Chapter Text
The heaviest of silences filled the darkened room, a scarce moment of peace and quiet until the eventual riot would start once again. The first warning sign that the precarious tranquility was about to meet its demise, began with the short but frantic sounds of someone eagerly pressing the buttons of a TV remote. Almost immediately, the screen flashed and a dance of fast lights and colours started to be reflected throughout the entire room as well as over the glassy face of a most enthusiastic spectator followed by a set of manic giggles.
Vox was utterly convinced that what he had in front of him was his favourite moment captured on video ever. His number one enemy, the bane of his existence, Alastor the Radio Demon being brought to his knees by the First Man. As his eyes watched Alastor’s microphone break in half just as easily as a toothpick, Vox let another round of hysterical laughter fall from his lips, beyond caring what his associates might think from the other room.
The moment Alastor left the screen, Vox prepared himself in joyful bliss to rewind the tape once more, never growing tired of the demon’s defeat, wanting to take in every single expression of his demise. However, just before hitting the button, a slight movement on the corner of the screen caught his eye. There, on the right top corner of the screen, where one could see the destroyed Radio Tower, a sillouette appeared not seconds after Alastor left the battle.
It couldn’t be. Abruptly, getting up from his chair, Vox crossed the room and zoomed in and much as possible on the small screen, trying to make sure what he was seeing was a trick of the light. But there was no mistaking it. It wasn’t very clear, as the zoomed image became more and more pixalated but he was sure of it.
Alastor was alive.
A fury like he had never felt before overcame him. It couldn’t be. Alastor had be dead. That wretched creature, he who had humiliated him more times than Vox liked to recall, deserved nothing more than a painful death, and pay for his miserable existence! If Adam had been unable to finish the job then clearly someone else had to take his place, Vox heatedly decided on that moment that Alastor would not live to see another day. With murderous intent, he stormed out of the tower’s main entrance, making a beeline for the Radio Tower. He vowed that his enemy would die that night.
Rosie had been staring at her almost untouched tea for quite a while, lost in thoughts, as the soft and aromatic steam vanished into the air. A dreadful silence had taken over the town, the streets practically empty. Through her window she spotted a group of small children gathering on the gazebo, expectantly gazing to the horizon with fearful but still hopeful looks.
Her heart sank. She wanted to tell them to go home and wait for their parents there but she found herself unable to do so. How could she, when she too was drowning in worry for her citizens, some of them whom she considered to be good friends of hers.
Her calm demeanor gradually started being replaced with an expression of determination that certainly would alert anyone who knew her well enough were she not alone at that moment. Behind her customary bright smiles and amiable disposition, other personal traits laid in a quiescent state, to immediately rise should the situation called for it. One of such traits was her remarkable drive, once a decision had been taken, she would see it done. Gently she placed her tea aside as she got up from her seat and walked towards the nearest mirror she could find. She took but a moment to verify if her hair were in a proper condition, a lady such as herself would never allow to be caught in public sporting a dowdy appearance no matter the circumstances. As expected, her personal gracefulness granted a short visit to her reflection, only enough to lightly fix a few rebellious hair strings and barely anything else. After this short beauty ritual, Rosie took a short but deep breath as a final reassurance and left her home.
As the ruler of Cannibal Town, she could no longer stand idly when so many of her people were off fighting Angels without her presence there. One last glance towards the children that expectantly observed her with a mix of admiration and awe only reinforced even further her will of being present in the battle. She threw them a sweet and reassuring smile and continued her way to Charlie’s Hotel.
As focused as she was, her mind reeling with battle strategies, first-aid procedures and much more nervousness than she anticipated, Rosie barely noticed when she finally arrived at the Hotel, the scene that laid before her eyes overwhelmed her.
As a cannibal, she was no stranger to gruesome scenarios. In fact, from time to time, she enjoyed indulging on her own bloodlust, and, on those moments, Rosie would be the first person to recognize how vicious she could be. A dark, deep hunger, like a voracious maw, would grow inside her only to be sated by her wickedness. And how she cradled it in a crimson haze.
Despite all this, the results of the battle proved to be too brutal, even for her. There was simply so much to take in. From the still forms of Angels and of too many of her townspeople scattered all around, some of them in such a broken shape it was difficult to differentiate between who was who; to her beloved friends, looking beaten and exhausted, faces too serious and sullen for her to believe this battle had the happy ending Charlie had so desperately hoped for, and finally to the remains of the Hazbin Hotel, a shell of what it once was, truly looking as broken and unattainable as the dream for which it was built for.
