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There are three very important things one should know when entering Alastor’s room:
- His room contains its very own bayou, an almost exact replica of which, flowed through Louisiana when he was alive.
- His room holds no bed, which one might conclude he simply does not sleep. In truth, he does sleep, only forgoing so when experiencing nightmares of his past life, which has become a common occurrence since his arrival to the hotel.
- Alastor’s room is tidy. He prides himself on knowing the exact location of every item within his possession at all times. So much so that Husk has been known to call him a ‘fucking control freak from his fuckass bob to his prim-ass hooves’.
Because of the latter, it came as quite the shock to Alastor when he couldn’t locate his hair straightener, which he was quite sure to have placed in the bottom left draw of his dresser just last he’d had need of it.
Here was the problem. Alastor was a creole man living in the southern states of 1920’s America. A time where black culture was suppressed in favour of adopting and assimilating into white society. Although his maman had tried to teach him how to maintain and strengthen his curls, Alastor--eager to climb his way through society as a radio star--never put such aspects of his culture into practice, instead opting to straighten his curls with the rest of his time.
Unfortunately, when he died, nothing changed. His very first purchase within Pentagram City, had been a hair straightener from the closest barber shop he could find. Of course, many of these had broken before, the only problem was; before, he could simply purchase the same model and be done with it. Now, all hair straighteners from the early 1930’s, or even 40’s (he was desperate) had been discontinued.
Now, Alastor had been pacing his room back and forth, hastily trying to come to a solution for the meanwhile. Perhaps Nifty could spare her brush? Right now, that was the only option he held. Sending out a tendril of his magic, urging her to his room, it took her less than thirty seconds to arrive--quite the impressive feat considering how she was most definitely on the third floor while his own room was featured at the very top.
A prim and eager knock sounded at the door and he let her in. The little bug-like demon scuttled about the room, eyeing the damage before scrambling up to his shoulder with a huge smile. “Mr Alastor! Woah your hair is super curly today, it’s really pretty, why don’t you wear it like this all the time?”
If anyone else had pestered him, he would have been quite irritated. Hell, if anyone had even seen him like this without his consent, he would have torn their soul apart. But Nifty was someone who had, in an unperceived turn of events, become quite an endearing creature within his company. “Nifty my dear, I seem to be in need of a brush! Do you by chance have one to spare?”
Her eye lit up in excitement at the question, “Sure Alastor! Can I do your hair? Please? We could be matching!” The little thing began to vibrate in excitement before jumping from his shoulder and leaving the room again before Alastor could tell her that, no, she would most certainly not be doing his hair.
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Alastor, to say the least, was panicking. He looked at the frizzy mess on top of his head. He’d realised in the first few minutes that Nifty’s brush only worked on straight hair, and, instead, served to only exaggerate his own curls, turning into a lump of fuzz. It only worsened with his pulling and tearing at it, becoming an almost unrecognisable clod of red and black.
“It’s okay Mr Alastor” The cyclops attempted to console. The demon had almost forgotten Nifty was there, turning to find her perched on the armchair by his fireplace. Her big eye was looking up at him in concern “Everyone has a bad hair day.”
It’s settled now. Alastor had to find a new straightener, even if that meant finding one past his death date.
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When Alastor finally left his room, it was lunch time. The residents of the hotel had all reunited over a meal which Alastor recalled he was asked to cook. Instead, he was greeted with the smell of a sickly sweet dish of French Toast made by Lucifer himself.
“Heyah Lucifah? Ya realise French Toast’sa breakfast thing ya?” Angel was saying, glancing at Husk who was seated next to him, confused.
The small blond’s mouth had opened to retort when his eyes had fallen on Alastor’s and widened considerably. “What the fuck?”
All other heads turned at this, falling onto Alastor’s clump of mangled curls. A series of gasps filtered through the room and Alastor suppressed his desire to sink into the shadows back into the comfort of his own privacy. Why did I insist on leaving my room again? Smile intact, he simply stated “My hair straightener has been misplaced.” and made to leave for the door.
He didn't get there. “Woah! Alastor what- what- um- er- uh … what?” The princess started, coming to stand in front of him, with Vaggie standing off to the side openly gawking. Yet Charlie’s shocked expression did nothing to suppress the joy that shone through at the newfound information of the demon. “Your hair isn’t straight?”
Angel Dust came around with Husk, the latter of which held a look of disbelief as if the cat had consumed one drink too many while the former had a barely concealed bout of laughter. “Smiles… What’d ya do to ya hair?”
Lucifer, who lacked any respect Angel Dust still held for him, was practically on the floor laughing. “You- you-!” another bout of laughter “You- brushed your- HA-!”
Alastor was not amused. With a snarl he walked over to the king lifting him off the ground. He’d never been so embarrassed in his death as he felt right now. disgusting, good-for-nothing tangles of knots. “Do not test me Little King.” He cut through, smiling as sharply as ever.
