Work Text:
“Seriously Alastor, we have so many preparations still to do for tomorrow, is this trip really needed?” asked Charlie, as she and Alastor walked back to the outskirts of Cannibal Town. Already there were signs that the denizens of hell were making the most of their time, whether engaging in last minute debauchery or setting up their own fortifications and priming weaponry.
“Oh, I trust Rosie’s advice on this,” the radio demon assured her, “She says there’s a certain Doctor that could benefit from some Royal Patronage right now.”
“You’re telling me there’s an actual Doctor right here in the Pride ring?” Charlie exclaimed, “How? I was just in Heaven and it was heavily featured on the tour that they were all there.”
“A surgeon to be precise,” Alastor corrected, “And just because someone is in a caregiving profession, doesn’t make them truly altruistic.”
His viewpoint caused Charlie to frown in puzzlement, “That doesn’t make sense, Alastor. It’s literally in the oath ‘Do no harm’.
“That’s a little puzzle you’ll have to solve if you want to gain her aid. Everyone wants something,” the radio demon said.
“Is that how you make deals so easily?” she asked suspiciously. Alastor just smiled enigmatically and twirled his radio staff. It infuriated her to no end when he did that.
A bell jingled as they opened the front door to announce new clients. The surgery was sparce, little more then a waiting room and an office. Faded posters blended in with the peeling dreary walls. Two demons lounged on the old rickety chairs, one with a leg and arm hanging on by a thin strip of muscle and skin, another with an axe embedded in his skull. From their glazed expressions and slumped posture, it looked like they had been waiting some time. Or it could be from the horrid tinny music that assaulted the ears and offended good taste that was playing in the background.
“You sure we have the right place?” Charlie whispered.
The door to the office slammed open, and out strode a professional-looking demon, her clean white coat and surgical mask at odds with the rundown nature of their surroundings. Her hair was tied back but moved oddly as if straining against its confinement. Sharp silvery eyes peered over the top of her mask and beheld the new customers.
“Yes, how can I help? You don’t look particularly injured,” she said briskly, with a cultured tone that reminded them very much of Sir Pentious, absent the hissing. Upon removing her mask, the haughty look she wore gave Charlie the distinct impression that whatever she said next had better be worth her time.
Oh why couldn’t she just sing like earlier? It made her much less tongue tied.
“No no, no, We aren’t here for treatment,” Charlie said sheepishly, tapping her fingers together nervously, “I’m here to ask, I mean, to seek your. Um I’m, Charlie Morningstar?”
The Doctor’s expression thawed considerably, in a way Charie was becoming increasingly familiar with when she mentioned her name, as the demon’s accent got noticeably more upper class, “Oh, Your Royal Highness, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to my humble establishment.”
The surgical demon curtsied, making Charie’s face burn with embarrassment.
“You really don’t need to do all that,” she said.
“I’m British, Your Royal Highness. The monarchy has been part of our rich cultural heritage for centuries,” she explained, gazing at her razor-sharp talons.
“Oh yes, the Morningstar’s do share certain similarities,” Alastor chimed in, with a small chuckle as if sharing an inside joke.
Hearing his modulated voice for the first time, the Doctor’s head swiveled in surprise and recognition, before covering the expression with a charming sharp toothed smile.
“Oh, you’re the radio demon. I caught your last broadcast, delightfully chilling. Though perhaps not quite the returning debut you were expecting.”
“Do you honestly know everyone, Alastor?” Charlie asked.
“This is the first time I can assure you,” the Doctor asserted, “I’ve just heard the stories, practically urban legends now. Oh, where are my manners, do call me Cindie.”
“Hey this isn’t a garden tea party!” yelled the demon with the severed limbs, “I’ve been waiting forever, when am I gonna get seen?”
The surgical demon abruptly turned with a reflective gleam in her eyes, much like a surgical blade catching the light. Her talons made two very pristine slashes through the air, and the demon’s arm and leg were severed completely, hitting the floor with a meaty thud. The luckless patient just stared in horror for an instant, before letting loose a scream of agony.
“Soloman!” Cindie hollered above her patient’s wails. A hunched cannibal assistant burst through the office door, wheeling in a rack from which hung limbs of all different skin shades and sizes, and a weighty doctor’s bag fixed securely to his back. With just a brief glance from the Doctor, two limbs were selected, and flew across the clinic with a needle and threat to attach themselves to their new owner.