Still, Rosie thought, considering the horrible images that had been plaguing her mind just a few moments ago, she believed this to be a somewhat desirable outcome. Many of her people were still standing, as were her dear friends that would share a hearty meal with her tonight. As for Charlie and her lovely companions, together they would find a way to rebuild the dream and learn from the experience while, hopefully, heal from the ordeal...
But her optimism was doomed to be short-lived, she just knew it. There was a crescent apprehension rising on her, gnawing, scratching, and growling in the back of her mind, alerting her that there was something, someone missing… Then she felt like she had just been ripped apart.
Alastor!
In the confusing spiral that was her mind, at that moment, came the dawning and terrible realization that her dearest companion was missing from the little group of friends up ahead. A slight feeling of panic and shame overcame Rosie, berating herself for taking so long to notice such a crucial detail. Her gaze immediately lowered to the ground, unable to look to the place where he should be standing at the present. Instead, her eyes focused on the trail of golden blood that ran from an Angel’s corpse nearby. The savory, metallic aroma that commonly would engulf her whole senses like a soft but heavy velvet, urging and bidding her into relishing on such a delectable meal, was now anything but nauseating.
No. Rosie took a deep breath to collect herself. Her thoughts were being ridiculous, she vehemently refused to believe the worst! Evidently that Alastor was off somewhere, pridefully basking in his own victory, cocky little demon that he was… How silly of her! Yes, that was undoubtedly the reason as to why he was nowhere to be seen. All Rosie needed to do was look around for a bit and granted that eventually he was sure to show his cute little behind, ready to amuse her with the details of his victory. If she told him that for seconds, she feared the worst, it was guaranteed that Alastor would laugh at her concerns and reply with one of his witty but dismissive answers. Then he would link his arm with hers and would proceed with his narration in vivid detail as they resumed with their stroll.
The thought made her feel better, her initial panic dissipated, and it was replaced with a good dose of much needed pragmatism. There was no need to bother any of the survivors, Rosie believed. The situation was already chaotic enough without her taking their precious time and attention to ask such foolish questions.
After doing her round, where she helped others get up, and right themselves here and there, Rosie began to make her way to the Radio Tower, or at least where it once stood. Even though the construction had seen better days, Rosie had no doubts that that was where she was bound to find her friend, surely lost in his radiophonic apparatus while preparing the most insufferable and lovely of broadcasts, as a reminder to every demon, high and low, just how powerful and in control he was. Such was his way and it never failed to bring her smile upon her lips.
However, for all her fancies it seemed like her hopes were set to be contradicted that day. A feeling that she detested and, as such, she would take great care in avoiding, by doing her best to prevent situations where she could come out as the wounded party. Unfortunately for Rosie others were not so pondered. Of all the situations in her life where she felt herself being taken by anger, the spectacle that was occurring right in front of her was bound to obliterate all its competition. A rising fury inflamed her in such a manner, she believed she would burn anything she touched. Her jaw clenched roughly, her sharp teeth grinding against one another while begging to rip something. At that point it gnawed her to act upon it. Rosie’s irritation, however had decided to bring its own dancing partner — a dreadful sense of devastation at being so indisputably proved wrong.
She had found him, as she knew she would. A small part of her immediately felt a saving grace of relief to see him breathing and looking as murderous as usual. Regrettably, this bliss had been marked as a sacrificial lamb from the moment of its birth. A flood of worry and rushed panic made sure that nothing of her previous feelings were left alive, as she took in Alastor’s appearance, feeling the image being branded onto her memory, very much against her will.
He was covered in blood. A common but very dear sight to Rosie, as many of their treasured memories together involved one, if not both, covered with the substance while happily sharing a snack. As brutal as he was sweet, how she adored his company. This time, the blood was his. Marring his clothes, matting his hair and Rosie felt the most unpleasant feeling in her gut. Cold and heavy. It was fear. The type of fear that one is unaware of carrying inside them, until it is roused. To worsen things, Alastor was sporting a huge cut that could be seen from a distance in his torso, deep enough to make her non-beating heart somersault uncomfortably (a feeling she had only experienced a handful of times in her many centuries of existence). His face was contorted in a painful and distressed expression, something Rosie had never seen on him before, though it was a look that, logically speaking, she knew he should be capable of making.
