Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A MILE IN YOUR SHOES

CHAPTER 01

It was a typical busy morning at the Hazbin Hotel.  Everyone was gathered in the dining room, enjoying a family breakfast before splitting up and going about their own business.  The sun sat high in the sky, beaming into the room, casting glittering rays of light across the table and creating endless, mesmerizing patterns in the reflection of Charlie’s eyes.  Vaggie found herself drifting off into daydreams, falling out of the conversation and into the confines of her own mind.  She’s so beautiful, she thought; feeling especially grateful for her life here in Hell as she absently sipped on her third cup of coffee.  

Broken from her reverie by Niffty’s request to pass the hot sauce, Vaggie shakes her head, no small sense of loss accompanying her abrupt shift back into work mode; her attention drawn to the roughly scribbled list of items she’s got to complete before this evening.  Bristling at the sheer volume of responsibilities currently dragging her calm and content mood back down into its normal state of dismissive apathy; she heaves in a heavy breath and squeezes her eyes closed, willing her temper to stay dormant.  

She can hold it together a bit longer… At least until breakfast is over.

“Penny for your thoughts, dear girl.”  Alastor chimes in, completely unprompted.  She can feel tension creep across her frame, settling uncomfortably into her taught muscles, as all efforts to keep her endless irritation tamped down until the end of their meal goes right out the window.  That voice - it’s so inhuman, so grating.  She would bet money that he does it on purpose.  Just another bit of flair meant to unnerve us, she thinks; unkindly.  Chuckling under her breath, her mind wanders…  Of course his voice would be strange, mechanical, and devoid of any warmth.  It matches its owner perfectly.  

At least Hell got one thing right.

“Fuck is your problem, gran hombre pavoroso?”  She snaps; lingering remnants of patience gone in an instant.

“My, my.  Such vulgar language!”  Alastor chirps, unfettered by her demeanor.  “Is there a reason you look so constipated, dear?  Inquiring minds would like to know!”  He lilts, punctuating his words with a loud, obnoxious sip of his coffee.  There is a tune in his voice, melodic and grating.  

Mocking.

Did she expect any less?  Of course not.  After all, why would he ever be respectful of her clearly sour mood?  He’s basically the reigning King of shitty, condescending behavior.  Being that this is literal Hell, that’s saying a lot.   

Really, she should be taking notes.  Some of his comebacks are downright scathing, and all seem completely off-the-cuff.  He’s a natural.  If he wasn’t so irritating, she may even be impressed.

“I’ve got a busy day lined up.”  She grinds out, willing herself to avoid confrontation when Charlie is sitting at the head of the table, close enough to hear any ‘negative Nancy’ comments (as the Princess so often calls them) she may make.  A small spike of shame whispers from the recesses of her mind as she thinks back to their earlier conversation; Charlie pleading with her to be more ‘approachable’ lest she accidentally intimidate their non-existent guests.  

Why she needs to be approachable she’ll never understand.  She’s the muscle here, the silent backing that makes Charlie’s dreams possible.  

She is not anyone’s friend.

“Ah yes, forgive me.  I must have forgotten you were the only soul around here who puts in any effort.”  The Overlord cajoles, dry sarcasm positively dripping off of his every word.  It’s reflected in his entire demeanor, come to think of it.  He loudly slurps his coffee, pinky poised primly into the air.  His gaze flicks pointedly towards Charlie, who's already waving her hands across her chest in protest.

“Oh, no!  I know Vaggie must not have meant it like that!”  Charlie rambles, clearly trying to smoothe over yet another questionable comment she didn’t even fully overhear.  “Everyone knows how important you are to this hotel, Al.”  She offers, her wide naive eyes sparkling with honest admiration.  Warmth radiates from deep within her as a smile stretches across her face seeming to ask…  No, to beg Alastor to just let it go.  “Right, babe?”

It doesn’t make any sense.  Sure, Alastor had done some things here and there, but not without negotiating some sort of benefit to himself.  It’s not like he’s some major part of their operation.  If anything, he’s just another headache for her to deal with.  What Charlie sees in him, she’ll never understand.

Something dangerous sparks behind his crimson eyes as he leans forward, chest brushing the edge of the table.  “Oh, I don’t know…”  He draws his words out, speaking under his breath now.  It's just another method of control.  She knows he’s subconsciously prompting them to lean into him, to pay closer attention to his words…  And yet she still feels herself inching forward; hopefully imperceptibly.  Her movements are likely not as unnoticeable as she hopes, if the small hitch in Alastor’s grin is anything to go by.  “Seems she could benefit from a lesson on professionalism and respecting other’s work.”  He states, punctuating his words with an abrupt click of his cane against the wooden floors of the dining room.  

Both girls jump backwards at the sharp, sudden sound.

Charlie breaks into a nervous giggle, eyeing Alastor up and down, as if scanning for ill-intentions.  “Those are important traits, you’re right Al.”  She hedges, tentative hope blooming pink across her face and chest as she flushes with excitement that seems to be forever simmering just below the surface, ready to take her over at the drop of a pin.  “For all of us, actually!”  She exclaims - and there it goes.  Any chance Vaggie had of redirecting the conversation away from the smarmy Overlord in question is gone in an instant, drowned in her girlfriend’s insistent ability (curse?) to always see the good in others.  “What did you have in mind?”

Alastor’s smile deepens impossibly, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.  Dark shadows seem to coalesce around him, casting him in an otherworldly, predatory light.  There is something so malevolent, so dangerous behind his softly glowing eyes that she’s not entirely sure he won’t simply reach out and take a bite out of the Princess.

Instead, he twirls his cane in a large, dramatic circle and clicks the bottom sharply against the ground yet again.  “Well, since she’s under the erroneous impression that I do so little to keep this silly little hotel running…”  He pauses, taking a long sip of his now room temperature coffee.  To his credit, he doesn’t so much as grimace at the taste.  Committed to the bit, so they say.  “She should have no trouble taking up my mantle for the day.”  He chirps, voice full of a faux-playfulness she’s sure is a cheap veneer, meant to cover something deeper, darker.

A threat.

“I, of course, will remain on the property should anything arise that proves a bit too much for our plucky little pigeon to handle.”  He adds, locking eyes with her, unrelenting gaze boring deep into the heart of her.  Her stomach churns under the full weight of his attention.

“Tienes cojones!  Like I would ever need your fucking help.”  She growls, crossing her arms and slinking back further into her chair just as she catches Charlie’s disappointed expression in her peripherals.  She had promised she would make an active attempt to get along with the other residents, and this definitely isn’t helping her case.  

Sighing, she throws her hands up into the air.  “Valle madre!  Fine!  I’ll do the serial killer’s job for a day.  I’m sure he’s just so responsible, so important, so irreplaceable that I’ll have a total change of heart by close of business.”  She can’t help adding, smirking at her own jab.

Two can play at this game.

“Ah, exactly!”  Alastor claps, completely ignoring her attempt to rattle his faux-joviality with her scathing sarcasm.  Instead, he simply pushes to his feet and moves to exit the dining room.  “I will put together a list for the mass killer.”   Eyeing her pointedly, he pauses, letting the comment breathe.  “Be back shortly!”  He chirps, casually tossing his words from over his shoulder, not even deigning to make eye contact as he throws her attempt at a  venomous barb right back at her, unperturbed.

“I am not like you!”  Vaggie shouts, her face suddenly hot and stinging.  Offhandedly  she realizes her nails are drawing blood where she must have dug them into the meat of her palms.

“Vaggie, babe; you know I love you and I don’t think of you like that, but if you don’t want to be called a murderer, maybe don’t call other people out as killers too.”  Charlie hesitantly offers, very clearly uncomfortable with correcting her girlfriend’s behavior, whether or not she’s simply stating facts.

