Chapter Text
For all your threats and misgivings, your first few days at the hotel have been boringly civil. You and Alastor continue to ‘just-miss’ each other –How convenient for him– and the rest of the residents are surprisingly tolerable. It’s been a good opportunity to reconnect with Nifty and Husk, the former of which is far happier to be here than the latter. They’re both as in the dark about Alastor’s movements these last seven years as you are, though you get the sense Husk knows something more than what he’s letting on. You see it in the extra long pulls he takes from his booze when you ask a question, hear it in the forced casualness of his answers. You don’t push. His loyalty to the Radio Demon is purely contractual; If he won’t give you the answers you’re looking for, it’s because he can’t, either through contract or threats, which Alastor never makes idly. That’s fine. Ripping the answers straight from the horse's mouth like a rotten tooth will be much more satisfying.
You and Angel quickly got on well. The constant innuendos could get tiring, but he’d taken to your dry sarcasm as quickly as you did to his own biting humor. So far, your favorite bonding activity has been seeing who can drive Husk completely up a wall the fastest. You have years of practice on your side, but Angel’s relentless flirting has proven surprisingly effective against the old tom cat. An interesting reaction for someone who’s been around the block the way Husk has.
The topic of Angel’s boss had yet to be broached; A tricky subject if ever there was one. While Angel could front all he liked, you never missed the looks he gave his phone whenever Valentino’s name darkened the screen; A mix of long-held resentment and guarded fear. He would always recover fast, flashing a sultry smile and an easy quip about his ‘talents’ always being in high demand before leaving the hotel with a kiss and a wave. He’s got a good mask. You’re not looking forward to the day it finally shatters. One more broken toy from Valentino’s collection.
One person in the hotel who seemingly has no mask is Charlie. Charlie is…A lot. Very sweet. Very charming. Very a lot. She has the kind of personality that doesn’t fall into Hell often: The bubbly, cheery, ‘everyone can be a friend if you try hard enough’, kind. Almost without exception, a personality like that is either completely fake, a mask used to lure in unsuspecting prey, or the owner of said personality never makes it to the next extermination. No room for such weakness in a place like this. The Princess of Hell doesn’t need to fear such things, and has no talent for manipulation, so you can safely say it really is just…Her. And the most annoying thing? You don’t even have it in you to tell her to shove it. She just wants to help. To guide the sinners under her care down a better, safer path, even if they don’t deserve it. Is it a stupid plan? Yes, definitely. But she has drive, and as jaded as Hell has made you, you won’t begrudge someone trying to do a little good in a place that’s anything but. Her secluded, ivory tower upbringing shows in her interactions with sinners, though. There’s a carefree naivete to her that far too many would take advantage of, and it tends to blind her to the true natures of the people she’s trying to reach.
Good thing she’s sleeping with a human bullshit detector.
Vaggie is the stable ground beneath Charlie’s flights of fancy. While the Princess puts on her song and dance in the foreground, she stays tucked just off stage; Watching, analyzing, guarding. She reins Charlie in when she gets overexcited, and knocks out sinners when they get overly douchy. It doesn’t take a genius to realize she thinks this whole redemption deal is as foolish as any other sinner, but she stands behind her woman, and you can’t begrudge that either.
She also doesn’t like you very much.
Granted, she doesn’t seem to like anybody that isn’t Charlie, but there’s a certain disdain there that she saves just for you.
Your introduction to the hotel likely didn’t put you into her good graces, and your association with Alastor probably put the nail in the coffin, but there’s something else there too. Maybe she’s paranoid, maybe she’s good at reading people, but it’s very obvious that her brain has linked ‘Riot’ to ‘threat’, and she’s behaving accordingly. She keeps an eye on you when you’re in the common areas, and tightens her grip on her spear whenever you walk in the room.
You take it as a compliment.
But you’re good at reading people too, and you quickly determined that Vaggie is not a person you want to cross blades with any time soon. Though she tries hard to hide it, maybe even bury it, everything you see in her screams of a body count that far out matches your own. You can’t tell if Charlie knows. You wonder if she’d care. Luckily, causing trouble for her, her girlfriend, or their hotel is not in your current plans. Maybe when Vaggie realizes your current interest starts and ends with making Alastor’s life as inconvenient as possible, she’ll lighten up a little.
Of course, to accomplish your goal, you’d have to actually see the bastard, and he’s making himself scarce. At least you know he’s around this time; You’ve heard the graininess of old records drifting out from his room when you’ve happened to pass by, and the broadcast station has kept its eerie glow since the other night. Maybe he’s licking his wounds, maybe he’s just being a petulant child, hiding away in his bedroom to avoid the inevitable scolding of a disappointed parent. The comparison falls apart when you remember that, despite dying at a similar time in your lives, the difference of Alastor’s time in Hell compared to yours has nearly outpaced the use of decades and is creeping towards a century. So you decide instead that he’s just being a little bitch.