Cindie’s head turned once again to the other patient who was making an uncoordinated break for the exit. The axe was wrenched out, jerking his body back into the surgical demon’s orbit. Long fingered talon’s clamped around his head like a vice as she examined the wound.
“Hmm you’re fortunate, the skull took the brunt of the damage, very superficial grazing to the cerebral cortex,” she diagnosed briskly, “Though I doubt anyone will notice the difference. Soloman, the surgical glue!”
The newly limbed loudmouthed demon watched her approach with fear in his eyes and tried to meld into the wall behind him. “I’m afraid my stock is somewhat limited right now, so these will have to do. Any objections?”
“Oh no, none at all!”
“Good.” After appraising the stitchwork’s quality and progression, she returned to the other demons recently glued head, and stitched the flesh together with quick deft movements.
It had all taken less than three minutes.
“Now then, that will be cash up front,” the surgical demon said briskly, “Or your body parts will be taken as collateral.”
The recently treated patients promptly handed over their money with trembling fingers and made with all speed to the door.
Charlie had watched the whole ordeal with an expression of wide eyed, jaw dropping horror. Alastor’s smile was still in place, but his narrowed eyes held sinister speculation.
“Um, don’t you think that was a little, er, lacking in care?” Charlie tentatively commented.
The surgical demon’s head abruptly turned to stare at her two remaining customers.
“Charlie, isn’t there something more pressing you need to ask?” Alastor prompted.
The Princess of Hell hesitated, she had not expected to actually be granted a front row seat to a live surgery demonstration, which had been pretty violent even by hell’s standards. But there was no denying the level of skill that had been on display. And if she wanted to give her friends the best chance of survival tomorrow, she had to swallow her rising nausea and do what had to be done.
“Well, as you know, the extermination is tomorrow, and the angelic legion is coming straight to the Hotel before descending on the rest of the city. We intend to ensure the people’s safety by fighting them head on,” Charlie explained, wondering how to continue. Maybe Vaggie’s advice on using her title to command a little more authority would work here.
“And as Princess of Hell, I command you to join us tomorrow and aid us in our fight to protect the citizens of hell!”
“I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness,” Cindie replied, examining her talons, “That’s my busiest time of the year. I simply can’t abandon prospective clients.”
Charlie blinked in bewilderment at the flat refusal, “But you said-”
“I’m British, I know,” she cut in, looking the Princess straight in the eye with a sadistic smile, “We also don’t put much stock in Royalty who don’t hold any power. Who’re openly mocked and barely tolerated by their own subjects.”
That hit a nerve, from the constant barrage of disrespect her parents had tried to shield her from as a child, but it had still managed to seep through. And since both her parents had withdrawn from hell in different ways, she had had to face it on her own, every day. Charlie’s eyes bled red as she strode across the clinic to face this arrogant bitch.
“I’m willing to stand up against all of Heaven for my people!” she snarled in righteous anger.
Though this caused Cindie’s eyebrow to raise, she didn’t look impressed, “I saw that disastrous broadcast. Are you sure you even know your own people? Because evidence suggests otherwise.”
Charlie’ cheeks flushed in stinging embarrassment every time she thought of Katie Killjoy’s cruel jibes. It reenforced her dads damning opinion of their people, ‘Our people are violent psychopaths hell bent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There really is no point in trying.’ That was often true, and really uncomfortable to deal with. But that wasn’t all there was. The last six months of hard work had proved it. She refused to stop believing people could be better.
“I don’t know them as well as I wish, and that’s on me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Charlie stated, “I’m doing this so no more sinners get slaughtered just for the crime that they ended up in hell. You’ve seen the exterminations, it looks so bleak and hopeless. And yet you still choose to take in injured people and stitch them back together. You must care about them too on some level.”
“I do this job because I’m good at it,” Cindie retorted coldly, “No other reason.”
“So I’m willing to pay for those skills tomorrow,” Charlie bargained. Was it really that simple, just a financial transaction?
“Your Majesty, I have money, but you’re asking me to follow you into a warzone,” the surgical demon explained, “So let me speak plainly, why should I risk my life for you?”