“It’s not the same.”  Vaggie stares at the ground, shaking her head as if that could clear the illusion away.  The worst part of it all is that he’s not actually wrong.  In the grand scheme of things, she had killed WAY more sinners than Alastor ever had…  And that’s including his murders as a human.  

Why does she hate him so much?

Oh, right.  Because he’s actively evil.  He’s manipulative.  He takes advantage of people when they’re down.  Makes deals with them.  “It’s not.”  She adds.  Maybe she can convince Charlie, even if she can’t fully believe it herself.

“I know, babe.  You’re making up for it now.”  Charlie soothes, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss across her knuckles.  It reads as symbolic to Vaggie; as if Charlie’s gentle nature can soothe her own more violent one - but she knows the Princess doesn’t mean it that way.  She’s not playing 4D relationship chess.  If she wants to tell Vaggie something, she just says it.  It may take her a lot of nervous fidgeting and some poorly worded rants, but Charlie isn’t the type to communicate passive-aggressive messages through pointed gestures.  No, she isn’t trying to tell Vaggie that she needs to be more like her, she’s praising the efforts she has already taken to shed years of Adam’s brainwashing.

And that’s what it must have been, right?  Otherwise, how could she so easily believe that years of murdering thousands of sinners, of other people, was a completely normal and just thing to do?  For Hell’s sake, her own parents aren’t in Heaven!  It’s a thought that’s kept her up at night, ever since she too became a denizen of Hell…  had she unknowingly murdered her own family?  It’s entirely possible.  Despite her relentless searching those first few years with Charlie, she found no trace of them.  They seem to be long gone, likely felled by the tip of an exorcist’s spear.

She suppresses a shudder.

A reassuring hand clasps her own, gently squeezing.  It’s hard not to love Charlie in moments like this.  “Thanks, babe.  I really am trying. It’s just…”  Grimacing as if biting into a lemon, she sneers.  “HIM.   He gets on my last nerve, every damn time.”

Charlie chuckles, warm and true.  “He does have a strong personality.”  She allows, guiding Vaggie out towards the lobby.  “But then again, so do you.  You know, you two have more in common than you think.  Maybe this little activity could help you both see that!”  Her eyes light up as she grabs tightly onto Vaggie’s shoulders, voice rising in volume and cadence as a new brilliant idea comes to fruition, no doubt.  “OHMYGOSH, Vaggie!  If this works on you two , it will definitely work on others!  This could be a great new redemption activity!”

Softening under the glow of Charlie's hopeful gaze, she smiles.  "Sure, babe."  

It's going to be a very, very long day.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 02

“You’re sure this is all of it?”  Vaggie inquires, stern and suspicious as she stares down at the surprisingly long list in her hands.  It wouldn’t be beyond Alastor to mess with her, padding the list with nonsense busy work while hiding certain actual ‘responsibilities’ so he can claim she failed to complete his tasks by close of business.  Let him insinuate that she couldn’t handle his job for a single day; even if his logic is based on a technicality?  Yeah, no way.  “You’re not going to spring anything on me at the last minute, right before closing time, are you?”

“I’ll do you one better.  If anything truly surprising pops up, and by that I do not mean fixing all the trite little squibbles and squabbles of the rabble residing here, then I will jump in and assist.”  Alastor crosses his hands behind his back, twisting his cane agitatedly before waving it away.  “You may have no respect for my position here, but I certainly do.”  He adds, something venomous and accusatory thrumming just beneath his flat tone, ready and willing to strike at any moment.

“What could-”  Slapping a hand onto her face, she drags her palm down the length of it, sighing deeply.  “You mean attacks on the hotel, don’t you?”

Chuckling, Alastor nods.  “Indeed.  Though my general presence here dissuades many of the more sane residents of Hell from even attempting it, not everyone has the benefit of foresight.”

His sense of importance strikes her as overblown.  Sure, he may have a reputation here in Hell, but he’s not the only one in the hotel capable of taking on the various threats to their safety.  Not by a long shot.  She trained for years and was one of Heaven’s elite exorcists, for Satan’s sake!  Rolling her eyes, she adds, “And you like the violence.”

Slowly dragging his eyes up and down Vaggie’s angelic spear, Alastor raises a brow pointedly as he clucks his tongue.  “And I like the violence.”  He agrees, with an exaggerated nod.  This time, though…  It sounds different.  A bit less like intimidation, and a bit closer to some shared joke she’s not entirely in on.  Shuddering at the thought, she waves her spear away, back into whatever extraplanar pocket dimension it resides in when she’s not using it.  

If Heaven and Hell got just one thing right, it was this.  

Unlimited pocket space.

“Très bien, petite mademoiselle.  I am going to go work on my newest script, but I will be around to check in and make sure you haven’t destroyed the place.”  Alastor calls out, already halfway across the lounge.  As he reaches the foot of the grand staircase, he throws a mischievous wink over his shoulder and sinks into the shadows.

Finally.

“Mierda!”  Vaggie exclaims, under her breath but loud enough to catch Husk’s attention from his post up behind the bar.  “Fuck was that about?!”  She mumbles, pacing back and forth.  “There’s no way he isn’t planning something.”

“AHEM.”  Husk’s feigned throat clearing echoes across the lounge, the space eerily empty without the vibrant laughter of the residents to fill it.  For a fleeting moment she feels at once incredibly small and pathetically useless.  Everything is so much bigger than her, how could she possibly claim to be of any particular import?  To deign to hope she could cause some tangible effect?  Charlie’s dreams are so big, and she’s just one person…

“Looks like you need a drink.”  Husk attempts again, breaking the creeping silence as he makes a show of wiping off an already sparkling crystal tumbler.  He avoids eye contact as if he wasn’t actually paying her much attention, despite playing audience to her entire interaction with the overblown Overlord.  It’s a poor attempt, but Vaggie finds herself grateful for the feigned privacy nonetheless.

“It’s 9am, Husk.”  She sneers, judgement radiating openly throughout her retort as Husk pours a glass of whiskey and slides it across the bartop unprompted. Sighing, she thinks the better of it.  It’s bound to be a very long, irritating few hours.  “Maybe just one.”  She slides into a seat at the bar, shoulders hunched in preemptive defeat.  “I have a feeling I’ve got a long day ahead of me.”  She admits, staring forlornly into the dark amber liquid.

“Ah, yeah.”  Husk rolls his eyes, pouring a healthy portion of some mysterious amber swill into a second glass and downing it in one massive swig.  “Coulda warned ya not to wager with the Boss.”

“So he IS messing with me.  I fucking knew it!”  She growls, finally raising her glass and taking a modest sip.  Narrowing her eyes onto Husk, she demands, “What is his end game here?”

“Uh-”  Husk raises a brow in her direction, but makes no move to stop refilling his glass.  He takes a deep sip before continuing.  “What are you on about?”

“Alastor!  I kind of insulted what he’s doing here, and he said I wouldn’t last a single day doing his job.  Charlie got involved and it kind of steamrolled from there.”  She sighs, throwing back the rest of her drink and slumping forward onto the bar.  “Aaaaand I kind of wound up with an entire list of ‘Alastor-tasks’ while he got the whole damn day off!”

“HAH!”  Husk barks out, eyes sparkling with actual enjoyment for once.

“Glad someone finds this entertaining.”

“Oh, I do!”  Husk chuckles, dark amusement lighting up his usual bored tone.  “You don’t know what you’re in for.”  He adds, already refilling his glass.

“Exactly!”  She clips, exasperated.  Husk arguably knows the Overlord best, maybe he can provide some insight into his motivations.  “So tell me what his plans are!”  She glares across the bar, already sick of this whole game.