That devastating expression on his face, that look of pure agony that he was so hard trying to hide, it was something that she hoped to never see on Alastor’s face. The shock glued her to the ground. Suddenly it was difficult to move, to think, to breath. As if the slightest of reactions from her would end him completely. And then, a laugh broke the silence, the stillness of the moment.
Right across from Alastor, looking like the cat who caught the canary, like someone who had just climbed the highest of mountains, swam the deepest of rivers and came out victorious, stood Vox. A heavy feeling of disgust settled into her stomach as she took in his deranged expression. His eyes were unfocused on everything around him that wasn’t Alastor. His sadistic grin stretching wide and feral, like he couldn’t control or even contain the excitement of the thought of his greatest enemy dying at his hand. And Alastor, her arrogant and prideful Alastor, was trying his best to retribute that very same vile look, to appear as if he was as strong and capable as always, despite being severely wounded.
Men…
…boys…
…such inconsiderate creatures, such single-minded buffoons that simply didn’t seem to grasp the concept of time and place.
All the anxiety, fear and unease vanished in a moment, only to be replaced by a deep and burning fury.
How dare they!?
How dare Vox show his face after such a bloody battle, after the very first time an attempt was made to fight back against the injustice of the Heavens, not to help them, not to fight for his home but to use this moment of vulnerability to pursue his own agenda! Demon or not, not only was it a sad display of cowardice, but also quite telling of his psychotic obsession with Alastor. Either way, it was pathetic.
Still, for all Vox’s audacity, Rosie could barely spend a second thinking of his presence when the real focus of her worries could barely stand by himself, but still insisted on putting on an attitude of someone who was ready to take on the entire world, as if it was not obvious that any minimal effort from his part would bring him to his knees!
How dare Alastor, who had clearly been very lucky to escape with his life, look at such provocation in the eye and reciprocate it while being on such state! He didn’t even have his microphone! How dare he put his pride in front of his life, as if he had no care for his own fate!?
Rosie felt her anger bubbling to the point of combustion, the much-needed kick she needed for the paralyzing shock to disappear and suddenly her feet weren’t stuck to the ground anymore. They had not noticed that she was there, but soon they would, as far as she was concerned that fight would not come to be.
The moment Vox made his first move, Rosie was on him like a cat. She was not one to use her powers often as she preferred to deal with things through conversation, but clearly that that idiotic cheap TV needed a good wake up call. Her ability to alter her surroundings was a neat little trick that she had up her sleeve, so before Vox could lay one finger on Alastor and the latter react with an attack of his own, she got herself between the two and used her powers to stop Vox into place by bending the atmosphere around him at her will.
“What have you done, you bitch?!” he yelled furiously, trying to move but to no avail.
She ignored him, for the biggest problem of all was now standing behind her.
“Rosie.” She looked back to meet Alastor’s furious glare, clearly trying not to snap at her. “Move.”
Unfortunately for Alastor he had to befriend the one person who had never been afraid of him and was not certainly planning to start on that day.
“Absolutely not.”
He knew that tone. He knew that tone way too well. Rosie could be sweet as a peach, but she was also terribly obstinate to the point of madness. Once her mind was made up, come hell or high water, she would see it done.
Her meddling was certainly not welcomed, especially when his reputation and pride were at stake. Being forced to retreat from the fight with Adam after almost being defeated by a single sweep, had already left a massive dent on his pride, and now he was being prevented from fighting Vox who had willingly come to him thinking that he would be an easy prey?!
He, a prey!? The mere thought of it almost caused Alastor to laugh hysterically. Everyone was getting way too comfortable around him! He was perfectly able to destroy that puny, ridiculous sample of a demon, wounded or not! And not even Rosie’s presence would stop him!
Still, because it was Rosie and only because it was her, he would not touch her and cause her harm.
He tried to move her out of his way, but much to his chagrin he realized he could not. His fury rose, reflected through several irritated static noises. Once he realized how futile that was, he started to move around her. Rosie who, so far, had stood passively to his efforts, firmly grasped his arm. Normally, she was certain that such gesture would be nothing as he could easily brush her off, but in his current condition, it was clear that she had the upper hand. Literally.