“After the battle, any angel parts are yours for the taking,” Alastor offered.
That caused Cindie’s eyes to gleam in interest as she tapped her lip, “I do need to restock if I want to continue my work.”
Charlie would never have thought to offer that. Though she often felt deeply uneasy about Alastor’s methods, she was glad he was there to help.
“Very well, my skills are at your service tomorrow. However,” the Doctor paused, “If it looks like you’ll lose, I will not stick around. Self-preservation and all.”
“That…will be enough. Thank you.” With their objective achieved, Charlie and Alastor left. The extermination clock tolled heavily across Pentagram city, reminding them of the preparation that still needed to be done and that time was running short. It was going to be a long night.
“We did it Alastor! We might actually stand a chance tomorrow!” Charlie beamed, practically skipping down the street in excitement.
“You really are coming into your own, my dear,” Alastor complimented, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have one more errand to run.”
Alastor watched from the shadows as the surgery demon went about closing up her clinic. He’d thought these days were behind him, but needs must. The Doctor had pledged her support; though not completely. There was always a chance, if Charlie got injured, she would no longer be around.
He could not let that happen.
“Here’s your payment, Soloman,” she said, handing over a slimy, pulsating liver to her assistant, “Say hi to the family for me.”
Once the bell jingle had ceased, Alastor materialized, blocking her path.
“Can I help you, again?” Cindie asked, though with an air of caution and as she treated him as an unknown quantity. As if she’d heard how dangerous he really was.
“Lovely display you put on, my dear, quite the performance, bravo!” he said brightly, “But I’ve been in show business long enough to see beneath the razz ma tazz to the struggling performer underneath.”
The surgery demon shrugged, “Business is always slow before extermination day. Who wants to waste their last hours visiting a Doctor?”
“And yet you’re still in this rustic hole that’s seen better days,” he observed, poking at the spindly chairs with his radio staff, “Wouldn’t you prefer a more glamourous establishment, top of the line, no expense spared. It pays to advertise my dear.”
“That comes with bills, staff problems, it all adds up to one constant headache,” she retorted, folding her arms.
“Those problems could all be taken care of, with the proper patronage,” he offered, brushing his lapel down, whilst keeping half an eye on her reaction.
In return, she regarded him with a shrewd look, as if she could make an educated guess as to exactly what his game was.
“Such a kind offer, but this cozy little office allows me to provide a more, personal experience to my patients,” she asserted, “Now if you don’t mind, I have preparations to make for tomorrow.”
The surgical demon made for her office, determined to end this conversation. Alastor waited until she turned the doorknob.
“Then again, perhaps you are hiding from something, or someone,” he guessed.
Cindie turned sharply around, her cool composure slipping, “Listen, you pompous prick, I’m the surgery demon. Anyone makes a move on me, they get sliced up. Where do you think my stock of body parts comes from?”
“Enterprising, for sure. But consider this, what if your enemies come in sufficiently high numbers?” he speculated, “Just how powerful are you really, hmm?
As she opened her mouth to answer, with hell’s usual coincidental timing, the entrance door burst open, and several mobster sharks squeezed into the small waiting room, like sardines fighting to take up residence in a can.
Cindie raced into her office and locked the door, sighing in frustration when Alastor just materialized through the floor to join her.
The door rattled on its hinges, “You’re rent is late, pay up or we take it out of your hide. Boss said either way suits him just fine.”
She glared at her intruding guest, “Not one word out of you, understood?”
“Seems you’re in a spot of bother,” he observed, taking up residence in her chair and putting his feet on the desk.
“If you’re not going to be any help, just stay out of the way and try not to get shot,” she said tightly.
The door burst off its hinges as the mobsters streamed in.
The surgical demon’s first slice severed three heads from their bodies. In panic the next mobsters in line opened fire, filling the small office with bullets. Or they would have if they hadn’t been absorbed into the sudden barrier swarming with occult symbols.
“Do you mind? We were in the middle of negotiating,” the radio demon said, his voice crackling and deepening as dark power swirled around, coating the surroundings in a threatening black miasma.
Rising slowly into the air, black tentacles erupted from his morphing form and rushed towards the mobsters, tearing through the ranks and ripping them limb from limb. Their agonized screams were drowned out by the radio demon’s maniacal laughter. Not one made it out alive.