You just finish telling Husk your conclusion, receiving an exasperated eye roll, when there’s a knock at the door. Your ear swivels towards the sound, and you raise a surprised brow at Husk before turning to watch as Vaggie opens the door.
“Why hello my dear–”
Thud!
You just catch Vaggie’s upward punch before she disappears out the front door, spear in hand, advancing on the frantic calls of ‘Wait wait wait!’.
Charlie is quick to her feet, rushing towards the door as you and Angel lope behind. You vaguely recognize the voice, and the name slowly comes to you when you hit the doorway, looking down at the snake cowering on the ground, wriggling his way back from Vaggie’s spear.
Charlie calls her off, and cordially asks the snake his business here. You snort when he –Pentious?– gives a feeble excuse of looking for help with ‘being better’. Beside you, Angel looks equally unconvinced, and you both share a doubtful look. You’re not sure what his angle is, but he’s not playing the part well enough to even get himself through the front door. No way even Charlie would buy this, right?
“You’ve come to the right place!”
Oh for fuck’s sake. You shut your eyes and let your head thunk against the door jam you had been leaning on. Not your circus, not your monkeys, but, seriously?
Angel is more vocally incredulous, pointing out that the sinner in front of them had just blown a hole in the wall in an attempt to kill, at minimum, Alastor, not to mention everyone else in the hotel. An honorable goal in your opinion. And an explanation for the construction you saw on your arrival.
Charlie is more than happy to wave off the little bump in the road, spouting off her nonsense about second chances and redemption and the like. When Angel turns his protests to Vaggie, the supposed protector of the hotel, you back him with your own judgemental quirk of a brow.
Unfortunately, you’re both no match for Charlie’s ‘puppy eyes’ and Vaggie acquiesces, bringing up the, admittedly valid, observation that Pentious isn’t exactly a high caliber threat. Especially not compared to what’s already skulking around inside the hotel’s walls.
You make your way back over to the bar as Charlie begins her overly enthusiastic tour, and motion for a fresh drink from Husk. He obliges, grabbing one for himself as you both settle in, watching as Charlie fawns over her first tenant.
Well, maybe not first.
You don’t miss the way Angel’s face falls as Charlie gently, and Vaggie less gently, gloss over his participation in their program, or lack thereof, and instead focus on their newest ‘willing’ member. You lean far over the bar as Angel approaches, head down and arms crossed, and, despite Husk's protests, fish out a fresh bottle of booze. You toss it to the spider with a short whistle, and he catches it with ease despite the surprise on his face when his head snaps up. He gives you a small, grateful smile before settling in on the bar stool next to you and cracking open his own drink, knocking it against yours with a small tink!
The three of you take in the show of Charlie trying to show her newest guest everything from the floors to the windows to the…Nifty. Eighty percent confidence in her relative harmlessness seems generous, but you’re not going to correct her. Charlie is quick to drag him away, only to be stopped by a less than welcome presence at the bottom of the staircase.
It seems your favorite red stain has finally decided to make an appearance.
You smirk as Charlie tries her best to facilitate a cordial introduction between Pentious and Alastor, the former clearly trying his best not to tremble in front of the Radio Demon. Seems he made the mistake of messing with Alastor’s coat. Satan forbid anyone but him add a new rip to the tattered piece of shit. You take a sip of your drink as Pentious awkwardly offers up a small piece of fabric in apology.
“Not many people have been able to take even this much off me!”
You pause with the bottle still pressed to your lips.
No…No they haven’t.
You refocus on Alastor once more, analyzing his features in a way you hadn’t bothered to when you were still hopped up on rage and righteous fury. He looks normal. Nothing out of place in appearance or disposition, but something feels wrong. How did a nobody like Pentious manage to even touch him?
You store the thought for later as Alastor sets the scrap of cloth ablaze, Charlie and Pentious staring nervously down at the ashes left behind while Alastor watches on with a shit-eating grin.
“Douchebag!” You cough loudly into the awkward silence, hiding your grin in a closed fist as Alastor’s head whips towards you with a crack! You merely shrug, bringing the bottle back up to your lips as you raise a challenging eyebrow. His own gaze narrows as static begins to roll through the room, but Charlie, ever the peace-keeper, is quick to intercede.