“Well, I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t have any.”

“Wait- what?”

“Probably doesn’t have any.  Well, any more than watching you struggle.  Doesn’t need ‘em.”  Husk locks eyes with her, pointing a sharp claw in her direction.  “He may be all dark whimsey and barely controlled chaos on the outside, but that man is a fuckin’ workhorse and proud of it.”

“Uh-”

“Before you even ask, I don’t fucking know.  Maybe it’s the era he grew up in, maybe it’s something that came from his home life, or maybe he just enjoys it.  All I know is that Alastor is terrifyingly capable and almost NEVER idle.”

“So…  You do think he’s got some master plan to show me up?  Make me look bad in front of Charlie?”

“I’m saying he doesn’t need one.  You walked right into this situation on your own.”  He snickers, mouth quirked into a small, knowing grin.  He tosses back his second drink before continuing.  “At any given point during the day, he’s generally juggling a handful of different tasks for the hotel, a few more more for his position as Overlord, and taking out whatever dumb asshole tried to push their luck and attack us that day - all while holding and winning a verbal sparring match with anyone and everyone in the vicinity.”  At her silence, he rolls his eyes, adding, “You don’t rise through the ranks as quickly as he did by being lazy. ”  Slinging a rag over his shoulder, Husk pours himself yet another drink.  “You manage to get it all done?  Hell, I’ll eat my damn hat.”

“He’s nothing but a blight to this hotel.  I don’t understand what Charlie sees in him.  If it were up to me…”  Vaggie growls, eye twitching at the insinuation.  Her fingers tighten around her own glass; crystal creaking out a warning beneath her tense grip.  “Wait!  You think he’s going to show me up, no trickery involved?”

“Yup.”  Husk states, suddenly flat.  All teasing has drained from his tone and his demeanor has abruptly shifted.  He actually looks a bit… annoyed?

“Pinche gringo…  I know this list is bullshit.  I know he fucking padded it.  He’s just trying to knock me off my game.”  She mutters, half to Husk, half to herself.  “Doesn’t matter.  I’m still better than him.  I can finish esta merida by dinner, no problem!”

“Uh huh.”  Husk intones, dismissive.

As she makes her way out of the lounge, intent on knocking out her stupid list as quickly as possible, Husk’s voice catches her attention.  “Ya sure you’re not just jealous that the Princess relies on him to keep this place running?  ‘Cause it sure sounds like this is personal.”

What an insane thing to say!  Her?  Jealous of Alastor?  Absolutely not.  Never.  Not in a million years.  

Gross.

Charlie knows she would do anything for her - whatever it takes to make her dream work.  She knows.

Alastor is inconsequential.  Just a minor irritant.  Of course Charlie is kind to him…  she’s kind to everyone!  She doesn’t actually rely on his ‘work’, she just likes to make him feel included!

She doesn’t need him.  No one needs him.  She has Vaggie!

Shaking her head, she stomps away and doesn’t dignify Husk’s words with a response. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 03

“Not inside the hotel!”  Vaggie shouts, chasing Niffty across the lobby.  There are slick puddles of soap suds strewn across the floor and she’s trying to avoid the suds to her right when her left foot plants down hard, the surface slipping right out from underneath her.  With an unceremonious “OOF!”, she lands on her ass, glaring up at the housekeeper currently hanging off the chandelier.

“I’m gonna getcha!”  Nifty shouts, her tiny frame vibrating with levels of energy hitherto unmatched.  

“Didn’t walk her this morning, did ya toots?”  Angel’s voice breezes in from the lounge.

“I didn’t think Alastor was serious!”  She shouts, wiping soap bubbles from her skirt and grabbing onto a side table to drag herself back up to her feet.  “Niffty’s not some animal. ”  

“Uh- you sure ‘bout that?”  Angel chuckles, his gaze landing somewhere far above Vaggie’s head.

“Of cour-  OH DAMN IT, ANGEL!”  Storming into the lounge, she fixes the coffee table with a death-glare.  “Is that fucking GLITTER!?”

“Yep!”  Angel poses with his drawing, popping his P with an air of giddy amusement that immediately gets under her skin.  It’s a crudely made advertisement for the hotel, flashy and blinding under the yellow overhead lighting.  “Princess specifically asked for the glitter.  I can go tell her if ya hate it, though.”  He chirps, already bouncing to his feet.  “Ain’t no skin off my back!”  He chuckles, taking a step towards the lobby.

“NO!”  Leaping across the coffee table, Vaggie latches onto one of the pornstar’s upper arms, gripping him tight and holding him in place.  Charlie would be so disappointed in her.  It may be in his own irritating way; but Angel does seem to be helping.  Even she can’t deny it.

He just rolls his eyes.  “Thought so.”  Unceremoniously plopping back into his seat, he grabs a new piece of colored paper and gets back to work.  

“Just try not to get it everywhere.”  She mumbles, defeated.  That’s going to make a hell of a mess.  She’ll have to remember to come clean up in a few hours.  Normally she would just ask Niffty, but apparently skipping her walk - ahem, her ‘morning ghost offensive’ was not just some dumb joke; nor was it optional.  Alastor had written a small note under the item: “If this battle does not commence on its regular schedule, ghosts will breach our hotel’s defenses and the ensuing hunt will consume all of Niffty’s attention for the remainder of the day.”  What is that even supposed to mean?  

What was she supposed to think?  They’re in literal Hell.  It’s clear ghosts don’t exist.  

This is all they have to look forward to in the afterlife.

It seemed so obvious that the weird task was a ruse.  Little did she know it was actually worded perfectly; she had just underestimated Niffty’s level of delusion and how much it takes to actually keep her on track and productive.  No big deal, she can manage keeping the hotel clean and bug free for a day.  

Right?

“I see you!”  A screech rings out as Niffty drops down from the chandelier and sprints off up the main staircase, trailing soap suds behind her, shouting “Die!  Die!  Die!” all the way upstairs.  She had been doing the dishes from breakfast when she suddenly spun around, announcing “The ghosts are here.” in an eerily monotone voice, before sprinting into the lobby; her sponge still in hand.  

Vaggie sighs, rolling her eyes and staring at the mess of suds spanning the lobby and trailing up the main staircase.

She’s just about to get to the next task when she remembers the sink is still very much overflowing with dirty dishes.  She had forgotten that Alastor makes breakfast for the hotel every morning, and hadn’t woken up accordingly early.  By the time she made it downstairs, half the residents were mulling around the kitchen, grumbling about the lack of food.  Thankfully, someone had at least made coffee or there may have been a coup right then and there.  

It took her three tries before giving up on frying eggs.  Beyond aggravated with the impossible task of catering for an entire hotel’s worth of ravenous sinners, she finally gave up, tossing an armful of cereal boxes onto the dining room table.  “Serve yourselves.  Lazy little…”

“Thanks, babe!  I love Mammon’s Munch-os!  I haven’t had them in years.”  Charlie beams, apparently unaware of her strife as she plops into the seat beside her; giggling as she pulls two bowls and some silverware across the table towards them.  “They have little marshmallows in them.”  She stage-whispers conspiratorially, as if she’s a child sneaking cookies before dinner.

It’s adorable.

Vaggie’s cheeks heat up and she quickly ducks behind another cereal box, making a show of reading the back panel.  “These are kind of like the cereal I used to love on Earth.  They were mini-chocolate chip cookies.”  She huffs, amused at the memory.  “Don’t know how my brother talked Mom into buying them.  She hardly ever let us have sugary foods.”