After the carnage was left splattered across the floor and redecorated the walls, Alaster resumed his usual neat and dapper form. He wondered what the Doctor’s response would be, fury at being rescued, or perhaps terror at bearing witness to other form? To his surprise, Cindie was staring at him in academic fascination, her silvery eyes gleaming.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” she whispered, “How did you come to wield that level of power?”
That’s when Alastor finally figured out her lever, the driving force that has motivated her through life and sustained her in death. It wasn’t helping people like Charlie foolishly hoped. Or the pursuit of power or prestige, otherwise she wouldn’t have dismissed his earlier offer so easily. It was knowledge. The level of skill on display earlier spoke of someone who had obsessively studied and honed her craft at the expense of everything else.
He had her now.
Leaning in with his hands clasped behind his back, he said condescendingly, “That’s my little secret.”
Cindie tapped her lip in contemplation, “The same secret as your mysterious absence for seven years? But by all accounts, you had this level of power when you first arrived in hell. So, either a different secret, or there are several layers to the same one.”
The Doctor’s eyes were narrowed watching him closely, whilst Alastor kept his enigmatic smile in place, giving nothing away.
“If you really want to know, it comes with a very high price tag,” he informed her.
“Money? Then – wait, no. You’re talking about, my soul,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes growing round and expression more somber. It always did when they realized the price. But she still wasn’t walking away.
“Hold on, you hired me to treat any injuries at the extermination tomorrow,” she said, a sly smile crossing her features, “What if that knowledge is all that stands between you and death?”
Alastor let loose his stilted, modulated laugh, “No power in heaven will be able to touch me. You just worry about the rest of the rabble.”
The surgical demon regarded him with calculating appraisal. As her eyes flashed silver, a gleaming nail sliced through the air across his features. Cindie was stunned into disbelief when her power failed to make any mark at all.
“What, the hell?”
In the next second, she was slammed against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, immobilized by the black, undulating manifestations of his power. With three strides, Alastor had crossed the cramped room and leaned in, his face twisted as the air around him crackled and writhed with glowing symbols.
Did she really have such a masochistic streak? Well it wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such a response, in his experience people did tend to be drawn to power, whether out of awe or fear. But something felt…off.
As the radio demon peered closer, he was used to experiencing a certain level of fear from his victims, and it just wasn’t present. Instead, her expression read more of…concentration? Cindie was flexing her arms against her bonds, but not to break free. Instead, she was testing their durability, their substance. She was still aiming to gather information, willing to go to any extremes to figure out his secret without jeopardizing her soul.
Now that wouldn’t do at all.
“If you try to manipulate me again, the deal is off, and instead you will earn a permanent guest spot on my radio show,” he promised.
Ah, now there was the fear he was expecting, it was always good to be recognized from his previous work.
“Charlie…” she began.
“…Will think you haven’t showed, just like you said,” he finished.
This was the tipping point, his victim had been backed into a corner, demoralized and desperate. All he had to do was wait patiently.
“Very well, my soul, for the knowledge of your power and how you obtained it,” she bargained, “And, I want to learn how to use it.”
Alastor’s grin widened, oh how he loved it when they thought they were being clever.
“That remains to be seen. And you can never tell anyone what you know, whether in heaven, hell or anywhere in between.”
“Now,” he concluded, extending his hand, “Do we have a deal?”
As her hand was released, Cindie extended it then pulled it back in hesitation, as if common sense and self-preservation were making one last ditch effort to make her come to her senses.
Alastor enjoyed watching that last line of defense crumble.
Steeling herself, the surgical demon looked him straight into the eye and clasped his outstretched hand.
“Deal.”
A whirling vortex of energy surrounded them, bathing the bloody remains coating the walls a sickly green colour as if they were diseased. From his free hand, a fluorescent chain was formed and grew link by link until it ended with a collar that snapped around her throat.
The silvery sheen of Cindie’s eyes bled into a darkness as black as the void, as the knowledge she so desperately coveted poured into her mind.
As the wind whipped her hair across her face, several expressions flitted across in rapid succession, fear, awe, pity, and finally glee as laughter erupted from her throat.
Alastor just grinned, he loved adding useful souls to his collection.