She let him squirm and sent him a quick and heated glance, making it obvious to him how unimpressed and furious she was at him. Finally, Alastor resigned to his circumstances and stopped struggling, in part because the effort was causing him to feel dizzy enough to lose balance. His expression, however, threatened a bigger explosion and the one who would get the full impact of his anger would be Rosie. She couldn’t possibly care less. Gently but steadily, she made Alastor sit as she had the suspicion that if she let him go, he would fall. His expression darkened still, throwing her the most enraged of glares.
Rosie didn’t bother to acknowledge his attitude as the incessant complaints and threats coming from that glorified walking plasma screen were starting to get on her nerves, the sooner he was dealt with, the better. With a deadly serious but still calm air about herself, she faced Vox head on.
“I’m not going to pretend not to know what your intentions are by coming here, but I am going to advise you to leave at once. Today hasn’t been exactly what one would consider happy, and quite frankly you are being more of a nuisance than a threat. If you absolutely insist on continuing with this ridiculous fight, then may I suggest you return when my dear friend here is fully recovered? You wouldn’t want to pass the image of a coward, right? Of course you don’t. As such, I sincerely hope we’ve come to an understanding. You are to leave, and we are to join our Princess and the King in celebrating our victory. Have a safe trip back home.”
She proffered those words as politely as possible, although there was an undertone of utter despise on her voice that was getting considerably harder to disguise by the second. Even so, the sound of her voice was still quite levelheaded, although her gut was whispering to her not to lower her guard just yet.
Rosie considered for a moment that maybe the events and emotions of the day, had not yet fully hit her. Just the thought of having to deal with such a thing later, was already giving her a headache. She prepared to release Vox from his prison and turn to Alastor when her gut proved to be right. Vox narrowed his eyes at her in a possessed manner, his glower containing all the insults and threats of the world. With a powerful electrical discharge, he almost succeeded to break free from Rosie’s control while attempting to reach his enemy.
She staggered for a moment. In terms of physical power and raw strength she had never been a great threat, something that Rosie would be the first person to admit. She didn’t need to; she paved her path through other means. From an early age she understood that combining her eloquent talents and analytical skills would carry her farther in life than trying to seize things through brute force or by displaying her demonic skills. Even if she had the inclination to do so, her powers as an Hellborn would not help her on such endeavor. Much like her, her talents were mostly geared towards manipulation and entropy. Rosie was not a fighter; she was a schemer.
However, for all her virtues, darling and lovely Rosie with a bright temperament and easy smile would bite back if needed. Literally and figuratively. If the situation called for it, she would be merciless and on that split of a second nothing mattered more than to keep Alastor safe. Caution thrown to the wind; she lost her temper at last.
Vox felt a surge of energy course through his veins as the electrical shock being released from his body managed to weaken his invisible restraints. At last, that cannibal cunt stepped back in surprise, like the weak bitch that she was.
He was close. So, so close, to set himself free and Alastor was right there!...
And then, it got dark. Not just any dark though. A dark from the depths of a nightmare, that would engulf a person as a vice that slowly starts to choke, crushing and shattering every ounce of their being, body, and soul. Vox stopped not by his own will but as an organic reaction of his body. Pure, unadulterated fear. Like an endless void. Unknown and unfathomable. He felt his grasp of reality becoming thinner. Then the void stared back.
Enormous bright and white eyes appeared in the darkness right in front of him, capturing his attention like a lure. How to unglue his stare from it? Too incandescent, too luminous. It hurt. He preferred the darkness after all, let his mind be lost but make it stop!...
“Leave.”
From the depths came the order, fatal and final. With a voice as soft as a whisper but its intensity multiplied by an infinite number, whose unbearable pressure exploded on Vox’s mind in the most devastating of ways. Deep, dark, and cavernous. After, it came the nothing.
This took seconds, the ineffable darkness disappeared almost as soon as it had appeared, however Vox had not come out unscathed from the experience. He was simply not there. The screen where his face should have been appeared glassy and pixelated, with some static on the mix. Finally, without uttering a word he turned around and walked way, as if in a trance, not once glancing behind.
Rosie detested, from the bottom of her heart, to use this power of hers. The number of people who were aware of her ability to control others’ mind and will at her pleasure, was extremely limited. In fact, most were not fully aware of what she could pull or not as it was choice that she had taken. Vox had forced her hand though and she didn’t regret a thing.
With that problem taken care of, Rosie took a deep breath and sharply exhaled, knowing that the real challenge was about to begin. To deal with Vox was one thing, to deal with Alastor was another. But to deal with a wounded, prideful, furious Alastor? The inevitable ugly confrontation was bound to happen, she knew it. But he was not the only enraged party and soon he would learn of it. Damn the consequences that she could face, he was going to be helped whether he liked it or not!