“Wow, Vaggie!  You should definitely have a bowl.”  Charlie cheers, milk dripping down the side of her mouth.  She’s never been good at talking while eating; always too excited to get her next idea out before she finishes chewing.  Silverware gets flung around with her grand gestures, and more often than not, you can tell what meal they had just enjoyed based on the spillage on the Princesses’ sleeves.  Vaggie has joked on more than one occasion that she’s going to gift Charlie with a personalized bib one of these days.

Of course, she doesn’t actually mean it.  It’s just another one of the quirks that makes Charlie, Charlie.  She would never want to tone down her girlfriend’s passion for life.  It’s one of the things she cherishes most about her.

A smile breaks across Vaggie’s face as she reaches a thumb out, carefully wiping away the stray milk from Charlie’s chin.  “You know what?  I think you’re right, babe.”

Without the warmth of Charlie’s smile brightening the morning, the kitchen just feels grimy and off-putting.  There are half-full bowls strewn across the counter and the cereal inside has now solidified into gelatinous clumps that threaten to turn her stomach.  She’s never been a big fan of milk, but it’s alright in small doses.  This, though - this is disgusting.

Rolling her sleeves up, she plunges her hands into the still running sink and gets to work.  “Malditos niños.”  She huffs, shaking her head.

She needs to get this done fast.  She still needs to somehow talk Niffty into getting two new hotel rooms ready, check the warding on the dome protecting the hotel from acid rain, fix the plumbing in the third and fifth floor bathrooms, join Charlie and Alastor on hotel tours for prospective guests, meet with the grocery and liquor distributor over discrepancies in their usual order, help Charlie plan and execute an afternoon redemption activity, speak to (read: placate) a few of the Overlords who are twitchy about the possibility of Charlie trying to poach their contracts, get the land behind the hotel ready for the new garden that Charlie wants, fix the under shelf lighting behind the bar, continue Al’s research on ‘sins and virtues’ (whatever that means), cook dinner, advertise the hotel on Alastor’s nightly broadcast, contact Emily and schedule a time for them all to meet, and find and fix the source of a persistent roof leak.

Does Alastor expect her to believe he actually does all this in one single day?  She’s exhausted just thinking about it.

From the distance she hears a resounding crash, followed by a screeching voice.  “I’ve got you now, Mr. Ghost!”  Little feet pitter patter erratically, followed by yet another crash and an unmistakable shattering sound.

“Damn it Niff!”  Husk’s gruff voice carries throughout the winding halls, echoing into the corners of her mind, settling into what she can just feel is the precursor to a major headache.  “Watch where you’re going!  You’re knocking the pictures off the walls!  Fuck, now there’s glass everywhere!”

Slapping a hand to her forehead, she grimaces as soapy dishwater drips down her face.  “Holy hell, can you assholes go ten fucking minutes without some new crisis?!”  She grumbles to the empty kitchen.  Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, she glances over her shoulder at the clock. 

It’s only 9:30.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 04

“Damnit, I KNEW this glitter would get everywhere!”  On her hands and knees half underneath the coffee table, Vaggie shouts into the carpet as if it can respond to her.  

“Heh, yeah.  Better you than me.”  Husk’s dulcet tones soothe something jagged and acidic within her chest.  He’s not about to snap someone’s neck, so maybe she shouldn’t be either.  

After all, it’s just glitter.

And Charlie likes it.

“Oh, Husk!  Actually, can you have Niffty make up two new rooms?”  Shooting for casual, she misses by a mile.

Husk just huffs, entertained.  “Nope, sure can’t.  You know she’s gonna be busy saving us from the ghostly armada all day.  You saw to that one yourself!”  He laughs, slapping a hand on the bar.  “What?  You still think Al was exaggeratin’?”

“UGH.  Yes!  No?  Maybe.”  Throwing the dustpan down to the ground, she pushes heavily to her feet, taking the extra moment to brush loose glitter off of her knees.  “So she’s really going to be useless all day?”

“Mhm.  Mostly, yeah.”  Husk agrees, amusement lightening his usual droll tone.

“Any chance you know about plumbing?”  She hedges, just a hint of a joke lightening her expression.  Husk seems to be enjoying her frantic attempts to keep up with the resident’s antics, but just maybe he can be of some actual help after all.

“Nope.  If ya need a drink or a ringer at cards, I’m your guy.  Plumbing and electrical really ain’t my bag.”

“Do you know who Al usually asks?”

“Asks?  Girl, have you still not gotten this through your thick little head?”  He chuckles, but there’s exasperation there now.  “Boss handles everything himself.  All of it.  The plumbing?  Yep.  The electrical?  Uh huh.  Meals?  With pride.  Structural repairs?  You betcha.  The finances?  Also him.  Negotiations with distributors?  Obviously.  Arguments with the Overlords?  Duh.  Disputes between the residents?  You know it.  Need I go on?”

“How the…”

“I didn’t say he’s down on his hands and knees, halfway under the sink with a damn wrench.  He uses his powers or his shadow imps for a lot of it, and of course I bartend while Niffty handles the cleaning, but yes - at the end of the day, it is actually all him.  Even managing us, as you’ve found out by now.”  His smile deepens as Niffty’s shrieking war cry echoes down from the second floor landing.  

BBBBB-RING RING.

BBBBB-RING RING.

“Fuck, is it really 10 already?!”  Vaggie scrambles to pull her phone from her pocket.  “Yes?  Yes, I’m here.  Hello?”

“Hello, this is Smith and Sons grocery depot.  I’m calling to verify our delivery at 11 this morning.”

“Yes!  Yes, I will be there.”  Pausing, it takes her a moment to remember the topic at hand.  “Oh!  I actually need to discuss the contract.  Will there be a representative available?”

“Yeah, yeah.”  The man huffs, as the sound of shuffling paper fills the speaker.  “We can send Bob here out with the delivery boy today.  You can chat while your order is offloaded.”

“Okay, that sounds good.  Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“OOF.  They’re going to walk all over you.”  Husk chides as she hangs up, shoving the phone back into her pocket and out of sight.  She’s never been the most animated conversationalist to begin with, preferring more to stick with smaller, tighter circles of acquaintances; but phone calls are like her kryptonite.  It’s as if the very moment a call connects, she forgets her entire personality.  

“Shut up.”  She snaps.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie catches her off guard.

“Hey babe!”  She trills, skipping up behind her girlfriend and wrapping her arms around Vaggie’s chest.  “How’s it going being Al for the day?”

“It would be better if I had his damn tentacles…  Or those shadow creature things.”  She moans, leaning back into Charlie’s warmth and closing her eyes.  “Sorry, I’m just exhausted.”

“Do you want me to tell Al this little experiment is cancelled?”  She spins Vaggie around by the shoulders, boring into her eyes.  There is a serious look on her face that seems out of place.  “I can tell him that I need you for something else.  He doesn’t have to know you didn’t want to do it.”  She whispers, and oh- that’s why she looked so serious.

Vaggie can’t help the bright little chuckle that breaks out of her.  Protective Charlie is always a welcome sight.  “I’m fine, babe.”  Reaching up, she slots her hand over top of Charlie’s and gives it a good, solid squeeze.  “It’s just a little annoying.  Nothing I can’t handle.”

Of course, the exact moment the words leave her mouth is the same moment that Niffty barrels through the lobby, slamming the doors to the conference room wide open.  This time she is somehow soaking wet and covered in…  Reeds?  Mud?  Grass?  

What the fuck?

“Niffty, no!  I just cleaned that room!”  She doesn’t say out loud that this is where she plans to hold the meeting with their distributor in 10 fucking minutes.  No, instead she just sprints across the lobby, endlessly chasing the tiny housekeeper.  “Why are you wet!?”

“Boss had a mean ‘ol ghost in his bayou.”  Niffty announces, pride swelling within her chest.  For a moment, she is still as her face darkens into something far more menacing than should reasonably come from such a tiny creature.  “I got ‘em.”

