by the Princess’ rather desperate display. As faced with her father’s detachment Charlie instead sometimes sought the attention and approval she craved in the non-existent affection of the masses, it was a recipe ripe for disaster.

The poor thing, it must be difficult he supposed, being half demon and half angel. With a mother that had abandoned her and a father that was so ill equipped it was pathetic. Not to mention being in a realm full of people who regularly derogated your very existence.

Alastor shook his head, chasing away such thoughts. He didn’t know why he cared, he shouldn’t care. A fluffy ear flicked as he went back to his reading, the Princess’s emotional wellbeing was not his responsibility.

The ever-present throb of the wound across his chest was all the reminding he needed of that. Yes, it would do him no good indeed to allow himself to become too attached to the Devil’s naïve little nepo baby.

“Oh! Well that’s just really great CharChar!” The King responded in a tone that left much to be desired, it seemed to satisfy Charlie though, as she gave him a quick hug before she was positively bounding out of the kitchen. Her loyal former exorcist lap dog in tow right behind her.

Silence descended upon the room, Lucifer standing awkwardly by the island counter. Alastor didn’t deign to look at him, instead taking a long noisy sip from his mug. Barely suppressing a grin as the Devil completely failed to hide his annoyance at the lapse in etiquette.

The top hatted fool turned from him to go inspect the interior of the fridge, muttering to himself as he let the cold out. “Hmm, what to have what to have… Marmalade? Or Pancakes?... or marmalade on pancakes?

Urgh, Alastor drained the last of his coffee, not interested in hanging around. He rose to leave, tucking the paper under his arm as he went. He was already finished with it of course, but he wasn’t about to let Lucifer have it.

As he left the Literal Devil to it, he felt the feeble writhing inside him finally cease as his morning meal expired. The burst of energy stabilising his wound that little bit more and delivering him closer to recovering to his full strength.

Pausing for a moment just outside the kitchen to let the release of power wash pleasantly over him, making sure he was alone in the corridor before bringing a fist up to his mouth he discreetly let out a small burp. The satisfaction of exterminating another heavenly spirit compelling a warm smile to his demonic face.

Meanwhile, the sound of a cacophonous commotion by the front of the Hotel caught his attention. Slipping into the shadows, the Hotel’s Facility Manager went to investigate.

------------------------------------------

What he found did not please him, they had apparently been invaded by people with video cameras. He stayed in the shadows so as not to be seen, watching Vaggie valiantly putting up a defence while Charlie was completely distracted by a small angler fish demon in a lab coat.

The Hotel’s General Manager was struggling under the bombardment, trying her best to keep the ravenous throng in check. He knew the Princess wanted press for the Hotel, but he disagreed that any press was good press. ‘Everything is Fine’ does not a good headline make. Thus, it was vitally important to control the narrative.

Charlie was anything but in control.

And Vox was definitely not the same person he used to associate with, that was for sure. Not exactly surprising. Hell had a habit of changing people, taking already bad souls and making them even worse… he should know.

He gazed down from the darkness at the chaos erupting as Charlie completely butchered introducing the new resident to the gathered crowd. Oh dear, this was going to end in trouble, he just knew it.

Chapter 3: Wake I never

As soon as the door to his hotel suite shut behind him, the dreaded Radio Demon’s composure crumpled like paper. Alastor lent back against the wooden frame, bringing his hand to his heart as he struggled to breathe evenly. The soothing swamp air of his custom room helped, but every inhale was still agony.

He’d already maxed out the recommended dosage of the pain medication for the day but he didn’t care, pulling yet another vile from his breast pocket and knocking it back in one swift movement. Letting his head rest on the mahogany, he closed his eyes as he waited impatiently for it to take effect.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this, he was in so much pain he was sure cracks in his façade were beginning to show. But then, no-one out there had seemed to notice his distress. Huh, made sense. It’s not like anyone in this place actually cared for the cannibalistic monster, they just tolerated him because he was useful. And he didn’t care about them either.

Alastor dimly registered one of his ears twitching uncontrollably, digging deep, he spent a moment to concentrate and quell the unfortunate tick.

Perhaps he could take a day off tomorrow, if no one would miss him then no one would notice. He could take some time to rest and recuperate. Urgh but no, Charlie was already in the midst of getting herself into a whole new mess of trouble. He needed to keep watch at the very least, even if it was only from the shadows.

