Chapter Text
To put it simply, Alastor was having a shit day. It didn’t start that way, no, his day had started quite marvellously.
He woke up around 4am, way before any of the other hotel residents would be awake. He took his time getting dressed, making sure he looked immaculate, as always. He took a leisurely stroll down to the kitchen, where his morning paper and freshly brewed cup of coffee already awaited him. He was not opposed to doing things himself, quite the opposite actually. There was nothing more satisfying than ripping one’s enemies apart with your own bare hands or making a home-cooked meal from scratch. He usually made his own coffee too – I mean there was no one else in this blasted hotel who could match his coffee-brewing skills – but when he sent his shadow down to collect the “Pentagram Daily", he figured, “Why not get started on his morning coffee as well? It makes a decent cup.” He sat down with his coffee and the paper, curious to see what misfortunes had befallen the other citizens of hell lately. He slowly drank his coffee while he scanned the pages with scrutiny. He didn’t just read the paper for fun; after all, it was a reliable and convenient way to keep up with the power shifts in the city. None of that fake, filtered television bullshit that Vox puts out.
He finished his paper and his second coffee just as the clock struck five. As expected, about 10 minutes later, Princess Charlotte and her ever-present guard dog, Vaggi, walked in. Poor Charlie seemed to still be half asleep as she grabbed the coffee pot with the same amount of desperation as a man dying of thirst would grab a glass of water. Vaggi, on the other hand, seemed like she was ready to take on any threat that would dare grace the hotel’s doorstep. Or probably more realistically the hotel’s wall. That poor thing never seemed to be able to escape the wrath of anyone looking to cause trouble for the inhabitants of said hotel. Alastor waited another few minutes until the princess had enough caffeine in her system to inform her that he would most likely be away from the hotel for most of the day. In typical Charlie fashion, she told him to enjoy his day, be safe and to try to not get into too much trouble. On the other side of the spectrum, Vaggi mumbled something about shirking his responsibilities once more. Hadn’t he already done enough for this hotel? Swallowing his pride, which was almost enough to rival his majesty’s, the actual embodiment of pride. Did he want to nearly be split in half by an angel with an ego as big as the sun? No. Did he want to be polite to the few idiots seeking redemption at this tacky place? No. Did he want to hand himself over to Vox to protect Charlie and her hopeless dream? No! He paid her no mind, however, and bid the princess farewell, going on his merry way.
From the hotel he made his way over to Zestial. He and his fellow overlord had a few territory disputes to discuss – following this morning’s news. There was no plan to meet up this morning with the other demon; however, he knew Zestial was as up to date with the dying media as he was. Since some of those disputes happened to cross over into both their territories, they would have to come up with a plan to deal with it. The spider demon said he would investigate it and get back to him. Seeing no need for his assistance, Alastor made himself scarce. Zestial was more than capable of finding answers. They needed the guilty parties to soil their pants, not pass out at the sight of the two most powerful overlords at their front door. Meeting with the older demon did put a kink in his plans to meet up with his former deal holder. He would have to bypass the finger foods deli and go straight for her emporium if he wanted to be on time for their little date. She values her time more than she does meaningless little gifts. She may be a lady who swoons at well-thought-out gifts, but her need for punctuality far outweighs her liking for them. He sometimes wondered if he was a different kind of insane to still frequent the woman’s emporium, considering his scheming and ultimate success of breaking their contract. Despite being on her leash, she was mostly fair to him throughout the years, and they had built somewhat of a friendship in all that time despite the deal. Today there was an underlying tension between them, but they both still find comfort in each other’s company while remaining great sources of information to each other. Be it for gossip or more important matters. Today, however, was simply a friendly meeting to discuss the most recent shame his dear friend managed to acquire from cannibal town as well as the city. She did have eyes everywhere, of course; every overlord with any sense of self-worth did.
The little meet-up went quite well, and Alastor left with an even more chipper attitude than the one he had woken up with. So much so that he decided to visit one of his favourite little minions. What? Husker and Nifty weren’t the only souls in his possession that got a little special treatment. He was keen on seeing how his little pet was running his reading nook. The deal was quite simple, really; Alastor helps him start up a business, and all he wants in return is information on the Vees. Yes, the Vees. This meant he would have to traverse through enemy territory to meet up with his little pet, but the information was usually worth it. And with the other two Vees scrambling to find a new norm with Vox being reduced to nothing but a sentient flat screen, what was there to worry about?
Turns out there was quite a bit to worry about, such as Vox already having a new body. Alastor had thought the other two Vees would take a bit more time before putting Vox back together. It was a realistic expectation since he nearly destroyed the city and its inhabitants, his friends, to get back at the deer demon. It dawned on Alastor that he gave the other two way too much credit. He knew Vox was the brains behind their schemes, even if the man hadn’t ever had an original idea in his afterlife (or life, if he had to take a guess.) He didn’t think the other two would be this foolish. He’ll admit that making such assumptions was a mistake on his part.