“Oh, I know! Let’s do a meet-and-greet exercise! That way everyone can get to know each other a little better! Angel, Husk, come over here! You too, Riot!” She calls as she begins making her way to the main lounge area. Angel sighs beside you, but moves to join after polishing off his drink. Husk grumbles, but does the same.
“Kinda rather die if I’m being honest.” You say.
“Too fucking bad,” Vaggie retorts before Charlie has the chance to reply. “You stay here, you follow the program. That’s the deal.”
“What Vaggie means is,” Charlie continues, “This will be a great opportunity for everyone to get to know each other, and form some strong, long-lasting bonds! Right, Alastor–?”
The landing where the Radio Demon once stood is conspicuously vacant, and you huff a laugh.
“Ah damn, ran off again did he? Don’t worry Charlie I’ll be sure to hunt him down for ya,” You don’t even attempt sincerity as you grab up your half empty bottle, hopping off the barstool with the intent of making like your ‘boss’ and disappearing into the depths of the hotel.
Only to find yourself falling an extra few feet as a shadow opens up beneath you, sucking you down and spitting you out onto a moth-eaten chair with a harsh grunt, the contents of your bottle splashing up onto your shirt as dust kicks up around you from the harsh impact against worn upholstery.
You growl lowly to yourself, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted as you do your best to rein in your temper. Booze sticks your shirt uncomfortably to your skin, and your awkward landing had tweaked your left wing, having been caught in an unfavorable position when it slammed into the chair. You take a deep breath. You will not have a crash out over childish fucking pranks. You’ve grown beyond that. You are above that.
When you open your eyes, you’re sitting amongst the group, whose expressions range from cautious concern to barely contained laughter. Husk specifically has his head buried in one hand, attempting to massage away an incoming headache. On a small end table beside you, a small radio that you hadn’t noticed before lights up with a jaunty, victorious tune.
You pour the remaining contents of your drink over the dark wood.
The machine screeches like a living thing, sending your company’s hands slamming over their ears as sparks and smoke spew from speakers and wires as garbled shouts and curses echo from within. You merely pin your ears back against the sound, staring down the appliance until it folds in on itself, warping away in a twist of green fire and shadow, leaving the room quiet once more.
You call it a draw.
Your payback for being left to that fucking ‘team building’ exercise comes hours later, after you slip away in the lull of activity while Charlie begins writing up a play of all things. You take the time to explore, trying to map out the winding hallways of the hotel. Some wings are in greater disrepair than others, but you wouldn’t classify anything as ‘well-maintained’. How did the Princess even end up with this hovel? You can count on one fist the number of hot showers you’ve had, and Nifty has never had a grander bug collection. Honestly, the only things in a half decent state seem to be the bar, which wasn’t even original to the hotel, and the kitchen, which you assume was given priority with the refurbishments. Speaking of, you haven’t eaten since breakfast –Those stupid exercises lasting through lunch– so you wander your way back through the halls to more familiar territory.
You’re quick to quiet your steps when static begins to roll down the hallway, and you see a light already on at your destination. You smirk, and give a quiet snap. Your shadow swirls beneath you, darkening significantly as two sets of eyes, neon blue and electric yellow, appear to tussle briefly before the former wins out, the latter fading back into obscurity as a formless shape rises from the floor, blinking expectantly up at you. You extend your hand briefly, and Nyx offers an affectionate head bump before slinking off down the hallway, following your wordless order.
Your plan in place, you saunter the rest of the way down the hall, pausing once you reach the doorway to the kitchen to take in the scene in front of you.
Alastor’s ears are pinned back, his claws tapping an irritated rhythm against the marble as he stares down at something in front of him. While his music tries to maintain its usual upbeat rhythm, the occasional spikes of static reflect his increasing annoyance. Curious, you slink into the room, sidestepping to get a better angle, and barely repress a snort.
Damn those new fangled coffee machines with their buttons and knobs.
“Don’t strain your brain Radio Head,” You take great satisfaction in the record skip he lets out, snapping his head towards you with a strained grin, though the tension eases slightly when he realizes you are the only one to witness his struggle. “You’re not worth much without it.”
“Riot,” Alastor croons, waving his arm out in a sarcastic welcome as you move further into the kitchen, barely sparing him another glance as you hunt around for leftovers. “Lovely to see you. Did you enjoy Miss Morningstar’s little group session?”
“Oh it was a treat,” You drone, grabbing up an apple. It’s a bit bruised, a couple gouges here and there, but it’s better than nothing. You shove it in your pocket and then move on to the fridge. “I love whiling the day away listening to the most uncreative minds in Hell struggle to string a rhyme together,” You pause your rummaging just long enough to poke your head out from behind the door and grin, “You would’ve fit right in.”
