Chapter Text
Alastor huffed to himself in growing irritation. His ears were pinned to his skull as he tossed yet another futile book to the side, adding to the growing disregarded pile on his desk of courting traditions. He leaned back in his maroon chair, his eyes strained from having spent long hours reading in the dim light, searching for answers only to come up barren. Self-doubt began clouding his entire being, an unfamiliar sensation that he needed eradicated. He didn’t relate or grasp an understanding of anything written in the ink.
Never having been one for romantic attachments he was uncomfortably nescient on the matters of courting-ship. He was well aware the majority of sinners didn’t bother with such decorum but Alastor simply refused to straightforwardly proposition the television demon. He needed to do this decorously for their potential relationship to be meritorious.
Though he would rather meet the annoying pompous Lucifer than admit it, Alastor was concerned his lack of experience would be a detriment to his desires. He was well aware, even before his falling, that people had rather strong expectations when it came to romantic sentiments and how he fell flat. Despite his confidence in a multitude of arenas that he took great pride in, understanding and giving vocal affection simply wasn’t one of them, and it seemed that was a must. Wherein people were nearly reliant on incessant reassurances—ones he never bothered enough to offer as he was well aware it would make people expect such frivolous statements—Alastor simply didn’t understand the point of needing them. He could only hope that action would be enough to overshadow his shortcomings. Hope that he would be enough for Vox despite them.
In life he witnessed friends who he had been acquainted with for years begin to either grow suspicious of his lack of interest or who began to build romantic attachments to him, only to find themselves disappointed or upset. He was often accused of manipulation from those who attached themselves to his hip in their own blinding desires. Ones who confessed their passionate love after short years of friendship rather abruptly, and when his lack of equal reciprocity became evident to them, they oftentimes responded in rage, or even more befounding to him, personal offense as if directly insulted. He had only ever treated them with respect in his mind, never once finding an inkling of romantic undertone in any act given to them. It always ended in being left behind when they inevitably deemed him broken for not having such interests towards anyone. Occasionally the accusation of his upbringing being the case would be brought up. “Trauma-caused,” they reasoned unwarrantedly. As if holding no desire towards folly things such as romance and sex was incomprehensible to the point there needed to be a reason behind it. One to make it more palpable for others to digest on their black-and-white palettes of perception. He found that such limited minds were truly the most bothersome to be acquainted with. That being alone was always the ideal and so that’s how he stayed. Alone until the beginning after his end.
He never did end up understanding his wrongness before his rather quick and unpleasant ending, oftentimes wondering if he just wasn’t suited for romantic sentiments. But for Vox, he felt a unique desire, one that took twenty years to come to the surface. Alastor held a possibly foolish hope that perhaps he would be enough for him. The television demon had appeared to thoroughly enjoy his presence for the past two decades, after all.
The main current issue wasn’t even rooted in if Vox would accept the courtship. Alastor felt rather confident he would, considering the lingering glances and touches, and the blue blushes after his picture box made a rather risky flirtatious comment when inebriated while they danced close. Nor was it necessarily if he was enough—though that ate away at the back of his mind like a parasite to his antlers—but rather the prominent issue of if he was labeling the sentiments accurately to begin with. The inexperience left him feeling a growth of uncertainty.
He pinched the flattened bridge of his nose, accepting he was well out of his depths and needed assistance to proceed. With a weary smile, Alastor thought of a dear friend of his who would offer invaluable advice just as equally as lap up the drama.
Weighing the pros and cons, he decided it was worth the inevitable bombardment of questions and the potential headache such chattering about his personal life would result in.
I suppose it’s well past time to give dear Rosie a visit, anyhow.
____________________
He had always found the most tolerable place in hell was that of Cannibal Town. The streets were clean of waste and vomit compared to other districts, only having the occasional bloody corpse being gnawed at in groups, though that in itself showed true its close-knit community. The sinners were quiet and well-mannered, holding a sense of decorum that was lost to the majority of demons who would rather now curse out your maman like a sailor on stormy seas for as little of a reason as saying a passing hello. Cannibal Town was simply the good that was abandoned and left behind by distasteful fresh sinners who held no meaning of respect for what came before them.