This is how he had a little run-in with his old friend. He had admittedly let his guard down just a smidge, considering the way Vox’s plan had ended. A grave mistake on his part, clearly, as he had found himself face to face with the man right in front of his destination. The pompous prick had apparently still not learned his lesson after numerous losses against Alastor. It was entirely possible that the power of the angelic weapon had gone directly to the man’s already small brain. That, and it being clouded with the rage of once again seeing Alastor come out on top, had clearly put a damper on his intelligence.
That is how Alastor found himself face to face with the TV demon. He was about to start their usual mildly entertaining banter when he found himself slammed into the wall of his pet’s establishment. He had only had a second to register what just happened before Vox’s claws wrapped around his neck. He wrapped his claws around the other man's hands; eyes blown wide, he got a good look at Vox. The demon had a crazed, faraway expression on his face. He was clearly not in his right mind. Alastor took this as an advantage to call on his shadow tendrils to rip the man off before slamming him down on the pavement. He was like a rabid dog, completely out of his mind, sloppy movements and gnashing teeth, but unpredictable and adamant on tearing his target apart. Alastor had used the former to take advantage of the situation. He had eventually managed to pin Vox on his stomach, arms bent back, locked in Alastor’s iron grip. Gaining some clarity of mind, Vox resorted to the thing he did best: talk. “You think you’re so important!” He snarled, laughing maniacally. Before Alastor could get a word in, Vox went on, “Look around, Al! You have no one! Now that redemption has been confirmed, the princess has no use for you. Her hotel has been rebuilt by our useless ruler; she has her fallen girlfriend taking care of the hotel and security; she has heaven standing behind her, no one can touch her! Where do you fit in now?” Alastor opened his mouth to retort but was once again interrupted by the man beneath him. “The Vees have Hell’s entertainment handled. Millions of sinners and Hellborn alike tune in to the television. All of them use my technology for their entertainment! How many listeners do you have after your seven-year sabbatical, Mister Radio Demon?” He continued mockingly. “You left, leaving your show and your reputation behind, Al.” Alastor was two seconds away from shoving his fist through Vox’s annoying face when something he said struck something hidden far away within Alastor’s psyche. “You left the things you valued most alone outside. Did you really think it wouldn’t be devoured by the wolves?” Vox laughed and continued his tangent about how Alastor’s absenteeism all but killed his status as an overlord; how his absence on the air had basically fed Vox’s entire career in hell. Alastor would have made a remark about how, once again, the TV demon’s success was due to the help of others, but he had been transported back in time to a place he wished to forget.
*Content Warning*
19-year-old Alastor ran up the rickety, rotten steps of his family home. Honestly, he wished he could just call it his and his Maman’s home. Unfortunately, their peace was often graced with the scum people referred to as his father. When he wasn’t drinking, passed out on one of his equally scummy friends’ couches or asleep in one of his mistresses’ beds, he was souring the atmosphere in Alastor and his Maman’s home. He just hoped the pile of shit masquerading as a person wasn’t home right now. He wished to share the good news with his mother, and her alone, without the commentary of that man. Alastor stopped just short of the rotting, moss-covered front door. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. The house was quiet, which usually indicated the absence of his father; the smell of chicory coffee and his mother’s music, however, were also absent. Odd, she was usually sitting with a coffee and listening to music while doing crossword puzzles in the book he bought her when his father wasn’t home. No matter, maybe she just decided to take on some other things while her…husband was away. That thought always made his stomach coil in disgust. Thoughts of that man laying his hands on her in more than one way, treating her like his toy to fulfil whatever perverse needs he had in the moment. Alastor took one last deep breath before pushing the door open. He stepped through the door jamb and closed the door behind him. He was just about to call out to his Maman when the unmistakable smell of “Ten-cent” cigarettes graced his nostrils. Why did he ever bother hoping? His earlier elation was immediately replaced by fight or flight. He begrudgingly made his way from the small kitchen to their cramped living room. As the linoleum-clad kitchen floor gave way to the worn carpet of the living room, he stole a quick glance at his mother’s chair; empty. He just hoped that his mother was busy elsewhere in the house and not once again bloodied and bruised on the bathroom floor. He glanced back up, looking his father in the eye where he sat across from Alastor. “Evening, Father…” He started his usual cold and formal greeting before having it die in his throat. He finally started taking in the state of his father and the state of the living room. His father was covered in blood, clothes dishevelled and torn. A smear of blood across his cheek along with what looked to be a scratch, shirt stained dark, in his bloodied right hand a beer and in his left a cigarette. Every surface in the living room was littered with empty bottles of illegally sourced alcohol. Hooch, as expected and to a lesser extent beer bottles. The ashtrays scattered around the living room were overflowing with cigarette butts. Cold fear suddenly gripped his stomach. “Where is mother?” He asked trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. He hoped to whatever higher deity, if there was such a thing – he doubted, that his mother wasn’t the cause for the sorry state his father was in. “Unless the dead can walk, she’s still laid out on the bathroom floor where we left her.” The old man replied offhandedly. Alastor’s head began to spin, a loud ringing screeching in his ears. “What did you just say?” He asked, or at least he thought he did, his mind and body didn’t quite feel like his own at that moment. “I said that that useless bitch’s body is sprawled out on the bathroom floor.” He said slowly in a tone that would imply that Alastor is a moron. Alastor’s mind raced, he kept repeating the same words over and over in his mind, ‘No, no this couldn’t be happening. This isn’t real.’ His feet, which had previously felt glued to the floor suddenly unstuck themselves. ‘This is not how today was supposed to go.’ He thought to himself. He was supposed to come home to only his mother who would have immediately burst out into happy tears when she saw the look of triumph and pure elation on his face. Ignoring his father’s annoyed cries to come back and finish talking to him, he sped to the bathroom. ‘This was not how today was supposed to go!’ He screamed internally. After their shared joy at Alastor being accepted in the role of a broadcaster for the local radio station, they would have gone into the bayou to check the crawfish pots he had placed earlier that week. Or maybe she would have joined him on a hunting trip to catch a wild pig. They would have used those to make a celebratory Crawfish Étouffée or Pork red beans and rice. This was not how their day should have gone. Their house wasn’t big by any means. It was merely a one story with the kitchen separated from the living room by a wall. The living room exited into a short hallway which had the master bedroom directly facing the exit, Alastor’s room right next to it, sandwiched between it and the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Thus, it had been safe to say that there wasn’t a lot of ground to cover from the living room to the bathroom, but to him it felt like it was taking an eternity. “Please, let her be okay. Let him be wrong.” He whispered underneath his breath as he finally reached the bathroom. There laid his mother, sprawled out next to the bathtub, clothes bloody and in tattered pieces, exposing her chest where several stab wounds littered her once dark warm toned skin, now turned a sickly dark grey-brown. A tear up the skirt of her dress exposed her from toe to hip, where Alastor not0ed her lack of undergarments. His gaze travelled up her body, not missing the opaque crusty dried patches on her dress and thigh surrounding her groin area. His gaze finally reached her face, more opaque clear crusty dried patches around her mouth, frozen in an open scream, dried tear tracks running from her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. He fell onto his hands and knees and wretched until he was left with nothing but dry heaves. Somewhere behind him he heard his father’s clothes rustle. “I thought we could have our own celebratory fun.” His father said mockingly. “Until the pathetic whore tried biting Johnson’s dick off.” He sounded like he was talking about some worthless piece of meat and not his own wife. Alastor started trembling. “What, think I didn’t know that the two of you were scheming behind my back?” He crooned mockingly. Heat started coiling in Alastor’s chest. “It’s disappointing that you still don’t know your place Al.” He sighed, feigning disappointment. The coil in Alastor’s chest wound itself tighter. “I always knew you weren’t the brightest boy, but did you really think you could have made it as the voice of radio?” He sneered. The coil tightened even more. “Please, you would have had no place there as the coloured piece of shit you are.” He spat out. The coil in Alastor’s chest tightened into a white-hot sphere of rage. “Anyway, someone had to pay for the atrocities you were committing. Who better than the one who encouraged those useless dreams of yours?” He said almost as-a-matter-of-factly. The sphere pulsed hotter. His father sighed. “What can I say Al?” He would have sounded sad, were it not for the mocking tone underneath. Cracks appeared in the shell of the sphere. “You left her. You left the thing you valued most alone outside; did you really think it wouldn’t be devoured by the wolves?” It exploded. It took out everything with it, including Alastor’s sanity.
Alastor all but stumbled onto the front steps of the hotel. The little scuffle with Vox had taken quite a few hours out of his day. He leaned against the wall and took out his pocket watch. Seven thirty. ‘Well, Charlie will be worried sick by now.’ He thought to himself.
You are kidding yourself Alastor, nobody cares about you.
He felt his heartbeat pick up pace and he clenched his eyes shut. It was happening again, all thanks to fucking Vox. The fight had been one of the easier ones between the two of them, after all Vox was reduced to a snarling, yapping little mutt. That didn’t mean that Alastor got out unscathed. No, Vox got him under the jaw, and he is still healing from the scratches on his side. Let’s also not forget that little trip down memory lane. Alastor, however, came out on top. He always does.
Until you don’t. You’re faltering Alastor, you’re getting weak!
He needed a drink after today. It should help with the nerves too. He stood up, brushed himself off and straightened his bowtie. He’s sure the blood on him won’t go unnoticed, but that can be explained away easily enough. He braced himself and threw the hotel’s entrance open. “Good evening my fellow wayward souls! What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?” He exclaimed, putting on his best radio host voice.
Pretentious much?