You can hear Alastor’s eye roll as you grab what looks to be a slice of wrapped pizza. Maybe someone was saving it for later, but dibs don’t mean shit down here.
“Honestly Riot, this constant hostility is completely unnecessary,” Alastor tuts, and you turn to see a full pot of coffee being poured into his mug. The coffee machine still looks unused, so a greater waste of magic you’ve never seen.
“You haven’t seen hostile,” You say as you stroll over to one of the large windows that encircles the kitchen. Outside, the world is beginning to darken into the start of ‘sundown’, and the lights of the city begin to glow. “But telling me what you’ve been up to the past seven years would certainly move the needle a bit closer to civility.”
Silence is the only answer you receive as you glance idly at your watch. Charlie should be finishing up her prep by now. You test the latch of the window in front of you, frowning when you realize the locking mechanism had been painted over at some point. You dig your claws into the seams and begin to work at it.
From your right, Alastor’s radio cycles lowly between frequencies, and a sideways glance finds him glaring into the dark contents of his coffee mug.
“Your lack of respect for privacy is becoming tiresome, dear.”
“Your lack of regard for the people you left behind got tiresome years ago, deer,” You grunt, finally undoing the latch on the window and sliding the pane up, letting the warm evening air blow through the kitchen, bringing with it the distant sounds of the city.
“Your ability to hold a grudge is admirable, but perhaps something worth discussing with Charlie during one of her charming, ugh, therapy sessions,” Alastor drawls, glancing up at the clock ticking away high up on the wall.
“Speaking of which, I believe I heard the Princess talking about a play. Seems you’re running a bit late, aren’t you?” He asks smugly, no doubt keen to rope you into another mind-numbing activity, and your ear twitches at the sound of approaching footsteps, an invisible string of awareness that you had sent out minutes ago scurrying rapidly back towards your location. Right on time.
“No,” You say, and hop up onto the counter. You take a brief moment to savor Alastor’s confused expression before you grin, gripping onto the underside of the window.
“But you are.”
And with that, you slide yourself out into the night, claws digging into the stonework as you swing out of sight, just in time for the door to be flung open, Charlie’s voice ringing out over the surprised peal of feedback.
“Oh, Alastor, there you are! I followed that little shadow you sent out. That was yours right? It’s super cute! Come on, Sir Pentious and Angel Dust are just about to start their play! I can’t find Riot, but I don’t want to be late so I guess we’ll just have to hope they can make it later, come on!”
You barely contain your laughter as Alastor responds with a voice laced with static and disdain. “Of course, my dear. Please, lead on.”
You wait for the click of their footsteps to fade away, door shutting tight behind them, before you release a long sigh, laughter slipping through as you leap backwards off the wall, wings catching the wind and bringing you up to the roof, pilfered food items in hand.
Point, Riot.
You settle onto one of the less dilapidated sections of roofing, tucked out of sight behind a tall wall, not that anyone would bother looking up here, but you like the security. You place your pizza to the side, grabbing your apple out of your pocket and taking a bite as you snap once more.
This time, both sets of eyes manifest into their own formless shapes, blue eyes crinkled in pride, while yellow holds a pouting slant.
“Good shadow,” You praise, setting your apple aside to run your hand along Nyx’s ‘head’. There’s no real mass to speak of, just an outward force of cold that you guide your hand over. Nyx purrs, and you reach your unoccupied hand out to its compatriot, who stubbornly looks away.
“Loki,” You chide, and the form expands and shrinks in what could best be described as a sigh before curing up under your palm as well.
“You’ll get next job. Okay?” You promise, and it rumbles its own contented tune.
You pull your hand away from Nyx as it settles into your lap, blindly reaching for your discarded food, and only finding rooftop.
You frown.
You look over to where you had set down your meagre meal, only to find the space completely empty. Instead, you find that the large wall you had sought shelter behind has darkened considerably, and you crane your head up, up, up, until you spot a familiar grin peering from the darkness.
You watch, deadpan, as your pizza and apple are consumed by inky blackness in one fell swoop, only for the apple’s core to roll out from the gloom to bump against your boot moments later. The shade gives a silent, full laugh, grinning mischievously as it sinks back down into the concrete beneath your feet, back to its disgruntled owner.
Your stomach growls.
Point, Alastor.
You made the decision to hide up on the roof until late, content to steep in your hunger if it meant avoiding another one of Charlie’s ‘programs’. Still, it eventually hit eleven, and the lights of the hotel had gone dark an hour ago, so you feel safe to return to civilization once more. You rise, stretching the knots out of your back while your wings give off small cracks as they extend, and swoop back down into the kitchen.