Did Alastor do this on purpose?  She hasn’t seen him all morning, come to think of it.  It’s entirely possible that he knew she skipped Niffty’s morning walk and invited the housekeeper into the muggy, soggy bayou just to get on her nerves.  

Hell, maybe he even sent her down into this exact conference room.  She wouldn’t put it past him.

Well, she might as well take a page out of his book.  After all, if it works, it works.  “That’s good Niffty, thank you!  I think I saw some ghosts heading out back.  Think maybe they’re trying to ambush the guests?”

“Sneaky, sneaky!”  Niffty’s head spins almost 180 degrees, staring determinedly out of the window and into the yard.  “They’ll never win.”  She growls, and in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.

The fallen angel has just filled the mop bucket up when a massive crash sounds off from somewhere above her.  “What now?”  She laments, under her breath.  All of this hectic nonsense is getting to her, but she’ll be damned if she lets Alastor know about it.

As she runs out and into the lobby she nearly careens into Angel.  The pornstar is slumped against the wall, a small puddle of blood dripping to the floor beneath him.  “Watch it, Angel!  I almost ran you over.”

“Ain’t you got eyes?”  Angel mumbles, not even bothering to look up at her.

“Shit, are you okay?  I just heard a loud crash from upstairs.”  She rushes to get her words out, eyes already darting between Angel and the main staircase.  “Did something happen?”

“Oh.  Uh- yeah.  Or… no?  Whateva’.  I’m good.”  Angel’s eyes dart to the ground as he fidgets uncomfortably.  “That may have been Val.  He wasn’t too happy with me when he dropped me off.  Mighta shot a few rounds at the hotel.”

“He… what?!”  She gapes, incredulous.  “Has this happened before?”

“Not in a while.  Once Smiles moved into the hotel here, Val kinda backed off on the more bloody shit.  Think he’s scared of the big, bad strawberry pimp.”  He sighs, pulling at a tear in his shorts and refusing to make eye contact.  “I mean, he did up my hours so I gotta work more, but he hasn’t been beatin’ on me as much as he used to.  Ain’t like I mind the hours most of the time.  This shit though,”  He gestures towards his face where he’s sporting a bloody nose and the beginnings of a large black eye.  “This I can do without.”

He should sound angry, livid - hell, she would be.  Instead, he just sounds tired.   Exhausted, really.  Somehow she’s sure that has nothing to do with the extended hours.

“Do you need help?”  She tries, reaching to support his lower arm.

“Nah, don’t go worryin’ your pretty little head, toots.”  He manages a small smile, then turns to look towards the lounge.  “I’ll be fine in a few hours.  Whiskers’ll take care of me till then.  He always knows how to make me feel betta.”

“Têtu.”  Shaking her head, she offers one last olive branch.  She doesn’t have time for this, but at least she can say she tried.  “As long as you're sure.” 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 05

“POOF!”  A glittering golden portal opens into the kitchen and Lucifer comes tumbling out backwards, two middle fingers jutting out before him, flipping off whoever is on the other end.  The demon in question follows close behind.  Shadows stretch from the darkened corners of the kitchen, slithering across the floor and coalescing in the middle of the room, rising to form a vaguely humanoid shape.  

From the abyss, steps Alastor.  

Of course.

“Your paltry parlor tricks won’t get you out of this one.”  Alastor sing-songs, clearly teasing the seething King.

“I’ll show you parlor tricks, Alexander!”   Lucifer shouts, as he transforms into a honking goose; chasing the Overlord out of the room.  Hot on his heels, he nips at Alastor’s shins the whole way.

Vaggie just sighs.  Golden glitter absolutely covers the kitchen island, the surrounding floor that she just mopped , and is that - damnit, there are also glittery hoofprints spanning the length of the kitchen and trailing back out into the dining room.  

At that exact moment, the doorbell rings.

She sprints out into the lobby, still drying her hands on her skirt.  Flexing her fingers and summoning her spear, Vaggie swings the door open.  In an instant, both Alastor and Charlie appear at her side, standing tall and smiling wide on the off chance they have an unannounced new check in.

They don’t, of course.  Just as Vaggie expected, their delivery is here.  A very irritated and slovenly manager stands beside a chipper young man carrying a load of produce crates stacked taller than his head.  The grumpy old man shifts on his feet, lifting a worn clipboard to his chest.  “Whatdaya need, Al?”

“Nothing, dear.  Our enterprising young woman here,”  He gestures theatrically towards Vaggie as she tries, and fails, to hide her embarrassment.  “Would like to have a chat with you.”

Stepping backward, Alastor places a palm against her mid-back and nudges her forward.  “Bob, this is Vagatha.  She is Princess Charlotte’s partner in life, and our partner in business.”

“It’s Vaggie.”  She grumbles before she can catch herself.  Not a great first impression, groaning at Alastor like some petulant child.  How is this company meant to take her seriously now?  Did he do that on purpose?

Clearing her throat, she fixes her posture and waves a hand, sending her spear back into its dimensional pocket; close enough to defend herself at a moment’s notice, but far enough not to intimidate others.  “Right, good morning Bob.  It’s good to meet you.  Please call me Vaggie.”  She can’t help but push the correction.  Her name isn’t Vagatha, but it would almost be better if it was.  

Adam was such a fucking asshole.  Sure, she loves vagina as much as the next girl, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be named after it!

“Would you please follow me to the conference room?  Your delivery boy must know his way around the kitchen.”

“Yes ma’am, I do all the normal deliveries.”  The boy has to crick his neck all the way to his shoulder to see around the stacked crates.  Why he doesn’t just put them down is beyond her.

“Thank you Lester, if you’ll follow me to the kitchen, I can finish telling you about the redfish in Louisiana.”  Alastor interjects, placing a light hand on the young boy’s shoulder and guiding him towards the kitchen.

The delivery boy’s eyes positively light up.  “Oh, would ya?”  He grins, genuine excitement brightening his expression.  If he wasn’t weighed down by 500 pounds of produce or whatever, she’s sure he might actually start skipping.  “Man, I can’t tell ya how much I miss those nippy winter mornings, up before the sunrise - just me, the newspaper, a mug of steamin’ hot coffee, and a fishing pole.”

“I can’t imagine the wildlife in Louisiana to be that different than your native Georgia.”  Alastor chuckles, holding the dining room door open and ushering the smaller sinner through.  “Though you know I love to tell stories.”  He smiles, and for once, it seems to reach his eyes.

What the hell?

Her attention is abruptly pulled back to the front door as she’s caught off guard by a light chittering sound.  Shockingly, a whole slew of tiny shadow creatures scramble up the steps and across the lobby, all towing crates larger than themselves.

WHAT THE HELL??

“Well, miss?”  Bob’s voice breaks her from her stupor.

Realizing belatedly that she’s gawking at the chaotic scene, she shakes her head to clear the strange image, turns towards the hall, and marches onward.  “Please, follow me.”

As they sit down, she can’t help herself.  “What the hell was that all about?”

“Hm?”  The slovenly manager doesn’t even look up from his clipboard, scribbling in the margins and glancing at his watch.  “What?”

“His shadow imps!  He used them to help that boy out!”

“Oh, that?  Yeah, he always does.”  Bob leans in, conspiratorially.  “Don’t tell him I said this.  I’m still terrified of that fucker, don’t get me wrong here…  But I think he’s got a soft spot for ol’ Lester.”  He chuckles, likely entertained by whatever her face is doing.  She’s not even sure herself.  Confusion is most prominent, also disbelief, and somehow rage.  So he can be nice?  Thoughtful?

Where the fuck have those traits been hiding?