“Woahhhthere!” Charlie cut through. “I’m sure Dad didn’t mean any disrespect towards you!” Lucifer snorted against the wall earning another vicious grin turned his way. “But on a completely different note! Your hair!” She made an awkward attempt at jazz hands before continuing “How..?” her jazz hands slowly morphed into a flail of arms, pointing desperately as her body brimmed with excitement. No doubt seeing this as a moment of vulnerability for Alastor to exploit for her silly trust exercises.
The Radio Demon unhanded Lucifer who unceremoniously fell to the floor, turning his attention to the rest of the residents.
There were two options. The first would be to walk out that door, without answering any of their questions in favour of buying a new brush. Intern possibly disheartening Charlie and ruining his plans, ending with his leash remaining intact forever.
The second option, the most distasteful, was to answer their question and be laughed at by everyone, some most likely using this information as blackmail for later purposes. Although, he considered, his current appearance might very well accomplish the latter part without his added speech.
With a sigh he fixed his bowtie as he stated. “Your observations are correct! I am creole and do not in fact have naturally straight hair!”
Silence stretched on for a few seconds as they waited for the radio demon to continue. He did not. Lucifer cleared his throat. “So- uh. How’d you mess your hair up that bad?”
Alastor’s head whipped around to the king again, a snarl bending the top of his smile before he composed himself again, relaxing. “I confess, I do not know how to maintain this style of hair and had hoped simply using Nifty’s brush would hold no difference in the state that it is now.”
Husk shook his head as if he was still fighting the effects of alcohol. “Wait- hold up. How do you not know how to deal with your hair? That doesn’t even seem possible for you to have lived as long as you have.”
Alastor grit his teeth, smile sharpening once again. “You see Husker, being an African American man in a white-superior society meant trying to become as white as possible. The last I remember having curled hair was when I was a mere child.” He’d been nine and cornered by four white kids two or three years older than him on his way back from school one day. When his maman had seen his bruises she had wept.
Vaggie shook her head in disgust. “I mean, sure, I’d heard about racism but I’d never really expected it to be a real thing.” Although she could see how it would infest someone’s mind. Her own mind had accepted the brutal extermination of sinners for hundreds of years.
“Indeed Vagatha, it’s quite an uncouth way to go about society” He stated pretending to care for her revelation. “Now, I'm afraid I have an appointment with the hairdresser that simply cannot wait! Good day to you all!” And with that, Alastor pursued his exit from the conversation, walking through the hotel’s front doors.
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Velvette walked into the hair salon with the intention of a swift in and out--with a few sinstagram posts somewhere in between. What she did not expect was to find the Radio Demon of all people with an egregious amount of abused curls, holding a new line of hair straighteners and looking thoroughly perturbed.
She would never tell anyone this, but the sight had almost made her drop her phone.
Several thoughts crossed her mind at this sight, having to reprofile the demon in front of her many times, but the one which escaped her mouth was: “What the fuck have you done to your hair?” The Radio Demon gave a 180° head turn, giving his neck a sickening crack. This would have been more unnerving had she still not been looking at the fashion crime he was currently sporting on his head. “Seriously darl, your curls must be crying for mercy right now, this is fucking egregious.”
Voodoo symbols--and oh, they made a lot more sense now--had begun to appear around his head as radio static began to heighten in frequency. At this, every single Imp, hound and sinner took that as cue to flee the building, half done haircuts and all.
“Nope.” She tutted, hand on her hip, “None of that now babe. Sit.” She stated, pointing to a now free salon chair.
The radio static cut off, voodoo symbols disappearing and Alastor stared at her, smile intact, yet eyes scrunched in confusion as he tilted his head. “Pardon my dear?”
“I am not letting an overlord as fucking fancy as you walk around with that atrocity on your head. I’m going to do two things when you sit your ass down in that chair.” She stated, holding two fingers up. “The first will be to properly teach you how to tend to your curls instead of being a fucking idiot and brushing the damn thing.” Radio feedback screeched in protest as his smile sharpened and he opened his mouth, but she made sure to continue before he decided he’d walk out the door. “The second will be teaching you how to work the new straightener- oh don’t give me that look, Vox goes on and on and on about you, so I know you’ve got no fucking clue how the this new shit works mkay?”
Alastor in question, was left speechless. If this had been a man, Alastor would no doubt have already killed him for speaking to him this way. And then probably eaten him. But his maman had taught him better than that when it came to women. And he thought that it would do more good than harm to learn this. Still, “And what would you want from this?” She was an overlord.
But Velvette only scoffed and turned to the seat. “I simply never want to grace my eyes on that unhealthy shit-stained glob of hair. I’m not even kidding, I can actually fucking hear it screaming.”
And Alastor sat down.