You had hoped to pilfer a bit more food before bed, but it appears the rest of the hotel had helped themselves to whatever had been left to scavenge for their own dinners. You sigh. You could fly out into the city for a quick bite, but honestly? You’re tired. You’d rather just settle in for the night and grab a big breakfast come morning.
You begin moving to do just that, but then an enraged yell followed by the distinct sound of bodies crashing to the floor sends your ears swiveling, and without a thought you’re running down the hallway back towards the main lobby.
There’s a light on in a side hallway, and you pivot towards it as the voices become more distinct. Angel for sure. And…Pentious? You reach the doorway just as Angel gives a startled ‘Fuck!’, and you turn towards where Pentious is starting to rise, the eyespots of his frill spiraling in a dizzying pattern.
You wince away from the sight, and grab the nearest object to you, a small vase with long dead flowers, and hurl it. Pentious yelps as it makes contact with his skull, and hisses your way as Angel shakes off his own dizziness, grabbing the serpent as he struggles to right himself.
Charlie and Vaggie are quick to arrive on the scene, clearly drawn in by the same racket you were, and you step aside as Angel shares the shocking revelation of the sinner's betrayal. Pentious tries to deny it, of course, but Angel simply pulls out a small video device haphazardly hidden on an unused bookshelf.
Come to think of it, you haven’t seen this room used by anyone since you got here. Not a single soul. It’s a deadzone. Apparently the inventor's genius fumbles at espionage.
When denial doesn’t work, Pentious goes for the next logical choice: Panic. He flails around the room, screaming into his watch for an emergency evac as the rest of you watch on in varying stages of confusion.
To your chagrin, though not your surprise, Vox’s voice is the one that answers from the other end of the line. His incredulity at Pentious’ inability to even last a day is expressed through vicious mockery, and Pentious’ situation slowly withers from pathetically comical to just…sad.
By the time Vox cuts the communication, Pentious is completely deflated, whatever meagre fight he had in him fully extinguished by the Overlord’s sharp rebuke of him. He simply prostrates himself before you all, and accepts his fate.
It’s for the best really. Charlie can throw Pentious back out on the streets where he belongs, if Vaggie and Angel don’t run him through first, and she’ll have learned a valuable lesson about blind trust, hopefully leading to her being more discerning with her ‘guests’ in the future.
It starts with sorry~
Oh for fuck’s sake.
You watch, bemused, as Charlie simply embraces the snake once more, inviting him to join in a tearful duet as she welcomes him to the hotel, properly this time. He happily accepts, and even you have to admit you can’t detect a hint of deceit. Seems complete degradation was enough to make him turn over a new leaf. You shake your head as everyone files out, giving Angel an approving clap on the shoulder as he slides by, to which he gives his own small nudge and smirk in return.
This place is a fucking nut house, you think, though not unfondly, as you begin to take your own leave, only to pull up short as a coldness slinks past your shoulder and into the unoccupied room.
You watch as Alastor grabs up the discarded watch, and Vox’s agitated ‘What!’ quickly answers.
“You’ll have to try harder than that, old pal,” Alastor taunts as he crushes the device, Vox’s furious, glitching roar fizzling to nothing as the screen goes dark, glass cracking and electronics sparking under his sharp grip. Alastor laughs to himself, dropping the mangled device to the floor like so much trash, and crushing it under his heel as he turns to face you with an expectant grin.
For your part, you merely lean back against the doorframe impassively, taking the rare moment of silence to process all that had happened in the last two minutes, and come to a simple conclusion:
“That doesn’t bode well.”
Alastor merely scoffs, “Please, dear, Vox is hardly a new annoyance, nor an unmanageable one.” He turns from you, idly perusing the dust covered books that still rest on the shelves around you.
“No,” You agree, “But I’ve got enough headaches already. Funny that all seem to share a root cause.”
He hums genially in response, not rising to the easy bait and not bothering to spare you a glance, instead feigning interest in the sparse decorations that litter the room. You sneer lightly at his back. A little late to be taking the high road isn’t it? You think. Still, a lackluster verbal clash this late at night isn’t something you’re overly invested in drawing out, so you resign yourself to simply picking up the sparring gloves again in the morning, and make to leave.
“I must admit, however, he’s grown bold; Attempting to spy on the Princess of Hell herself.”
That makes you pause, and you turn back to look at him, but his own gaze is set firmly out the window, staring hard towards the garish spire of the Vees Tower. It’s grown since he left, a monument to greed and self-interest stretching high above all the other buildings, as if attempting to reach for Heaven itself. One could only hope it would end much like the Tower of Babble.