His injury throbbed away across his chest, the painkillers were doing next to nothing. Reluctantly pushing himself away from the wall, the Overlord ambled gingerly over to his drinks cabinet. Clearly, he was going to need something with a bit more punch to it.

He didn’t own any Beelzejuice, it was far too sweet for him. He had hoped he could sneak some from the bar, but Husker had been unusually competent at his job today. Alastor was reluctant to do it in front of the bartender, his curmudgeonly thrall knew his taste in drinks too well. It would raise the feline’s suspicions, no doubt.

Rifling through the dusty bottles in the back of the cupboard, crimson claws snagged on something in a dark velvet bag. Confused he pulled it forward, untangling the draw string just to be reminded exactly why it was in there to begin with.

“Urgh!” He groaned as he shielded his eyes. So perfectly were they designed to see in the perpetual low light of Hell, that the divine glow of the bottle of Holy Water was like trying to look directly into Earth’s sun.

The demon grunted in discomfort as he quickly tied the thick Prussian blue sack back up. The spot in his vision where it had been, leaving an annoying smear. Not unlike the ones he used to get from the flash of the magnesium powder when having a photo taken.

Hmm, while that certainly did have a bit more punch to it… in fact that stuff would get him sozzled in no time, there was no doubt about that. But given it was a holy wound that he was trying to recover from he doubted it would help the healing prosses.

Returning to the task at hand and reaching even farther back into the shelf, he felt his fingers make contact with something VERY dusty. Pulling it forward to look at the label, he found whatever he had grabbed was completely covered in a thick coating of grey snow.

Not wanting to spread it everywhere or further damage a lung, he pulled a handkerchief embroidered with his initials from his pocket and used it to carefully clear the debris away.

The paper stuck to the bottle was aged and yellowing, peeling at the edges. The flowery description eloquently handwritten, he recognised the flowing blackletter font immediately as Zestial’s hand. Recognition dawned at the back of his mind, oh that was right, the medieval era Overlord had given him this.

A suspicious younger Radio Demon had assumed it was poison and simply never opened it. He’d accepted it out of social obligation and formal pleasantries before stowing it away and eventually completely forgetting about it.

He’d learnt later from Rosie that his fellow Eldritch Sinner was in fact considered quite the skilled brewer and would never damage his reputation by trying something so mundane as to poison someone with a gift like that.

Closer inspection of the faded label revealed it to be fortified bochet. Hmm, he usually steered clear of meads, his lack of a sweet tooth placing them in the same category as dessert wines. But he was willing to bet it probably wasn’t as sweet as Beelzejuice. Besides it was the alcohol content he was most interested in right now, and this look like it fit the bill.

Using his powers to remove the cork, he took quick stiff. It gave off a slightly caramelly scent, certainly no trace of poison as far as he could tell. Throwing caution to the wind he took a long swig, the taste of burnt honey and spices far more pleasant than he had expected.

Oh yeah, he wheezed as it burned his throat. That was definitely fortified.

Not bothering to fetch himself a glass, the exhausted deer demon sagged into an armchair by the hearth. Eyebrows raising in surprise to see the black and white Hellcat curled up in a tight ball in the chair opposite him. Seriously, how the hell did she keep getting in here?

His smile momentarily reached his eyes as Keekee stretched out her toe beans, pressing her front paws to her face before slipping back into a deep sleep.

Alastor hoped to soon be accomplishing his own escape into unconsciousness himself. Kicking off his bespoke shoes and lifting his hooves up to rest on the nearby pouf, he let his thoughts wander as he intermittently quaffed fermented French medieval bee vomit straight from the bottle.

He was really starting to hate it here at the Hotel, f-fucking Lucifer was making his life hell… ok yeah, sure they were in Hell, that made sens… oh whatever, he knew what he meant.

Today had been an utter clusterfuck. He’d quietly pulled his own people that he’d spotted within the throng of reporters aside and made his wishes clear, but that would only go so far. He was on amicable terms with the reclusive Overlord of Print Media, but nowhere near good enough to dictate what their thralls published.

The real problem was going to be the Vee’s, or rather Vox and Velvette specifically. In his seven year absence, Television and Social Media had apparently managed to grab all the underworld by the cojones like a rabid hellhound, and they didn’t look likely to let go willingly.