Alastor strolled through the streets, a hand held behind his back as he whistled a jaunty tune. He manifested a thin red hat, spinning it with a single claw while he walked on, his eyes roaming the buildings. His ever-present smile grew at the familiar sounds of teeth tearing into wet flesh and the slurping of bone marrow being swallowed as he turned a corner.
Four cannibal women were casually perched on the pavement, goodheartedly sharing a fresh meal between them.
“Good morning, ladies!” He brought the hat near his head and tipped it toward them courteously.
“Mornin’, Alastor!” They greeted back warmly with sharp bloodied smiles that held pieces of sinew. Envy lingered in him, not having had the chance for a good hunt in a while.
Pleased with the respect, he tossed the hat then with a spin through the air, letting the tallest of the cannibals catch it. Her smile softened as she held it to her blood-stained dress as he walked on.
He finally came across the building he hadn’t visited in a couple of months, well aware he was to be scolded for that very fact. Alastor paused at the sight of Rosie outside of the coffin-shaped doors on top of a ladder, her waxen hand holding a paintbrush that had the business’s sign reading ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium.’ His grin sharpened at the crossed-out words. He hummed once to gain her attention.
Her large feathered hat swirled with her movements, black eyes widening when spotting him. Then, they narrowed into dark slits in displeasure. “Oh, look who decided to finally grace us with his presence once again.” Her annoyance was rooted in evident hurt.
Alastor blinked once slowly, feeling guilty from the reprimand. “My apologies, dear. I got caught up in some business matters that needed attending to.” He shifted his weight, folding his hands behind his back. “I was hoping to discuss such matters if you would be willing to lend an ear and perhaps some opinions?” He teased information to be shared, hoping for a particular reaction. An olive branch of sorts to make amends for the disappearance.
Rosie’s smile broadened abruptly, sharp enough to slice her face at the mere inkling of potential gossip. “Well, of course, my darling!” Her demeanor shifted dramatically as she moved down the ladder and placed her brush to balance atop the white paint bucket. “Let us go inside then and you can tell me all about it!”
Alastor grinned at the olive branch being eagerly accepted. He pushed open the doors made of a pleasing salmon-colored stained glass, putting out a hand in gesture for Rosie to enter before him. Her smile softened at the display as she made her way to a small table past the row of boxed lady fingers behind sparkling glass.
He stood by one of the chairs as she went about preparing some tea and bringing over a plate of bloody dessert, only sitting down once she perched herself on the chair on the opposite side of a round table covered by a laced white cloth.
“So,” Rosie began, kindly pouring the steaming tea into the cup that he held up for her offer, “What’s caught your attention for you to be too busy to visit?”
Alastor’s smile tightened a fraction, seemingly not ready to vocalize such matters. He took a long sip of his tea to delay the inevitable as Rosie simply watched knowingly.
Finally, he set down the cup with a gentle clink of the glass plating and brought his hands to himself. “Vox,” he offered plainly. A simple tease in hopes to drown out his doubt.
Rosie paused in the middle of taking a bite of the small cake-like sweet with flesh layers on the plate between them. She looked thoughtful for a moment before her black eyes widened and her smile twisted with concern. “The television demon? Oh, my! He didn’t do anything untoward, did he? I always rather liked you two together. Two peas in a pod, you are!”
His smile uncurled, feeling kinder on his face. “No, he hasn’t done anything untoward.” He paused, keeping his hands folded within each other. “It came to my attention that I’d, well—“ Alastor wanted to roll his eyes, annoyed at his own unnecessary pussyfooting. “How does one know for certain what they’re experiencing is romantic desires?”
Rosie froze at the question, the only tell of her rapid blinking being that of the fluttering winged eyelashes. Then, her eyes grew like two black holes, nearly swallowing her permanent blush. “Oh. My. Stars. Do my ears deceive me?”
He simply blinked once slowly, aware the inane question was rhetorical. He would not be making the mistake of answering such questions again, well remembering Vox’s laughter—though not unkind—and would rather not deal with the unnecessary repeat performance.