“He’s a cancer,” You say, “And cancers grow when left unchecked.” He must feel the accusing holes you’re burning into his back, because he turns to look at you properly now, and for once, his thinly veiled frustration doesn’t seem solely directed at you.
“He’s grown bold because he’s got the power to back it up now. More than before. You’re lucky you came back when you did, otherwise…” You trail off, scratching absently at your throat. He doesn’t acknowledge your pause at first, too busy glaring at the destroyed piece of machinery on the floor. It’s too much to hope he’s feeling properly chastised, but you do note the way his ear flicks, as if shooing away an errant fly. He finally returns his focus to you when silence hangs a beat too long.
“Otherwise?” He prods. You didn’t think you’d have to spell it out for him, but Alastor, for all his talents with manipulation, has always had trouble reading between the lines if the words aren’t what he wants to hear.
“Otherwise you’d have far less territory and one less headache to come back to.” You say flatly.
There’s a low, unhappy buzz of static at your words, and your ear twitches at the subtle grinding of teeth that echoes from that toothy smile. No, those certainly weren’t the words he wanted to hear at all. Ironic, that the person who tried so hard to make you leave when you first arrived at the hotel was now showing such discontent at the thought of you already being gone when he returned. But that was the other thing about Alastor: He was very possessive of his toys. No one was allowed to break them but him.
“Regardless, you’re here now,” You continue, “And that little spectacle he put on means he’s not so strong as to be unworried by that. If we’re gonna hit him, it needs to be soon, before he–”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my dear.”
You blink.
He won’t meet your eye, instead opting to idly inspect his ever-perfect microphone, using a claw to scratch away at invisible chips. His smile is closed mouthed, eyelids half drawn in a show of placid neutrality, and it catches you off-guard.
“The Hell are you talking about?” You ask, “I know you’ve had your fun stringing that flat-faced prick along the last few decades, but that dance is starting to get pretty old by now.” Dangerous too; If the tempo shifts much more, you fear Alastor will no longer find himself leading.
Alastor merely shrugs, tucking his staff into the crook of his elbow as he turns away from you to stare back out over the city. “As you’ve said, Vox has gained more of a foothold these last several years. Taking him and the Vees down will take time, and in that time, the hotel will be placed in the crosshairs. I simply can’t allow that.”
“Fuck the hotel!” You sputter, and an ear swivels back in your direction. Is he fucking serious!?
“I don’t fucking care about ruining whatever sadistic ‘fun’ you plan on having with this place. If you could stop being such a self-absorbed prick for two seconds–”
“You’re focusing on the wrong thing, Riot,” You watch his grin sharpen in the reflection in the window, his eyes flicking up briefly to catch yours. “The hotel isn’t the point, you know that.”
You take his meaning.
And his meaning is fucking stupid.
“You really think a couple shit deals with shit sinners is gonna make any kind of difference? Fuck, I doubt anyone’s even gonna walk through those doors before extermination day!” You sling one hand back in the vague direction of the lobby before frustratedly running it through your hair. “You’re gambling the entire fucking city on the off chance that you’ll get a few sinners to use for, what? Cannon fodder? Even Husker wouldn’t roll those dice.”
Alastor chuckles, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The old boy’s vice runs deep. And that’s why he’s mine,” His voice crackles for a moment, a low purr of victory over a well-won soul, “He’s mine because Husker makes bets, while I make plans. And you my dear–” He chuckles softly, turning just enough to catch your gaze in a manic side-eye, “Still think far too small.”
The shadows of the room deepen, what little light had been cast into the room from the hallway just outside the open door is smothered in a curtain of black. The room around you melts into nothingness, just a void where light and sound go to die. A place where only the two of you remain.
“I don’t need to wait for some desperate, wayward soul to come stumbling through those doors,” Alastor says. He moves fluidly through the shadows, each step muffled in the space, though his voice still rings clear as he approaches you. You stare hard into the dials that have overtaken his irises as his voice calls out from behind a backlit grin.
“S̶h̵e̶'̷s̴ ̸a̴l̵r̷e̶a̴d̴y̸ ̶h̷e̷r̵e̷.”
Your eyes flicker across his face for a moment, uncomprehending. Nifty is already under contract. Vaggie would sooner die than make a deal with anyone, let alone Alastor. Which only left…
“Charlie,” You breathe, eyes widening as the picture finally forms. Alastor’s neck cracks as he tilts it to the side, grin pulling back until it nearly reaches his ears. “You’re trying to get a deal out of Charlie fucking Morningstar.”
The Radio Demon’s only response is to grin wider, the shadows chittering around you as their master’s excitement becomes infectious, brushing cooly against your skin as they gleefully skitter about.
