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Hell. such a small word in the land of the living these days, yet such a big place that housed all of its prized sinners down here. A neverending feeling of uncomfortable warmth that only the most vile species can call home, humanity.
Alastor chuckled. If Lucifer were to read his mind, his eyes would bulge out in an instant. He would also be mistaken, for his smart wit does not only show itself in murderous pursuits. He is free to criticize the nature of humanity. After all, they were his favourite to hunt down instead of wildlife in the bayou.
Looking out towards the blazing city, he is surely safe from the acid rain that shot down to kill anything it had touched. As much as he hates to admit it, the security measures were all created by Charlie’s ludicrous father. His angelic powers had done wonders to keep this building intact no matter how sloppy the rest of them worked on restoring this hotel. Really, who ought to have the idea of having sinners who lacked any engineering experience to build this hotel from the ground up? His mind immediately ran to Charlie and her opportunist nature to form any bonding exercises presently available . Bingo.
A growl in his stomach interrupted his thoughts, but the idea of tasting acid in his victim’s corpses, once the rain stopped, had soured his appetite. They always left a bitter aftertaste that held no remorse in scalding his tongue with every bite he took. Clicking his tongue, he decides to wait a little longer to feast for fresh sinners. Until then, he decides to tune his head into the world of jazz. Music always makes the time go by a little bit faster.
His hand waved in front of a beat-up radio that sat on his dresser, immediately fueling the device back to life. Its wires hang uselessly around the worn body. Due to this beauty’s age, the plug is not compatible with any surrounding outlets, nor would its battery handle the voltage levels that Hell has advanced to. With the hotel’s revamp, he was not present for the process to request such details. Instead, he makes do. He’s the Radio Demon after all , what Radio Demon wouldn’t be able to power their radios? How ridiculous.
The little thing spoke unstable volumes of static before the turns of knobs had transformed it into coherent melodies. The beautiful consonance of jazz filled the room and never failed to make his chest feel a little lighter from the heavy air that Hell possesses.
“Alastor, baby. What are you doing?” Came an aged feminine voice, giggling behind the crack of the door that revealed a little boy, dancing around and holding the arms of his mother’s dress. He was swaying and fumbling through the fabrics that clumped on the ground beneath him before standing still from being caught in such an embarrassing act.
“Ma!” The boy exclaimed, a hue of red quickly falling onto their cheeks. The woman let out a laugh and barged in, kneeling beside her beloved son and the dying radio that lay on the end of his bed.
She looked at her son, “What are you doing, dancing alone and not asking help from Mama? Got a little lady you like to impress?”
The boy fidgeted with the creases of the tan dress that had crumpled in his fists. “No! I wanted to learn so I could dance with you!”
“Oh, you silly boy. Let Mama teach you, hmm? After dinner, we can dance all day if you wish!”
He chuckled to himself , distantly staring off towards the radio that continued to play. He remembered that day all so well, and the wash of embarrassment that ran down his spine every time he recollected this memory. She never let him live it down, that woman.
He sits himself down at the end of his bed, looking out to the ethereal bayou that stretches outside his room’s normal dimensions.
He remembered when his ma would never refuse his offer to dance in the living room when his father was out working or hanging out with other women. He scoffs at the existence of that man and revelled in the screams he made in his radio tower a month after searching for his soul in the span of the pride ring. He hated that man, and how he took a gentle and beautiful heart like his mother’s and crushed it. He did the same thing on Earth and in Hell . No regrets there.
Oh, but his void of a chest churns ever so slightly when he recalls how his mother would grow weaker shortly after his entrance to adulthood. Being in his early twenties, he had dreams of making it big as a radio host, for his appearance wouldn’t be a key component in this line of work. Back in the day, anyway, now these unoriginal sinners are indulging in Vox-tech with their silly video podcasts. What a joke! He thought there could be potential with Vox-Tech if they had incorporated some of his ideas, but alas he was disappointed like always.