“I-”  Vaggie stammers.  With truly no clue how to even begin to respond to that she opts to ignore it, pushing straight into the topic at hand.

It takes hours.   

Who knew a grocery depot would be such penny pinchers?  Bob argued down to the cent , and every time she agreed to a point, he would throw out an even higher number - arguing that he had forgotten to add in gas mileage or whatever new excuse he can cook up to pad the bill.  If there’s one thing Vaggie has always been good at, it’s math.  He repeatedly tries to confuse her with hastily scribbled equations, ‘miswriting’ a number here and there.  

His frustration was crystal clear by the end of hour one as she clocked every single ‘mistake’ in real time.

By the time the delivery duo leave, she’s having trouble keeping her eye open.  Beelining it to the kitchen, she puts on another pot of coffee and drags herself back out to the middle of the room.  While the coffee is brewing, she starts cleaning up yet another godforsaken glitter pile.  

“When did this become my life?”

Moving towards the back office, she checks her phone.  12 missed calls, all from various residents of the hotel complaining about one thing or another.  A third floor window is still shattered from Valentino’s earlier gunshots and the news is predicting an evening of acid rain.  Charlie asked for an update on the back yard, excited to start planning her new community garden project.  The plumbing in the third floor bathroom is still fucked.  She had meant to get to that particular issue early this morning and apparently it’s now leaking raw sewage into the hall - soaking the rug with putrid brown slop.  

Because of course it is.  

Who sees a broken toilet and doesn’t go use another one instead?  Who the hell thinks: ‘That’s crazy, just use the broken one - you’re already here anyway!’  

She shouldn’t even be surprised.

This is not a job she wants to do without a boost of caffeine, so instead she wanders out the front door and across the property.  One by one, she checks the wards as she waits for her coffee to brew.  Her heart races a bit as she realizes she doesn’t even know how to fix them, should one of them actually turn up damaged.  

As much as Alastor claims to be the hotel’s protection, she’s always thought of that as her position.  Wincing a bit, it’s clear she generally blows off Alastor’s claims, usually assuming the pompous Overlord is just full of hot air.  

In the waning light of the afternoon, it’s hard not to see his point.  She’ll have to bite the bullet and ask him, or maybe Lucifer, to teach her warding.  What if the King fucks off again?  What if Alastor gets bored with his little source of ‘ entertainment’ ?  Would acid rain ruin everything Charlie’s worked so hard for?  

No, that won’t do.

She can swallow her pride.

At least for this one thing.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 06

“Angel, why are there hot pink feathers everywhere!?”  Vaggie yells up the main staircase.  It’s clear there’s no way the pornstar can hear her from his room, but it still feels nice to yell.  Well, she had assumed that’s where he would be.  Come to think of it, she’s not really sure how Angel spends his time outside of work.

“Then I was like - WHAM, BOOM, BAM!  Take that ya ugly fucka!”  Cherri bounds out of the dining room, dripping popsicle in hand.  Angel tumbles out right on her heels, pink boa wrapped around his neck and sparkly sunglasses propped on his head.

“Nuh, uh.  No way you took on the MacCreedys all by ya lonesome!”  He teases, flicking the end of his boa in her face for good measure.

“You know they ain’t no match for me!”  She cackles, hip-checking Angel so hard he bangs into a console table, knocking over an ancient vase sporting the dry and wilted remnants of some long-dead flowers.  They crumble to dust underfoot.  

“THAT’S IT!”  Vaggie screams, tossing the dustpan across the room.  

No one even looks up.

“Can you all go five fucking minutes without causing chaos!?”  She bellows, glaring unrepentantly at their resident pornstar and his best friend.  Cherri just looks annoyed at her outburst, but Angel looks…  Off.  

Hurt.

“Mierde.  Alright, look - I shouldn’t have yelled like that, but can you guys please try not to make a mess?”  She groans out, despite the burning rage simmering in her gut.  Her lesser instincts threaten to take her reins, but with great effort, she manages to stifle them.  “I just finished cleaning up all of Lucifer’s damn glitter, and now I have to start all over again.”  Pointing out the scattered pink feathers and the crumbled, dusty mess that was once a vase and some ancient roses.

“Yeah - we can do that.”  Angel nods slowly, as if dealing with a spooked animal.  It’s a bit strange to see the boisterous demon on the backfoot, and something deep within her twinges.  It takes her a moment to recognize the strange creeping discomfort…  It’s guilt.  

Oh hell, is she feeling guilty now?  For what!?  These demons all act like children, and she’s not a babysitter!

“Hey toots, why don’t we go up to my room.”  Angel murmurs to Cherri.  “I got this killer new pair of boots I wanna model for ya.”  Grabbing tightly onto his friend’s arm, he all but drags her up the main staircase.  Still, Cherri looks annoyed.  Casting a final glance over his shoulder, he adds, “Don’t worry about the mess Vag.  I’ll come clean it up before dinner.  Promise.”

It isn’t until they’re both gone that Vaggie realizes at some point she had materialized her spear and she’s been gripping it so tightly that there are now indentations where her fingers pressed down into the wood staff.  Fuck, that’s probably why Angel was acting so weird.  No wonder he dragged Cherri upstairs without argument.  He knows he has some leeway with her, but Cherri isn’t exactly… close.   Well, at least not with her.  

She knows they’re all aware she used to be an exorcist since Heaven unceremoniously spilled the beans and yet they didn’t insist Charlie kick her out; but seeing her with her weapon…  Apparently yelling at them while pointing it at them was a bit much.  

Especially after they lost Pentious during the last extermination.

She’ll have to apologize later because right now her phone is ringing off the hook.

“Yes?  What do you want?”  She snaps into the receiver, glaring down at a random pink feather, futilely trying to ignite it with her mind.  Alas, nothing happens.  She didn’t get any of the cool powers, and isn’t that just fitting?

“Good afternoon.  Is this Miss Vagatha?”  A deep, regal voice rumbles across the connection.

UGH.  

Fucking Alastor.   That’s not her damn name!

“It’s Vaggie, actually.”  She corrects, annoyance clear in her tone.  Hopefully it’s not a prospective guest.  She did promise Charlie she would be more approachable, but that’s so much easier said than done.  If only sinners weren’t so idiotic, maybe she could pull off being more welcoming.  More forgiving.  Then she wouldn’t scare sinners away - well, at least not unless she wanted to.  “Who am I speaking to?”

“Ah, yes.  I am Zestial, one of the elder Overlords.”

Oh, shit.  

This has the potential to be disastrous.  Why the Hell is an Overlord calling her, specifically?  “Nice to meet you, Zestial.”  It hits her all at once.  How could she forget?  “Mierda, I was supposed to have a meeting with you guys today, wasn’t I?”  Slapping a hand to her forehead, she paces the room like a caged animal.  It’s just all so much.  How was she meant to handle everything alone?  How could anyone keep all of it straight?  Is that even possible?

Husk says Alastor can do it.

…Does do it.  

Daily.

If he can, then she definitely can too.

“Yes, t’was scheduled for an hour since, madame.   Our dear Alastor was going to soothe some of the more finicky Overlord's egos and pave the way for the Princess' inn to operate without their meddling or attempts at sabotage.”  Zestial explains.  “He did notify us that you would be taking his place for the day, though.  As stated, we expected you an hour since.  Will you be attending, or should I try Alastor instead?”

“No!”  She shouts before thinking the better of it.  A strange cold panic flushes beneath her skin at the suggestion Alastor catch wind of this fuck up.  “No, don’t call him.  I’ve got it.  The meeting is in the Doomsday District, right?”  She takes a moment to think through logistics.  “It will take me at least 45 minutes to get over there.  I can’t travel through shadows like Alastor can.”  She admits, trying hard to cover her embarrassment and disappointment.  