Her headache was growing exponentially, threatening a migraine. Finally, she turned to Alastor, who despite holding his customary smile, showed that his irritation didn’t subside one bit through his stare and bristled ears. As if she was the problem! As if she was an inconvenience, the gum under his shoe!
“Don’t you dare.” Rosie snapped immediately, throwing a glare of her own “Don’t you look at me like that! Do you have any idea how angry I am right now?! How afraid I was for you? How relieved!? Look at you Al, you can barely stand, much less move or fight! What were you thinking, can’t you see that he would have easily killed you?”
His laughter was short but cold. It had cruelty, and a hint of anguish in it. Even Rosie now thought that he was weak. Of all people!... No. He was putting a stop to it, everyone would be reminded of who they were addressing!
“Who exactly do you think you are talking to? One of your little minions from Cannibal Town?” Alastor always had a talent to only transpire whatever he wanted others to know. His tone was dripping with venom, distortion conferring a heavy depth to his voice, a blinding anger causing him to act out of spite. The most frustrating part, however, was how he could feel a small sense of guilt growing in him for talking to Rosie in such way.
Not only had he almost died for others that day, but he also had to be saved by Rosie and then, to complete that miserable and pitiful scenario, he was being self-forced to acknowledge how deeply hurt he was feeling, by the mere thought of being seen as helpless. If he was hurt, then so would she!
“I don’t need your help, I never asked for your help! I’m perfectly capable of handling myself and any irritating flies that come my way. I am the Radio Demon; I don’t need you!”
Predictable, Rosie thought. A sad, little attempt on trying to push her away because he was too proud to admit that he needed help. She had reached her patience with Alastor and his childish attitude.
“Well tough luck Radio Demon, you will have my assistance whether you like it or not, because in this moment I call the shots! You can be angry at me all you want, but sadly for the both of us, I care very much for you and shan’t let you die! Now, stop behaving like a mindless creature and help me move you to your couch over by your tower, because I need to take a look at that wound.”
Without waiting for a response, Rosie gently but firmly, helped Alastor up by wrapping one of her arms around his back and giving her hand for him to hold. As expected, the moment he was up he immediately untangled himself from her and started to slowly stagger towards the half-fallen tower. Rosie let him do as he pleased but stood by should he require any assistance which did not took long.
Every step felt like an eternity to take, and every breath pierced through his lungs like a hot bladed knife. His vision was starting to darken again and all he could hear ringing on his ears was loud static as if he was about to shut down.
He was held once again; Rosie was attentive and fast to act but soft as a feather at the same time.
Not a word was spoken, Rosie had nothing else to say and Alastor was too furious to utter another word.
At last, she managed to reach the tower entrance and open the trapdoor, half dragging a glaring demon who seemed to thrive in making the situation much more difficult than it should be. The place was wrecked, shattered glasses scattered everywhere on the floor and Alastor’s precious radio equipment utterly broken. Fortunately, what still managed to look in a semi decent state was a dark sofa on the corner. As they reached the sofa, Rosie tried to gently lay him on it as to not open the cut even more, but, almost as if his sole purpose was simply to spite her, Alastor dropped himself on the seat, wincing discretely. To no avail for a soft but doleful bleat escaped from his lips involuntarily.
“Come on. Take off your coat and your shirt, let me see how that looks.” She chose to ignore his little sound; he would never recover from the humiliation if she acknowledged it. Instead, Rosie busied herself with the small pouch that she had brought containing several first aid materials “And you can quit with your pouting, whether you start taking those clothes off or I’ll do it myself.”
The warning was made but Rosie did not give Alastor a moment to process her words, the moment he opened his mouth to protest, she was already by his side taking his coat off. It had been easy enough as far as his pride was allowing him, some imperceptible grumbling, and loud interference sounds of irritation but nothing more. When she went for the shirt, the case got more complicated. Much to his chagrin Rosie would just not quit and for a long moment both struggled, one trying to help and the other trying to contradict.
“You had the gall to do it Rose. I’ve killed people for less than what you have done!” there it was. He was finally entering more into the specifics regarding what was angering him so.
She stopped what she was doing and stared at Alastor with a serious and expressionless look on her.