“Never did I think you would settle down! I mean, most everyone you find rather bothersome or far too beneath you to hold even an opinion about!” She laughed, the feather on her hat trembled from the joviality.
His smile tightened. Regardless of his displeasure with the unnecessary comments that weren’t directly related to the question asked, he waited. His patience thinned.
She waved out a hand with an apologetic smile that held some sincerity to the edges. “Forgive my reaction, dear. I just wasn’t expecting to ever give relationship advice to you of all people.”
Alastor rubbed two fingers against the fabric of the tablecloth, humming to encourage the other along to the point.
She huffed out a laugh, knowing him all too well. “Love is…complex. Many don’t get it right.”
“That’s not an option here. I can’t—“ his eyes narrowed off to the side in thought. A moment passed in silence as he debated within himself. Rosie waited with a warm encouraging smile. It reminded him of his maman during his younger years; how she’d offer an open hand if he needed the grounding of warmth but never forcing it while he struggled to convey what he was processing. The association left his heart panging uncomfortably. He finally brought his eyes up to look at Rosie. “I don’t want to not get it right with him.”
Rosie tilted her head in thought. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”
He unclenched his hands that still were unseen under the table. “I don’t want to.” He squinted his eyes at the thoughtful look crossing the other’s visage as if what he had disclosed was worthy of noting. “Why?”
“Do you not feel that you would be completely lost if Vox ended up cutting ties with you entirely?” Rosie held up a petite hand to interrupt him when he began to complain. “My asking will explain my answer. Don’t fret.”
Alastor relaxed minutely, looking down at the steam wavering above his tea. The answer was an easy one. “No. I am not reliant on him nor do I ever wish to be. Though cutting ties would be…rather unpleasant, I admit, I would be fine as I always am.”
Rosie sipped more of her beverage as she watched him, a curious look in the tilt of her head. “Most people feel, or rather are, dependent on the person of their romantic attachment. Unable or unwilling to go on without them.”
He raised an eyebrow in judgment. “That’s preposterous.”
She laughed loudly, clearly amused by his rejection. “Oh, yes, but love does often make one irrational, after all.”
“I don’t acquaint myself with irrationality, you know this, dear.”
Rosie smiled at him with a look he couldn’t decipher much to his annoyance. “The unfortunate answer is you may not know for certain if what you feel for Vox is romantic love.”
Alastor felt the corners of his smile curl in disdain ever so slightly. “And so what?” His ear flickered in growing irritation. “I just hope for the best? That I’m not mislabeling my desires that could potentially harm and lose the person I would do just about anything for?” He bit back the rising of his lips, containing, still, tight control of his smile. “Despite being fine without Vox, I don’t want to know what this eternal damnation is like without him.” His ears were flattened to his skull as he breathed out harshly through a strained plastered smile.
He winced at his own outburst, feeling uncomfortably fragile. He brought his claws to wrap around the warm teacup.
Rosie didn’t respond for a moment, letting Alastor have time to hold onto the fraying control between his fingers until it was stitched together in tighter control. Then, she spoke softly, “I think you’re stressing far too greatly about the organization of everything you’re feeling, dear. Forcing them into labeled boxes rather than letting yourself experience them by making choices based around them.”
Alastor’s claw made small repetitive circles against the painted china.
Rosie continued. “Let yourself have selfish desires for once, dear. And if you do find in the future that you mislabeled your affections towards Vox, well…we’ll cross that bridge then when there’s a bridge before us. There’s no logic in not starting a journey because of obstacles that may never materialize.”
Alastor breathed out, feeling stabilized in the warmth of his claws and the confidence of Rosie’s voice. He offered her a genuine smile in return for acknowledgement of such reliability.
“I do have one last question then if it’s not too much of a bother.” He took a sip of his cooling tea, barely having actually drunk any of it.
Rosie looked intrigued, clearly having assumed he had reached his emotional threshold in a conversation. “Of course!”
He grinned, knowing the reaction the question would result in, taking pleasure in knowing the outcome of an action again. “How does one court somebody who doesn’t appear to be one for such traditions?”