“You’re insane,” You whisper, as if anyone could even hear you scream in this space. “You’re completely nuts. She’s naive, but she’s not fucking stupid. She’d never–”
“Never underestimate what someone is willing to do when all their hard fought dreams begin to crumble around them.” Alastor interrupts. He’s reigned himself in a bit, grin dimming and eyes returning to their normal ruby shine. “The closer we get to the extermination, the more the Princess will realize all her work has been for naught, and the more desperate she’ll become for any scrap of help to make it all come together.”
“And her lovely benefactor swoops in to offer her that helping hand.” You finish, and Alastor’s grin finally cools into a more controlled smirk.
“Of course, cozying up to Miss Morningstar is rather difficult when someone insists on trying to raise hellfire every time I cross paths with them." He growls, pacing slowly around you in a hunter’s prowl. You turn your head to follow him, but in a blink, he’s out of sight, merged into the shadows that surround you. Your heart rate ticks up, an unfortunate byproduct of the last vestiges of a primordial primate’s hindbrain that rattles around in every sinner's skull. There’s a predator in the dark, it shrieks, and it’s hungry.
“Sounds like a real prick,” You smirk into the void to mask your unease, “But I’m sure there’s something you could do to get them off your back. Have you tried regaling them with a tale spanning the last half-decade or so?”
Breath hits the back of your neck.
“I have a better offer.”
It’s silent, the sounds of the city long lost, the shadows waiting with bated breath.
One ear swivels back, you turn your head just slightly.
“A possible boon from the Princess far outweighs any fleeting satisfaction we will receive from our petty squabbling. So, I propose a truce. We will both attempt to work ourselves into the Princess’ good graces. Perhaps she’ll find the charm in your prickly disposition as she has in her paramour. In the meantime, you, épine, will limit your infernal needling to the best of your abilities. In return, the power I obtain from her will be used to finally wipe that trio of filth from the face of Hell for good.”
The words surround you, rolling through the shadows to hit your ear from every angle, drawing you in with the effortless confidence that comes from decades of practice. Still, you remain passive, giving the words time to absorb properly, to let the allure of a deal roll off your shoulders and look at the terms as they lay without a salesman purring poison in your ear.
The terms are agreeable. More than agreeable even. He put no embargo on your questioning of his movements the last seven years, only a self-imposed limit to it. His invitation to assist with ‘wooing’ Charlie was also a surprise. You would have expected him to make you vacate the premises until his work was done. Perhaps he knew he could never get away with that. Maybe your calling of his bluff the other night had spooked him, just a bit, and he was now playing nice while he tried to parse out just how much you may have changed in his absence.
Maybe time has made him paranoid.
Has he paced at night, wondering what it could mean that you, alone, were able to maintain the territory he had worked for decades to cultivate for the last seven years? Has he considered the lengths you must have gone to to achieve that? The battles you fought? The connections you must have forged?
The deals you must have made?
So much time gone, so many opportunities for other Overlords to worm their way into your good graces. Had your loyalties strayed?
“Play nice with the Princess, and in return we take out the most predatory Overlords in Hell? You’ve certainly offered me worse deals.”
The air vibrates in anticipation, energy on your tongue as magic older than Hell itself begins to awaken, stirring to life at the prospect of yet another pact to bind.
When Alastor speaks, it’s with the barely suppressed purr of a satiated predator, one ready to snap its jaws around an unwitting neck.
“So it’s a deal then?”
What had seven years done to him? What trouble could he have gotten into in that span of time? You wouldn’t have needed a deal in place to back the man who left back then, confident in his abilities and tenuous moral compass. He had earned that. But has that all changed? Were his movements still his own? Where did his loyalties now lie?
You’ll need to find out.
You take a deep breath. Stare straight ahead. And then a few inches higher.
“No.”
You wince at the violent screech of feedback, occurring in tandem with the sudden onslaught of sickly yellow light that shines out from a ghoulish grin and spinning eyes, only inches from your own. After so long in the dark, it burns like the sun. Still, you stare them down, determined not to flinch in the face of abject fury. The lights and static roll and sputter, flicker and skip, and then, like a cut power cord, it all fades to black.
Silence.
You wait a moment, then another, that poor primate in your skull waiting for claws to grab your shoulder or fangs to pierce your throat, but none come.
He’s still there, though. Watching. Waiting.
“Whatever you’re trying to achieve, you’re not going to use me to do it.” You take a step forward, still staring at the vague space where Alastor’s eyes had flickered out.
“You don’t get to rely on some ancient magic bullshit to force you to keep up your end of things.” Another step, and the hair on your arms prickles at the close proximity, static and power rolling over you in waves.