The attempt is valiant, but falls just shy of the mark.  It’s hard to believe she let something so important just completely slip her mind.  “Actually, are you able to put me on a video call?  I can address the group that way so you’re not all stuck waiting on me.  If that’s possible, I mean.”

“Splendid!”  Zestial chirps, and somehow she gets the impression that there is no hint of sarcasm in his tone; at all.  It’s not what she expected from an elder Overlord, not in the least.  Hell, even Alastor himself isn’t exactly what she expected, and she’s been living with him for months!  “Vox, would you care to assist?”  She hears him, muffled, speaking to someone else in the room.

Within minutes she finds herself on a video call with the entire conglomeration of the Pride ring’s most notorious sinners.  

Intimidating?  Of course not…

The meeting drags on and on and on.   After the first 90 minutes, she’s practically convinced they’re dragging this out on purpose; some passive aggressive vindication for her tardiness.  It’s entirely likely they took it as a sign of disrespect, and if she’s really honest with herself, that’s exactly how she would see it too.  

She can’t really blame them.  She did forget about them, and out of all the tasks on her list today, this one may have been the most important.  If the Overlords see them as a threat to their own power, they will have no qualms attacking the hotel.  Sure, they may be hesitant to do so because of Alastor’s presence, but if anything pushes them to act despite their reservations, it would be a threat to their positions.  

To their power.

Constant barrages from multiple Overlords trying to claim that they bested the great Radio Demon on his own turf, AND managed to take the hotel off the playing board - leaving all the souls free for them to reclaim…  Well, that’s pretty tempting, despite the danger.  Some of them may even team up, raising their odds.

She really needs to nail this.

Sure, Alastor could likely manage to do damage control should she royally botch this.  Admitting, even in the privacy of her own mind, that she’s relying on the Overlord for anything at all turns her stomach uncomfortably.  No, she won’t be saying that out loud any time soon.  She can fix this herself.

It takes another hour before they reach a tentative understanding.  Sure, she didn’t fully convince anyone; but they also have no plans to go against the hotel at the moment, and she’s counting that as a win.  She was a soldier, not a politician, damnit!

Despite her errors, she’s convinced she pulled it off well enough to bide the hotel some time and is just saying her goodbyes when a massive explosion rocks the hotel.  Smoke pours in, temporarily blinding her.  It’s so thick that she can’t get a beat on which direction the threat is even coming from.  For a heart-stopping moment she scrambles to think of everyone’s locations.  

Was anyone downstairs?  

Is anyone hurt?  

Where the fuck is Charlie!?

“It came from the lounge.”  A calm transatlantic voice chimes in from the encroaching shadows, breaking through the screeching panic threatening to overtake her.  Blinking owlishly, the smoke has dissipated just enough to see exactly where it’s thicker.  Where it’s emanating from.

The disembodied voice was right.

She doesn’t spare a single second to consider where the voice came from.  In the moment, it doesn't seem to matter.  Instead, she races across the lobby towards the impact site and is relieved to hear Husk hacking away, mostly unharmed.  The smoke is densest near the exterior wall and some of the furniture nearby is on fire.  Husk is at least 30’ away from the blast site, and absolutely covered in ash and debris.  Thankfully he’s otherwise uninjured.  

Her heart leaps into her throat as she considers that she can’t heal major injuries like Lucifer can.  Sure, she’s good for a scratch here and there, but major organ damage?  Way above her paygrade.  

“Did you see who did this?”  She shouts over the noise.  The fire is roaring and bits of the exterior wall continue to crumble, making it difficult to hear.

“Nah, they didn’t come through here.”  Husk manages to wheeze through his hacking cough.  “Probably still out front.”  He throws a hand back towards the lobby before snatching up a bar rag and covering his mouth and nose.

“Right.”  She shouts over her shoulder, already running for the front entrance.  Spear in hand, she throws the door open, poised to attack.  To her surprise, she’s met with a little Imp in an old-timey gangster suit carrying a submachine gun and a strange eel-like demon dressed in a full clown uniform, face paint and all.  The clown is juggling glass bottles with little bits of fabric sticking out.  

Molotov cocktails?  

Fucking really?!

As soon as the door opens, the Imp is already firing on her.  Spinning her spear and ducking behind a cement column, she manages to deflect some of them and dodge the rest, but she’s not going to gain any ground like this.  If she could just get a window, maybe when the Imp reloads, she could throw her spear at him and end the fucking bullet barrage.  

He’s only about 30’, maybe 40’ away.  It should be child’s play!  She can nail a target the size of a quarter at that distance!

Distracted, her hand slips as she peers around the column and a bullet makes it through, grazing her cheek.  Ice floods her veins and her breath catches in her throat as hot blood drips down her chin.  That was far too close for comfort.

For the shot to hurt her, the bullets must be angelic steel tipped.

What is wrong with her today?  She’s a damn angel.   She used to kill sinners just like these for sport!

Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, a strange greenish black sheen surrounds her.  It takes her longer than she would like to admit to realize what is happening.  Slowly, it dawns on her that she recognizes the strange effect.  It’s just like what Alastor conjured at the extermination.  

She’s safe behind the Overlord’s protection.  

In fact, the whole hotel is.

…Well, with the exception of the Overlord himself.  

Alastor steps out of the shadows just in front of her, placing himself between the attackers and the hotel.  Shielding them.

“To what do we owe the pleasure this time?”  He snarks, not a single waver of nerves in his tone.  Nonchalant, as if he’s simply asking them for the time.

“Estúpido!  You’re not bulletproof!”  She screams, unsure if her voice will carry outside the shield.  

If Alastor hears her, she’s unsure.  Either way, he makes no move to back down.  The cavalier asshole stands casually, hands clasped behind his back.

“We know youse got the porn spider in there!  Mammon’s got a message for ‘im!”  The clown demon shouts.  Instead of anger, the sinner just giggles eerily.  She wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it’s much more disturbing than a blind rage.  

Is this clown insane?  How do you counter true insanity?

If that wasn’t enough, he punctuates his sentiment with a backflip, sticking the landing and striking a pose before adding, “He says the little spider betta reconsider his offer.”

Alastor doesn’t flinch.  He simply unclasps his hands and showers the clown demon in what must be Hell’s most sarcastic golf clap.  “I see.  Am I to understand that Angel already turned Mammon down once?”

“Three times!”  The clown shouts.  “Keeps sayin’ some Val guy won’t let him, but Mammon don’t give a shit about his little boyfriend or whatever.”

The Imp steps forward now, gun still aimed squarely at Alastor’s head.  “He says the spider here is a real cash cow.  You know, I don’t see it, but Mam doesn't pay me the big bucks for my opinion.”  He grins, holding the gun up proudly.  

“My, my!  Three times, you say?”  Alastor tuts, all false joviality.  

Vaggie knows better.  

The Overlord is just playing with his food, isn’t he?

“Yeah, idiot doesn’t know what’s good for ‘im, I guess.”  The clown shrugs.

Alastor just quirks an eyebrow.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t even waste barbed words on the attackers.  Instead, tentacles spring up from the ground behind the attackers without warning, wrapping around their waists and yanking them off the ground.  Before she can think twice about what’s happening, Alastor is suddenly as tall as the hotel itself and in one giant gulp, he tosses the sinners into his gaping maw like bits of popcorn, weapons and all.  

“No means no.”  He says into the sudden silence, shrinking back to his regular size.  Daintily, he pulls a bone white handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at a small rivulet of blood leaking from the corner of his lips.

Waving a hand, almost as an afterthought, he drops the shield.

“Jesus.”  Vaggie mutters, shaking her head.  “I don’t know what to think about… that.”