“Are you going to kill me then?” she asked at last. There was no fear on her question, only an obvious note of sorrow. “You can stay mad at me for the rest of eternity Alastor; I would rather have you angry than dead.”
The heaviest and uncomfortable of silences set between them. His wild smile got tenser at her question and the fury on his glare severely diminished to the point that he had to break eye contact and look to the side. The greatest telling of how uncomfortable he had gotten with her question were his fully pinned back ears.
“If Vox—” he couldn’t answer her. Although others’ misery was always a entertaining show for Alastor, even he had to admit to himself that Rosie was a different case. It held no amusement whatsoever to him to see his friend saddened. As such hurting or killing her were out of the equation. She could never know of it. It had been difficult enough for Alastor to entertain this fact let alone let anyone else be aware of this predicament. Instead, he opted to talk about factual events that were extremely problematic in his point of view. Rosie however already had an answer on the tip of her tongue.
“If your concern is Vox running around telling everyone that you didn’t fight him and I had to save you, there is no reason for you to worry.” She took the chance that Alastor was glued to her words to finally remove his shirt off. The gash had an awful look but fortunately not as bad as she was fearing. He would need care and some stitches but providing that Alastor didn’t exert himself for a while, he would be fine. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips before continuing her explanation “I assure you that from the moment I gave him the order to leave, he has no recollection of why he was there in the first place.”
He grew quiet, lost in thoughts and feeling like an absolute fool. Of course, Rosie would not leave any affair halfway done, it was her after all. With her everything had a backup of the backup of the original plan just to play safe and one would be none the wiser until she made her move. Before he could say anything, Alastor snapped from his thoughts when he felt her gentle hand pushing him to sit up straight on the seat. As he looked at Rosie she had a small bottle on her other hand with some fabric.
“This may hurt a bit.”
Hurting was an understatement, it burned something dreadful and although Alastor was very much set on not make a single sound that would possibly hint any sort of pain, his body was not cooperating with his intention; his firmly shut down eyes, fingers like claws burying themselves onto the sofa’s seat, constrained smile to the point his stitches were starting to become visible and piercing screeching noises as if a radio was trying by all means tuning in to some station that would never answer, were all clear signs that he was in agony.
Rosie did her best to hasten the disinfection process and clean the wound the best she could. Her poor darling was doing so well being as still as possible while in such pain that she found herself wishing the most horrid and painful of deaths to whoever did that to Alastor.
At last, she was done and without hesitation she grabbed her needle and thread, ready to stitch Alastor up. She pretended not to see his face twist in pain, every time the needle and thread entered his delicate skin.
“May I ask who did this number to you?” she asked softly, still focused on her work. A strained hiss came from his lips before answering.
“Adam. That unrefined— “
“Wait. The First Man, did this to you?” Rosie stopped her stitching to look Alastor in the eyes, in shock with what she was hearing.
“How many others do you know?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just in awe. You mean to tell me that you went head-to-head against the First Man, took a direct attack from him and not only you manage to get away just with a flesh wound that will heal in a couple of weeks but also you didn’t even lost conscience during the whole thing? And you’re angry? Alastor, please. You’re looking at this the wrong way, you survived where almost everyone else would have died instantly!”
His sweet friend was a woman of many gifts, one of the most spectacular was owning the ability of cheering him up effortlessly and, once again, she was putting her talent to good use. Rosie did have a point (as it was her costume), how many others could claim to have fought Adam and come out of the duel alive? Who would be insane enough to doubt of Alastor’s power? He was the Radio Demon after all, that name still awakened a dreadful fear into people’s hearts. And should anyone question his might…. Well, he would simply have to remember them, wouldn’t he? The thought caused him to start chuckling ominously, making him forget for a moment about the pain as the needle entered his skin once again.
Slowly but steadily, Rosie worked along his wound with a diligent effort, at last taking a second to observe her work. Considering everything, it looked quite well. Silently, she congratulated herself on a job well done. With a long sigh, not caring that they were currently fighting, Rosie sat next to Alastor closing her eyes. Her head leant back against the seat, while ignoring the piercing gaze that she could feel right next to her. He wanted to say something, Rosie knew him so well that she could accurately foresee his next set of actions without even looking. There was always a small margin of error, of course. Despite his perpetual smile and flawless talent for talking so much while saying so little, Alastor would denounce himself through other means. His eyes, for starters, were some of the most expressive ones that Rosie had ever seen.