“This time, we do it the old fashioned way. This time, you’re going to hold to your word because you choose to.”
There’s no response, only the muted shifting of dozens of shadows watching from the dark. Waiting.
“Or have you forgotten how to do that?”
More quiet.
And then a low, soft chuckle fills the space. As if stepping out of fog, Alastor fades into view in front of you, grinning down with something you could almost be convinced to call fondness.
“You know something, Riot,” He says, leaning in, “I’m starting to remember why I kept you around.”
You smirk. He sighs.
“Very well, my dear,” He says with a slight, sweeping bow, “You have my word, my end of this agreement will be upheld.” After a pause, he glances up at you with a raised brow, and you roll your eyes good-naturedly in return.
“As will mine, on my word,” Your bow is as tauntingly formal as your words, and you can’t keep your teasing smirk from softening at the edges when you hear a soft huff of laughter. It all feels so familiar. When you rise once more, Alastor’s smile looks much the same as yours. In the quiet darkness of the shadows, where the world beyond ceases to exist, it’s the first moment of peace you two have shared since you reunited. For the first time in seven years, you feel an ounce of tension finally lift from your shoulders.
“Now get me the Hell out of here.”
Alastor gives a sharp ‘Ha!’, but obliges, the shadows that had surrounded you melting away, leaving the two of you standing in an empty sitting room once more. You squint even in the low light, pupils sharpening into slits as they adjust, ears flicking at the sudden return of background noise that your brain had naturally filtered out over time. Alastor, far more used to such changes in environment, merely straightens his attire, finally snapping a small voodoo creature into existence to clean up the forgotten watch still laying crushed on the ground.
Deciding your conversation had finally run its course, you start to make your way back out the door. Your stomach rumbles lowly, the fading of adrenaline reawakening the hunger you forgot you had. You give it an absent, acknowledging pat, but you’re fucking tired, and decide to keep to your original plan and simply grab a heavy breakfast in the morning.
A thought occurs to you as you round the doorjam, and you pause, catching the frame to stop your momentum and letting yourself swing lazily back into Alastor’s view.
“Carmilla’s called a meeting for next week,” You say simply, and he raises an eyebrow, “After today's show, I suggest you make an appearance.”
“And would you have told me this had we not just come to our agreement?”
You grin, “Definitely not.”
Alastor rolls his eyes, but as he slinks down into the shadows to retreat to his own quarters, you catch the way his put-upon smile quirks up at the edges.
Chuckling, you make your own way back to your room, wandering down the halls at an easy pace.
Along the way, you find yourself reaching up for cobwebs, dragging them down with your claws before flicking them away; Kicking small pieces of debris and old junk off to the side to clear the halls. Seems you’ll be here for the long haul, playing house with Hell’s bleeding heart Princess. Might as well nicen the place up a bit.
As you pass by Alastor’s room, having taken the long way to return to your own, your ears catch the quiet notes of an old tune humming out from underneath the door; Something peacefully cheerful. Content. You think he’s played it before, the tune’s familiar, and you find yourself humming along to a fragmented memory as you open your own door.
You don’t bother turning the light on, intent on crashing into bed and falling into a second death the moment your head hits the pillow. But when you reach the foot of the bed, you pause.
Your room is spartan by design. Not that there was much decor to begin with, but you are a person of few possessions and fewer inclinations towards interior design, so it was pretty easy to tell when something was out of place.
Especially when that something is a rustic, 1930’s era, cathedral-style radio dropped dead center on your nightstand.
You blink. Then shake your head with a small sigh. You’re not sure what he expects to overhear –even if you were going to plot to pull one over on him, you know his style too well to talk about it out loud around anything with a speaker– but you can let him have this.
You flop into a sitting position on the edge of your bead with a heavy thud, old springs creaking under your weight as you rub your eyes tiredly.
What a fucking day.
You shift up the bed, getting ready to crash into a well-deserved rest, but when your eyes drift to take one last look at the radio, you pause.
There’s something sitting just behind it, nearly invisible in the low light and tucked so closely against the wood of the radio; Looks about the size of your fist…
You lean over to your nightstand, brows furrowed incredulously, and wrap your hand around the small item, bringing it in for closer inspection.
Sure enough, clenched loosely in your hand is a moderately sized red apple. It looks fresh; Bright color, no bruising, no wrinkles. Really, you couldn’t have picked better yourself.
Breath escapes your nose in an amused huff, and you glance back up at the radio sitting quietly in front of you.
“If it’s poisoned, I’m killing you.”
No response, but you’re sure he heard you just fine.
You shift back and settle in against your headboard, teeth slicing through tart flesh with a satisfying crunch.
Sleep could wait a minute longer.