Rosie's lips stretched the entirety of her face in approval, the blush bleeding into the corner of her hair. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised your questions are complex ones!” She laughed. “Unfortunately, courting isn’t something someone else would be able to tell you how to do. You know Vox more than anyone.”
“Mhm. Quite.” He agreed before pushing forward, rather hoping for a little bit more guidance. “Still, is there any advice you could think of, perhaps.”
She swiped a drop of running blood from her lips after eating the last bite of sweets. She sighed kindly, recognizing the anxiety behind Alastor’s asking. Rosie knew him far too well to know he wanted to do this accurately as was his way in everything. “If there’s anything that could potentially help is to remind yourself that you don’t have to rush this. Vox isn’t going anywhere, and you’re aware of that, just as he’s aware you’re not going anywhere either. Trust what you know and go with it.” She offered warmly, a soft close-lipped smile gracing her features.
“You’re quite right. Thank you, dear.”
As he finished off his tea, a petite woman with tied-up brown hair walked up to their little isolated table with sharp teeth and thick-winged eyelashes bleeding into the void-like eyes.
Rosie’s smile mirrored hers, widening with warmth at the sight of her. “Oh! I thought you had gone home, darling.”
He tilted his head curiously as he watched the two women interact.
The woman took out a dark purple fan that matched the bottom half of her dress, flicking it open with a fluid sense of flare Alastor could appreciate. “I was going to, yes, but I remembered I still had some boxing up to do of Franklin.” Her black eyes blinked at him then. Her smile dimmed, clearly unsure.
Alastor wiggled his fingers in a wave, simply to pull a reaction out of the cannibal demon. He was intrigued and eager to have the conversation drift to safer waters to navigate, and he always found being an irritant was a rather entertaining role to fill. The woman looked even more annoyed, much to his delight.
“Oh, my! I forgot you haven’t been around much these days!” Rosie exclaimed, addressing Alastor. “This is Noelle. She works at the flower shop just down the road. She’s been helping me around here.”
Ever the gentleman, he stood and put out a red claw with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to be meeting you. The name’s Alastor.”
Noelle’s fingers seemed to relax on the fluttering fan at the introduction of his name. She gently shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said simply, turning her attention towards the much taller cannibal demon who stood beside her. “Shall I be waiting to walk home with you?”
Alastor glanced down at the last bloody dessert still resting on the small round plate before him that he hadn’t bothered touching. The smile he wore stretched.
He hummed, drawing their attention before Rosie could respond. “I best be off, Rosie dear. I thank you for your hospitality and indulgence in hearing my troubles. And of course, your wonderous tea. Truly the best in all of Hell!”
“Oh, such a flatter, you are!” Rosie teased before pulling him into a quick hug that had him stiff. He simply allowed the act of affection as he was well aware she took no offense to him not wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. She removed her hands and instead placed one naturally on the elbow of Noelle. “And you better tell me all about the courtship! These walls truly have lost their sparkle without your presence.”
Alastor grinned, manifesting his cane to twirl it. “Oh, I doubt that. In fact, it appears since I’ve been gone the air feels–” his eyes glanced at the point of contact between the two women, “–much lighter.”
Noelle’s smile grew genuine at his remark, the first hint of approval she’d shown him.
Rosie laughed loudly, her teeth sharp as she waved out a bone-white hand toward him. “Nevertheless, please do visit soon.”
“Will do,” he confirmed with one last smile given their way before making his exit.
Despite his hesitance, perhaps Rosie was right. He far too often strategically planned every action he did that involved emotions, needing to logically lay them out within his head with reasons attached to each one before any potential follow through could occur. But wasn’t that just the same as the people who felt the need to force reason behind his lack of interest to begin with? The hypocrisy left a displeasurable taste in his mouth. He refused to be similar to those of his past. Rosie rarely, if ever, led him astray and although it left him feeling unstable proceeding without certainty he knew he would have to. His chest ached at the thought, anxious despite his usual performance of self-confidence.
He walked home without a single hum, far too busy constructing a plan.