Charlie was really not doing well, not that she was particularly stable on a good day. The Snake’s death had hit her hard and she… well, she wasn’t so much on the brink of cracking in that she had already cracked. And was desperately trying to hold the broken pieces of herself together with sticky tape and hope.

Urgh, he wouldn’t deny (at least to himself) that he thought Sir Pentious’ demise was… unfortunate.

He’d first encountered the steam powered nuisance shortly after he started openly toppling overlords. The silly serpent wasn’t alone of course, many had tried their hand at being the one to slay him once he had gone public. They had all failed of course, a great many joining their former masters.

But Pentious was the only one who had made him genuinely laugh.

He’d laughed at the others of course… as they writhed in pain. Their grand designs on becoming great and powerful overlords dying with them as he systematically destroyed them for daring to challenge him.

The Snake had been different. First of all he was incredibly clumsy, his attack was like watching a Buster Keaton film. Second, he didn’t seem to be doing it for power, rather like he craved recognition. It was almost like he wanted to be lauded as a hero, it was… endearing.

Naturally, the newly coined Radio Demon had let him go. He'd still been holding on to such silly concepts as mercy back then. Plus he wasn’t exactly a threat after all, and at the time Alastor still had bigger fish to fry. But what he hadn’t expected was for the fool to try again, and again, and again. In the end he began to look forward to him randomly showing up, he was rather fun to mess with.

Dare he say it, he did believe he was actually going to miss him… in a way.

At least this new Baxter character seamed like he was going to prove to be very entertaining, he was clearly nuts. Niffty had been immediately enamoured, because of course she was.

As the light from his bayou grew low and the contents of the bottle drew empty, the inebriated Overlord slid further and further down the wingback of his chair. The alcohol was having the desired effect of numbing his senses, with the added bonus of numbing his mind.

A lanky arm slouched over the armrest, the bottle hanging loosely it it’s claws. As sleeps dark embrace dragged the Eldritch Horror into its’ turbulent depths, the glass vessel dropped the short distance to the floorboards with a dull clunk. Tipping over and rolling away to come to a rest gently the reeds, the serene lights of the fireflies twinkling in its’ reflection.

Chapter 4: To Keep for Ever

A small collection of antique poison bottles from the Victorian era, clinked softly together as they hung from the eaves of the loggia. The setting sun shining prettily through the cobalt glass, lighting up the engraved symbols with an amber gleam.

The warped old steps that connected the back deck to the dock below creaked and groaned as he approached the diminutive figure, sitting with her legs dangling over the pale white water lilies floating serenely in the still peace of early evening.

Alastor braced himself, he was not good at this. The ability to feel what other people were feeling had long been something he struggled with, like it was no were near as strong as it was supposed to be. He could figure it out with some mental effort but the very idea of it being something instinctual that was just supposed to come to you was so completely alien to him.

It’s not like he didn’t care, and he grasped sympathy just fine. He wanted the ones he loved to be happy and not sad, that went without saying. But it was like there was some form of fictional telepathy power that everyone else apparently had, that was just muted for him.

He was fully aware there was something wrong with him, so many throughout his life had made sure that he understood that. Father, Teachers, Doctors, Clergymen, the list went on. Mother had tried to convince him otherwise, but he just didn't believe her anymore.

Alastor couldn’t remember now if he’d always been lacking, his memories of his Monman still filled him with warmth. But that was so long ago now, like a memory from someone else, someone who had died with her…

Coming to a stop as he reached the end of the small jetty, he looked down at the individual in a mustard yellow dress with a claudine collar at his feet.

The child’s mass of tight ringlets obscured her face as she failed to acknowledge him. Instead focusing all her attention on the big green graine à voler cracked open in her hands, little fingers meticulously popping the seeds out of the pod and peeling them with a practiced delicacy.

“You’ll ruin your supper if you keep eating those.” He chided mildly as he plopped himself down beside her, holding out his hand. She deposited a few lotus seeds into it and he immediately knocked them back in one go, only just managing to catch the little smile as his hypocrisy that she was trying to suppress.

A slight breeze tangled its’ way through the willows as Alastor dangled his long legs over the end of the dock. Sitting quietly as he admired the vista, electing to wait for her to speak. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn’t a comfortable one either… They both knew why he was there.