Now he was restlessly staring at her. After realizing that Rosie would not pay him any heed, he would look away. Then, he would look up, his smile becoming increasingly tense until he resorted to half-hopeful, half-impatient sideways glances. This silent conflict only meant one thing; Alastor, surprisingly, was wrestling with his words — a rare occurrence that would only take place when he was being forced to express minimal but earnest sincerity towards another, hence challenging his pride.
A profound feeling of tiredness overcame her, the emotions and adrenaline of the day finally taking their toll. Rosie recalled everything that took place that day, all the events running wild on her mind as she wondered how so many things could have happened in such a short amount of time.
She was trying her best to fight off the persistent headache that very stubbornly was refusing to leave, when her attention was unexpectedly drawn to the sensation of soft hair brushing against her upper arm. Slowly, she opened her eyes and discreetly glanced at Alastor, only to find him with his eyes also closed, gingerly leaning on her. As if she wouldn’t notice.
Rosie allowed him to do so, the eternal soft spot she held for Alastor once again making itself known. Besides, she had completely lost all her energy to refuse him and simply needed a morsel of peace. Feeling her acceptance towards his gesture, Alastor eventually rested his head against her shoulder, ears casually flickering on occasion, indicating that he was still awake and alert.
“Feeling better, my deer?” she ended up asking tiredly after a couple of minutes. If Rosie hadn’t broken the silence, there was no telling how long they would have stayed there in perfect stillness. Alastor seemed wonderfully content in his current position, not even moving an inch away from her shoulder. If anything, Rosie’s question only encouraged him to make himself even more comfortable, slightly snuggling against it.
“…Yes. Thank you, Rosie. I… I apologize for my words before; I was not quite myself.”
“Quite the contrary, I’ve seen you be much more hostile and crueler for much less. It would’ve surprise me if you had behaved in any other way.” She replied softly.
“Yes, well… You are my dear friend, my confidant. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. You are… Truly the only one allowed to see me in such state.” The last sentence was a mumble, the voice filter being dropped in a moment of vulnerability, almost as if he wasn’t sure he wanted her to hear him.
Rosie found herself smiling, how could she not? It was always a special moment when Alastor felt safe enough to talk with his actual voice, sometimes even dropping his transatlantic inflection to reveal his true accent, lilted and charming in Rosie’s opinion. That had only happened twice before but given the speed that Alastor immediately corrected himself by covering his slip with an extra layer of voice filter while prattling endlessly about a menial incident as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, Rosie knew there was no point in making any sort of observation regarding the matter as he would just blatantly deny it.
“You’re forgiven. Will you also forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
In a soft moment of affection Rosie slightly leaned her face to the side and rubbed her lips against the back of his ear, planting a gentle peck on it while whispering thank you. The reaction was immediate, his ears flickered and perked up by their own volition as if they had been run by an electric shock. Then Alastor utterly relaxed against her, eyes immediately closing once again, and a genuine content smile rose to his lips as she begun to quietly hum one of her favourite tunes, lips still lightly touching his ear. Rosie was then sure that for as long as she kept rubbing, scratching, cuddling, and nuzzling his ears, Alastor would not consider drawing away from her, not even for a second. In fact, she could clearly recall how irritated he had gotten the last time someone had the audacity, the nerve, of interrupting their moment by ringing at the doorbell. That had been years ago, before his mysterious disappearance but it was nice to know that somethings had not changed. Silence settled between the two for a bit, enjoying the peacefulness of their companionship. Soon, they would have to join the others, but there was no hurry.
Valentino zapped through the TV channels entirely bored out of his mind. After all the excitement of the broadcasted battle, there was nothing else to do or to watch that even brought a bit of entertainment. Suddenly, the front door opened, and Vox entered looking dazed. Casting him a glance, Valentino returned his eyes to the TV, half paying attention to a drama that was on.
“Where have you been? You were acting super creepy and then suddenly left in a hurry. Did something happen?”
“What?” replied Vox, still looking a bit out of it but seemingly regaining his wits.
“Where did you go?” repeated Valentino, getting annoyed at the situation. If Vox didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t have to, but he also didn’t need to act like he was stupid.
Vox looked confused and deep in thought. After a while, he confessed: “I don’t know, I don’t remember”.
“Whatever.” said Valentino, a bit annoyed at him for keeping secrets as if he didn’t trust him.
Nothing more was said as both Vee’s sat side by side on opposite ends of the couch, looking at the screen but neither really paying attention to what was playing.