His mother, his chest churns even more. Oh, his poor, poor mother. Her luscious curls and glowing skin were no more by the time he was twenty-three, and she was permanently bed-bound soon after his birthday. Despite all the horrors coming to face him, he felt a small sense of relief knowing she wouldn’t know what he was doing behind the scenes outside of this room. He could not count the number of times he passed by her closed door, clothes splattered with blood and taking a quick bath before he visited her. For all his efforts, she would still scrunch her nose when he leaned closer to the bed, noting he stunk of metal. He shrugged it off, stating it was from the number of car gigs he had done this afternoon, having to wrench broken cars till late at night. He knew she didn’t believe him, but her silence was more than enough for him to get away with it.
The sun was shining, and it set a beautiful atmosphere in his mother’s room if it weren’t for the dampening mood. Mama’s hands were cold, frail, and shakey. It was clear it wasn’t the weather, as it was a clear summer’s day. Alastor’s clothes were reduced to a white button-up and brown slacks, with the sleeves pushed back. His vest had splayed on a nearby chair, the black material soaking up too much heat for comfort.
They were both sweating and couldn’t afford to regulate their heat for the time being. Bills all stacked up for Alastor to pay, and his father was out and about these days after being laid off. It was a tough situation for both of them.
When she knew her time was soon, she had asked him for one more dance.
“Please, dear? Just one more dance before this illness takes me away.”
“But ma- you’ll tire yourself out.”
“Just for me, Alastor. There’s nothing I want more than to dance with my son.”
He analyzed how she stumbled up to balance herself, and Alastor resorted to having both hands on her shoulder and waist to stabilize her. Their dance was unsteady, slow, and offbeat. Despite it all, his heart felt full, and his eyes felt heavy. The songs of jazz flowed out of their worn-out radio, and when he felt quiet pants on his chest, he knew he had to cut this dance short. Swaying back to the bed, he stopped and sat his mother back down. back facing his mother, he let out a small sigh.
When he turned back around, his mother looked at him apologetically, but another look appeared on her face- concern.
“Are you alright, Alastor?”
“Hm?” He hummed, tilting his head.
“Oh- my baby.” her eyebrows furrowed in sadness. “You’re crying, dear.”
What? He placed a hand to his face, and sure enough he caught a bit of wetness from his cheek. He never noticed his waterworks, and he still had his carefree smile. His face faltered, and confusion took over. “Apologies, I don’t know why this-”
“Alastor.” She interrupted. She reached over to take his hand.
“You’re allowed to cry here. You always will. You don’t need to put a front in your own home.”
How taboo it was to cry in his day and age. She never cared for any of it. She was truly one of a kind.
His face was buried in the crook of her neck that night, as he felt her maneuver further into the bed, taking her son with her to slumber the rest of the day away. He noticed how her breaths were always slower than his until his vision faded to black. There he slept, like a little kid curled against their mom after a bad nightmare.
The morning after was always the worst part. Waking up to find the reality that awaits you at the end of your dreams. When his eyes opened, he was met with the stilled body of his beloved mother, who passed with a smile on her face, and her hand was still in his head of hair.
The rest were a blur. A mix of strangers coming in to take her body away, and to pay their half-minded condolences to him and his father, who’s done nothing more than to roll his eyes. When his ears caught hold of his muttering, “Fucking finally,” He took it up to murder him a week later. Getting paid a second condolence where he was the one to roll his eyes this time.
Now, his mother is in heaven, and her lovely son is in hell . Oh, the horrors she would display on her face if she ever caught wind of his appearance and his hobbies. Alastor, the kid who would spin with her old dresses just to dance with her? Rotting in hell for eating the flesh of his victims since they were both alive and in possession of many souls, including his friend Husk. What had gone wrong? Only Lucifer truly knows.
He hums, back to the present as he looks out the window. The acid rain had gone away, leaving a pungent smell throughout the city. It seems he’ll have to go out soon to eat his fill. Waving a hand once more, the tunes of his old radio died down as he struts out of his room, heading towards the main lobby.
He was stopped at the bottom of the stairs by a grumpy moth.
“Alastor.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Yes, darling?” Alastor batted his eyelashes. Vaggie snarls at his attitude.
“Stop blasting your fucking music every time you turn that radio on in your room. I was able to hear it from down here.”
He didn’t care to respond, only letting out a little hum as he walked towards the front door. He made his way outside and smiled at the annoyed look of his fellow resident. Walking out of the door , his mind wanders. Guess he got a little distracted today. Maybe he should lay back with the jazz and ask for other tunes with Rosie on his outing today.