“I heard you and Auntie A talking last night…” She uttered softly. “About how you’re going to turn Nana’s room into a new kitchen… she’s not… you’re already making plans for when she…”
Alastor sighed as she lost the ability to form words, her breath catching in her chest.

He resisted the urge to correct her on calling his cousin her aunt, crossing and uncrossing his ankles as he tried to select the appropriate response. “Yes… that’s correct, my work at the radio station has been going very well, and we’ve been saving up for it for some time.” He hesitated before continuing, watching her carefully as he tried his best to read her.

“I’m guessing you find this callous?” She didn’t respond, a little water lily floating below them apparently captivating her attention. “I assure you neither your Aunt or I wish for an expedited end for her. But we can’t just ignore that it is coming… rather soon. That would be irresponsible.”

She nodded slightly, still upset but accepting his logic.

Ok… so far so good he supposed. “Since we’re on the topic, we might have a bit left over. So, we were also thinking of turning the south cabinet into a modern bathroom, with indoor plumbing in the main house and everything. So that means no more chamber pot, no more contending with Larry the just to go to the outhouse in the middle of the night, won’t that be nice? Hmm?” He nudged her in his attempts to cheer her up, her lips cracking the slightest of smiles.

“That would be the Bee’s knees.” She admitted sheepishly.

Alastor cracked a wide smile before faltering. “Actually, I might have to get rid of Larry soon...”

Ebony curls bounced as her little head whipped around to face him, betrayal on her face. “What? But you can’t!”

“He’s a wild alligator Claire, not a pet. And he’s been getting way too bold lately. For yours and Barney’s safety, I’m sorry but he has to go.” He insisted sternly.

A bottom lip wavered as she stared solemnly out over the bayou, posture dejected. Before seemingly thinking of something and tuning back to him with a pleading expression. “You’re… you’re not going to have us eat him, are you?”

Alastor avoided her gaze as he reached up and scratched behind his right ear, that had absolutely been his plan. But he could clearly see that it wouldn’t go down well. Part of him wanted to put his foot down on this silly sentimentality about a wild animal, but…

Thoughts travelled unbidden back in time to his poor toad.

“I’ll sell him in town.” He assured her with a sigh, mulling over the extra logistics of recruiting the Landry brothers to help with their truck vs just butchering on site.

This seemed to placate her and she let the matter go. Leaving only the briefest of pauses before her next thought. “So, what’s going to happen with the old kitchen?” Alastor smiled, so many questions. Had he been like that?

“Well, the washroom will stay where it is. But the kitchen itself will likely be used as a shed for the garden… for now.” He glanced at her conspiratorially. “But… maybe one day, maybe in ten/fifteen years or so, it can be converted in to a stable for a motor vehicle.” He pressed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. “But that’s out little secret.”

She loyally mimicked his motion but burst out laughing. “That means you already suggested it, but Auntie A said no.” Alastor raised his eyebrows, he couldn’t help but grin at her cheek, so perceptive for someone so young. Clearly she had no issue whatsoever with reading people’s minds, unlike him.

It was true he had suggested they get on this new credit thing that everyone was doing these days to get themselves a Tin Lizzy, but the very idea had caused his cousin to spiral into anxiety. She couldn’t explain it but she was convinced something terrible was coming. She’d always been more gifted when it came to premonitions than he was, so he’d let it go. It was a concern for another time.

Alastor chuckled, shoulder nudging the little one beside him playfully and she nudged right back. Their back and forth lasted a few seconds before he captured her in a one arm hug, completely defying his own discomfort with displays of physical affection.

She leant into him as she threw the rest of the spent lotus pod into the water at their feet, he felt her melt into his side and his own reservations ebbed away as they watched it sink to the bottom. A warm smile reaching his eyes as he was reminded of the hugs his mother used to give him.

He honestly didn’t know where she’d came from or what he’d done to be blessed with her some sometimes. He understood full well that to spare the rod was to spoil the child, but he’d found he hardly ever had to discipline her. She was so well behaved… in that regard at least, she was nothing like he had been at all.

“So… are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you or not?” He asked gently as he cocked his head down at her.

She sighed like the weight of the whole world was on her little shoulders. “Some kids at school called me a mullet roe… a-am I? and… what is that?” She was trying to be brave but the tremor was clear in her voice.

