Chapter Text
Alastor was finally off the clock. No more guests too torment, no more repairs to oversee, no more forced pleasantries. Working with Charlie hadn’t been the worst idea; it kept him busy and gave him endless opportunities to toy with the unfortunate souls who checked in. It was a delightful pastime, though admittedly, some days dragged on longer than he liked. Not that he’d ever let that show.
He was making his way to the staircase when Charlie and Vaggie appeared, descending the stairs together.
“Hey, Alastor! Sorry to catch you when you’re off duty,” Charlie called, hurrying to meet him.
“Think nothing of it, my dear!” Alastor beamed, his grin wide and sharp. “A proper host is always at your service - even off the clock!” He’d sooner drop dead again than actually lift a finger right now, but she didn’t need to know that.
Charlie giggled and fished something out of her pocket. “Good to know! But this isn’t about the hotel, I just wanted to give you something.”
Alastor eyed the shiny strip she offered, hands politely clasped behind his back. It was an odd shade of electric blue, glossy and reflective. Definitely not paper.
“And what, pray tell, is that?” he asked, suspicion dripping from his smile.
“It’s a ticket to the V-Fest! It’s happening in a couple days. Everyone’s been working so hard lately, so I got us all tickets to unwind and have some fun! Isn’t that great?” Charlie beamed, wagging the ticket closer to him.
So it was a ticket…the strangest looking one he’d ever seen.
Alastor laughed, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “My dear, what a charming gesture. But I must decline. Subjecting myself to such a dreadful spectacle would be catastrophic for my constitution.”
Charlie’s face fell into a childlike pout as she waved the ticket again, as if sheer enthusiasm might force him to accept it.
“Oh, come on, Alastor! I know you can’t stand that guy, but this isn’t about him, it’s about the fun!” she pleaded.
Hate didn’t even begin to cover it. He loathed “that guy”. That smug, arrogant parasite. Working with him was agony enough, seeing him play ringmaster at a ridiculous festival was torture. Vox. A walking mass of incoherent static, greed, and everything Alastor despised.
Charlie’s eyes were wide and pleading now, her pout deepening as she held the ticket out like a peace offering. Vaggie stood behind her, arms crossed but clearly backing her up with a silent don’t be difficult look.
Alastor let his grin twitch just slightly at the corners. He could stand there arguing all night…or he could humor the princess and end this quickly.
With a dramatic sigh, he plucked the garish ticket from her hand with two fingers, holding it like it might bite him.
“Well, if it will ease your little heart, I shall accept this… gift,” he said, his tone dripping with mock gratitude. He slipped the ticket into his pocket like it was scrap paper. “Though I assure you, it will be an utter waste. I haven’t the slightest intention of ever setting foot in that neon nightmare.”
Charlie perked up immediately, clapping her hands together. “Yay! That’s all I wanted - just think about it, okay?”
Alastor tips the top of the staff with his sharp claws. “Consider it thought about.”
Without waiting for another protest or a word of thanks, he turned on his heel, walking up the stairs. He gave them one last sharp grin as the doors began to close.
“Oh, and do have a lovely evening, ladies. I have a broadcast to run, far more stimulating than Vox’s pitiful excuse for entertainment.”
With that, he was gone, and the faint buzz of a radio frequency trailed after him as he vanished up to his private station. The only stage he’d ever care to perform on.
In his radio tower, Alastor shrugged off his coat, fishing the ticket out of its pocket and setting it on his desk beside his staff.
It had been a long day, he could feel a dull ache in his legs from all the walking he’d done. He wandered back to his desk and flicked on his radios, a small smile curling at the familiar hum that immediately filled the room.
With a sigh, Alastor dropped heavily into his chair, hard enough to rattle the whole place. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something slipping from his desk, a piece of paper drifting toward the floor. The ticket must have slid off when he sat down so roughly. He closed his eyes, letting himself rest for a moment.
Part of him was tempted to just leave it there, let it gather dust forever, he certainly wasn’t going to use it. But leaving things scattered on the floor was no better than tossing them in the trash, and he preferred to keep his space tidy. Fewer excuses for Niffty to barge in and fuss over his quarters.
He groaned, sitting up straight to reach for the ticket…then froze.
The ticket was still on his desk. Had he imagined it falling? No - he might be a murderer and a cannibal, but he wasn’t delusional. He leaned to the side to check the floor. He hadn’t imagined it, something had fallen.
A small piece of orange paper lay near his chair.
Alastor’s ears twitched back. He didn’t recall owning anything like that. It was a sticky note, he could see the adhesive strip facing up.
Had someone been in here? Had it been on his desk the whole time? Had he brought it in without realizing?
Suspicious, he picked it up, sensing no magic clinging to the paper. He flipped it over. Words stared back at him, written in neat blue ink.
“Your voice makes even dead air sound divine.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth despite the cautious prickle running down his spine. He read the note again, as if the words might change the second time.
“Your voice makes even dead air sound divine.”
He let out a sharp laugh - short and low, almost like a bark. Compliments weren’t foreign to him; flattery was cheap, and the living (or the dead) always found reasons to butter him up. But a sticky note left behind in his tower, slipped onto his desk without his knowing? That was a different trick altogether.
He turned the note over in his fingers, inspecting it for any hidden sigils, secret ink, or cursed runes. Nothing. Just ordinary paper and ink, mundane, but bold enough to make itself known.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the note against his palm. Who would dare? Not Charlie - too obvious. Husk wouldn’t bother, Angel would leave lipstick kisses instead of poetry, and Niffty… well, she’d tidy up before she left cryptic messages lying around.
No, this was someone else. Someone who knew how to slip past him, someone who knew just how to bait his curiosity.
He clicked his tongue, amusement mixing with mild irritation. If he wanted his attention, he certainly had it now, be it just a bit.
Alastor carefully placed the note beside the ticket, aligning it perfectly on the corner of his desk like it was an exhibit piece. He’d find out who left it. He always did.
A low hum filled the tower as he leaned forward, flicking through his radio dials until static wrapped around him like a blanket. His grin widened, teeth glinting in the flickering light.
“Flattery through dead air, hmm?” he murmured to no one but the static.