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If a demon could gain enough power, territory, or influence in Hell, they could be considered an overlord. One indicator an aspiring sinner had reached that point was receiving an invitation to one of Lucifer’s parties. It was the ultimate status symbol, receiving those little gold cards with neat cursive lettering and Lucifer’s trademark apple emblem.
Every time Alastor was given said card, he was tempted to rip it up and throw it away.
It wasn’t as if the Radio Demon didn’t enjoy socializing- he’d attended many fine wingdings in life and in death. Sure, cutting a rug would never have the same intoxicating euphoria as cutting flesh, but it was a nice change of pace. That is, when the party had decent music he could actually cut a rug to, and people who didn’t make him want to drive a blade through their face- or screen, as the case may be. Lucifer’s little glorified orgies with music that made his head hurt, garish decor, and all the demons he detested most gathered in the same room? He would hardly classify that as a party.
However, as much as he’d like to ignore the yearly summons, it would be foolish not to attend. Such gatherings were an opportunity to survey the competition, to catch adversaries at their most relaxed. Many overlords tended to overdo it at these events, and if you had patience and you were clever, you could coax them into getting a little… generous, with their gossip. Not to mention it was a prime time to see whom was forming alliances with whom. No, there was no way in hell- ha!- he could sit such gatherings out. The others may attend for pleasure, but to Alastor, it was all business.
He’d stationed himself by the drinks table. Out of the way of most of the hustle and bustle, and he could keep track of how zozzled each overlord was getting. He looked down at his own fizzy pink drink and wrinkled his nose. The glass was purely for show, he had no intention of dulling his senses with whatever hooch the Ruler of Hell was serving up this year.
So far, the affair had proved thoroughly boring. Vox and Valentino were obviously talking about him, if the whispers and filthy smirks they sent his way were anything to go on. The two never seemed to miss an opportunity to cook up vile fantasies together, and that was one show Alastor absolutely detested being the star of. He never showed how much it made his stomach twist and ears burn, of course, and it became easier to ignore as he reminded himself it was nothing they hadn’t done before.
What was new, however, was the way those filthy gazes abruptly snapped to a figure at the front door.
When he turned to see what all the hullabaloo was about, Alastor felt a jolt of white static crackle up his spine. Standing across the room, scales glinting in the garish lights, was the slender form of Sir Pentious. What in the Nine Circles was he doing at one of Lucifer’s little shindigs?
The snake demon stood at the entrance to the parlor with his head held high and chest puffed up proudly, looking about the room with his eyes softly glowing. He wore a dark brown suit that paired nicely with his ashen scales, gold vest patterned in traditional victorian stitchwork and a cream ruffled undershirt. He was a portrait of vintage decorum and elegance, a stark contrast to the blaring modern neon of the party.
Alastor could feel a strange pressure building in his chest the longer he stared at the serpent cautiously slithering into the party. No one seemed to want to be the first to greet him, all too busy gossiping and gawking. If the old noble could make out the whispers his arrival elicited, he was ignoring them. From what Alastor could make out, the rest of the overlords were either spitting insults or reduced to baffled questioning.
The Radio Demon’s smile grew. Sir Pentious had managed to throw several kingpins into utter confusion with his mere presence. It was as admirable as it was entertaining. However, he knew that mere shock factor wouldn’t keep up its effectiveness for long. How could he keep the others talking, keep the entertainment going?
Every eye in the room was staring at him, Sir Pentious could feel it. He kept his chin up, doing his best to act casual. After over a century of hard work, he’d finally gotten his hands on an invitation to one of the most exclusive parties in Hell. He was not going to ruin that by acting like a fopdoodle now.
It would be much easier to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do if someone would simply address him, rather than scrutinize and twitter amongst themselves. Is this all they did at these parties? Sit about whispering while awful music played too loud to even hear your own thoughts?
“Ah, Sir Pentious! Fancy seeing you here!”
The cheerful shout sliced through the chatter easily, drawing his attention. The serpent felt his face warm up when he saw the glow of red eyes pointed his way, their owner quickly marching right for him.
“Good evening, Alass-”
The snake froze when Alastor bowed, grabbing his hand and pulling it to his lips. He watched in shock and flustered fascination as the Radio Demon placed a brief, gentle kiss to the back of his gloved hand, and the heat in his face increased a hundred fold.
It lasted an instant. It lasted an eternity. The bright smile hovering over his hand softened, pale pink lips brushing delicately against the crisp fabric of his glove. Even through the fabric, Sir Pentious could feel the warmth of the kiss sink into his scales, sending a shiver down his back. It was rare for a sinner to feel warm, without the customary circulation of a beating heart to produce heat. The warmth of the kiss was a testament to the magical power of the man kissing him, the man who's piercing ruby gaze never left his own.
"Salutations, my serpentine associate! This is your first time attending our dull little bashes, is it not? Well, let's get you properly introduced, shall we?~"
The snake nodded, any words his buzzing mind might've conjured fizzling out before they ever reached his tongue. Alastor kept a gentle but firm grip on his hand, using it to lead the dumbfounded nobleman into the small crowd of overlords. Every one of them had their jaws on the floor.