“Well, I suggest you wrap your mind around it quickly, dear.  There are a good handful more on the periphery of the property.”  He gestures into the distance.  “An attempt at an ambush, if I were to guess.”

Vaggie steps back instinctually, sure that Alastor will throw the shield back up.  Instead, he turns to her, smiling mischievously.  She’s about to rail against his suggestion when she realizes that, for once, there is no malevolence behind his eyes.  He looks completely serious as he asks, “Shall we?”

When she just gapes back at him, he adds, “Not all violence is bad, dear.  Sometimes you have to fight to protect what’s yours.”  At her silence he sighs deeply.  “Young lady, you are a creature of violence, as am I.  You need to fight or everything you have been bottypu hold most dear.”  Turning to look out towards where she assumes the attackers lie in wait, he pointedly keeps his gaze on the horizon as he finishes his thought.  “As long as you aim your more violent tendencies in the right direction, what’s the harm?  After all, you do need to keep those reflexes up, should you need to protect the hotel from angelic attack again; do you not?”

It physically pains her to agree with anything the Overlord says, but even she can admit that he does make a good point.  Hesitantly, she responds with a simple, “...Yeah, I guess I do.”

Alastor’s eyes flash a bright crimson as his smile deepens.  “So I’ll ask one more time.  Shall we?”

She’s silent for a long moment, thinking over the situation for the first time since it began.  She needs to protect the hotel.  She swore she would stand by Charlie’s side, protect her dream - yet Alastor is the one who actually took action.  Not only that, but he protected her and didn’t belittle her for it.  Now he’s inviting her to assist.  It turns her stomach to agree to anything he suggests on mere principle, but she can’t really see any ulterior motives underlying his actions…  At least, not right now.  It’s a gamble, but here in this moment, it seems like a safe bet.  “Okay.”  She relents.  “Okay, yeah.”  

It actually makes a great deal of sense.  It’s not like she wasn’t trying to fight them all herself just minutes ago.  Why did she get so squeamish about violence as soon as Alastor entered the equation? 

Wait, was that his voice earlier?  Had he been watching her this whole time?  Definitely something to circle back around to later.  

In the meantime, they have a threat to neutralize.  “Let’s fuck these guys up!”

“Oh,”  Alastor leans in, lowering his voice and purring into her ear.  “This ought to be fun.”  He chuckles darkly.

“Shut it Al.”  Vaggie retorts, before sprinting out ahead of him, teeth bared and spear at the ready.  Alastor is right about one thing.  Protecting the hotel?  It just feels right.   

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 07

There are many things in this universe that Vaggie doesn’t understand.  Combat, though?  She knows that like the back of her hand.  Her movements feel smooth, like a dance.  She barks out a laugh, cutting through a shark demon’s ankles, dropping him in place; immobilized.  His gun was knocked out of his hands in the attack, but it’s close enough that he could stretch to reach it should he notice it behind him.  

Too bad, so sad - she’s far too quick to allow him a breather to look around.

Can’t have that.  Dipping a wing and swooping down, she reaches out a single hand and scoops the gun up, streaking through the battle with practiced speed.  Alastor catches her eye, nodding his head toward the gun and without second thought, she tosses it right to him.  His eyes light up like a kid in a candy shop, and she’s suddenly struck with the realization that he never uses guns.  Why is that?  

Even more concerning…  Did she just toss Alastor a goddamn submachine gun?  What the hell was she thinking?

Alastor rounds on the farthest sinners where they are half heartedly hidden behind a sand dune on the edge of the property.  They must be the back up forces to the back up forces, undoubtedly.  Instead of killing them outright though, he uses his tentacles to snatch them up by their ankles and suspend them midair.  Vaggie watches through her periphery while she dispatches yet another shark demon…  Where are they all coming from?

Mammon must have a lot of disposable goons, otherwise why else would he send so many?  What does he want from Angel, anyway?  To mass market his body?  Gross…  

Maybe he wants to make another sex doll, like that poor jester Imp plastered all over billboards throughout the ring.  Fitz, or something like that.  Suppressing a shudder, she lands the killing blow on the last demon nearest her and rounds on Alastor.  

He’s still toying with the remaining demons.  Two spiders and an Imp are all hanging upside down by their ankles, screaming obscenities with reckless abandon.  Alastor continues batting them around like a cat toying with mice.  

Crossing the yard, she can’t help but crack a smile at the picture of chaos unfolding before her.  

“Saved some for you, dear.”  Alastor sings out, tossing one of the spider demons high into the air and shooting them down like he’s at some twisted skeet shoot.  There is a look of pure joy on his face and for once, his smile fully reaches his eyes.  After landing a bullseye on the demon, he turns to face her, cocking a brow in question.

“Oh hell yeah!”  She responds before she can think the better of it.  In an instant, another demon is screeching as he sails high into the air.  She waits patiently until he hits the apex, readying her spear.  In one swift motion, she launches upward, tossing the spear with a practiced precision and nailing her target with a joyous “Whoop!”

Alastor chuckles, dangling the remaining Imp upside down, still suspended by their ankle.  “Do you want the last one?”  He asks, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Yeah, let me at him!”  She remarks, flying over to the spider demon’s corpse and retrieving her spear.  Alastor waits until she’s yanked it out of their body and readied herself.  “This ought to serve Mammon the message that we aren’t to be trifled with, and our dear little Angel is not a commodity.”  He explains, chucking the remaining Imp high into the air above them.  

Vaggie swoops off of the ground, letting a little of her energy and excitement out with a few flips before sending her spear careening towards the final attacker.  It’s a clear kill shot, and pride wells deep within her.

She’s still got it.

“You’re not too bad at this, young lady.”  Alastor commends her, and for once, there is no sarcasm lurking behind his words.

“I trained for years.  I should hope I’m not bad at it!”  She finds herself laughing, a genuine smile melting her hard exterior.  Lost in the moment, she finds herself returning the compliment.  “You know, you’re not bad to work with either.  I can’t believe I tossed you a freakin’ gun!”

Laughing, Alastor brushes some sand from where it’s landed on his shoulders.  “Ah, yes.  I was rather surprised you did as well.  I haven’t gone skeet shooting in decades.”  He beams.  “I was rather fond of hunting as a human.”

“Decades?  Could have fooled me.  You haven’t lost your form.”

A moment passes in quiet reflection as both parties brush the dirt and sand kicked up by their attackers from their outfits, adrenaline just starting to level out.  

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you joined me in protecting the hotel every now and then.  I daresay we work rather well together, dear.”  Alastor is the first to break the comfortable silence, and though her first instinct is to bite back that she already is the hotel’s protection , it dawns on her that maybe she really wasn’t.  

Sure, she serves as Charlie’s personal bodyguard - but the hotel as a whole?  Though it pains her to admit it, Alastor really does handle that mostly on his own.  Sighing, she’s just about to respond when a memory peeks out from deep within her consciousness.  

“I’d like that, but can you also teach me how to maintain the hotel’s warding?  I was checking it earlier today since the weather report calls for acid rain this evening when I realized I wouldn’t know how to fix it if there was any damage.”  She admits, more comfortable in letting the glaring oversight be known than she expected to be.

Alastor looks momentarily surprised, and it’s a face she gleefully commits to memory.  It’s such a rare emotion, coming from the normally composed Overlord.  “Why of course I can.”  He responds.

Is it her imagination, or have his cheeks flushed with a dusty mauve?  Maybe it’s the exertion from the fight.  He couldn’t be flattered, could he?

“Great, I think I would really like to learn.”  She admits, and there is the unmistakable air of honesty in it.  Hesitating just slightly, she quietly adds, “Thanks, Al.”