Alastor gave a defeated sigh, but of course they did. He gave her shoulders a slight squeeze as he stared out over the water. Could have been worse, he thought sardonically. Urgh, he did not miss having to interact with other people’s brats. With the exception of the one beside him, he was not particularly fond of children.

“Well… no, you’re actually not.” Alastor rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, struggling as he debated with himself how to best explain the matter to a child. “A mulatto is someone with one white parent and one black parent.”

“And is that… bad?”

He felt his blood seethe just below the surface, but he kept his calm. This was one person he never wanted to be scared of him. “Absolutely not, some people are just very rude about it. In fact, your great gran-popa was one.”

“Is that, Nana’s Husband?”

“Yes, That’s right. And Nana is what is known as an octoroon, someone with a mulatto grandparent.”

“Oh… so what does that make us?”

He hesitated, he didn’t think there was even a word, at least not a so-called ‘scientific’ one.

“Complicated.” He eventually settled on, but her face fell in disappointment. Children he’d noticed, did not seem to like it when there was no clear answer to their queries.

He reached out and took her chin in his hand, turning her small innocent face to look at him. His own olive eyes staring back up at him, full of questions. “But more importantly, you are you. You are mine and that is all that matters to me, mô ti lily d'eau féy.” He planted a little kiss on the top of her head as she giggled.

They finally settled into an amicable silence as they watched the molten sunset over the water, golden light danced along slow ripples caused by the lily pads swaying gracefully in the sluggish current. The soft clouds above glowing a bright peach against the powder blue sky.

Alastor’s eyes wandered wistfully over the beautiful bayou, or rather, what was left of it.

It was ironic, really. He had been so resentful when he had been forced to move out here, he’d hated everything about going to go live in the sticks. Yet now, when it seemed the city was starting to catch up to him. He felt rather melancholic about it all.

There was talk of draining and redeveloping this whole area, he found he was quite ambivalent about the prospect. He’d really come to love the wilderness, but couldn’t deny he still longed for the city.

Perhaps if he continued to do well at the radio station, one day he could get himself a little hunting shack out in the swamps. Somewhere far out where he wouldn’t be disturbed… somewhere he could practice his ‘hobbies’ in peace…

As his mind wandered, he could suddenly sense the small figure at his side fidgeting with anxiety. She had another question, one she was afraid to ask.

“What… what was your dad?” A timid voice finally asked as she played with the hem of her dress.

The edges of his mouth twitched downward slightly at his mention, she knew he didn’t like talking about that man. But he felt she deserved an answer. “My father was what is called a quintroon, on his mother’s side. She came from a long line of placées.”

“What’s that?”

Alastor caught himself, er… then again, perhaps she didn’t need all the answers just yet. “Ask me when you’re older.”

An amused grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ignored the resulting petulant pout. But it didn’t last long, seemingly emboldened by him actually answering a question about her grandfather for once, she continued her interrogation.

“Gracie Truman’s Mom says the only reason you were allowed to vote is because of your dad’s dad… and that she doesn’t think you should have had it.”

Yes… well, Gracie Truman’s Mom is a Bitch isn’t she… and her father is a cuckold.

“Hmm.” Alastor raised his legs, inspecting his shoe laces before responding. “Yes, that was called the grandfather clause, it’s not relevant anymore. And I’m not sure I want you hanging out with this Gracie girl in future.”

“I don’t… not willingly.” She muttered, swinging her buckled shoes back and forth, looking annoyed.

“Ah.” Alastor nodded in understanding, one of those ‘friendships’.

Chartreuse lightning bugs began flittering serenely in and out of the whistling reeds as the swamp slowly came to life with the buzzing of cicadas and the croaking of frogs.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh bayou air, he stretched as he rose to stand. “Well come on little Miss, we’d better go help your aunt with dinner before we get yelled at.” Her little hand fit snugly in his as he helped the giggling child to her feet.

“Yes Papa.”

------------------------------------------------------

The dreaded Radio Demon dozed peacefully in his armchair, unaware a one-eyed hellcat had transferred herself onto his lap. A small smile gracing his face… a real smile.

Notes:

Thank you to Viv for letting us all play in her world. <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 20 of Red Deer Games and Radio Plays