Chapter Text
Alastor made his way up to his room with a deep sigh.
Even after almost a year of helping Charlie with her hopeless little project days like today still managed to surprise him with just how much work running a hotel full with desperate fools could be.
Especially as he wasn’t allowed to maim any of them.
Between the usual problems that came with offering any kind of service to sinners, Vox’s persisting attempts to gain leverage on him while also trying to get some sort of standing with Lucifer and the unique brand of chaos that arose during their dear princess’s “redemption lessons” even Alastor was starting to become rather annoyed instead of delighted by the daily shenanigans.
Should he and Lucifer destroy another wall during one of their spats he would not accept any complains from either Charlie or Vaggie. They owed him some fun property damage.
Although that seemed to be a rather unlikely scenario if he was being honest.
The last big fight he had had with the little king was already, oh my, two months ago!
While they were by no means civil with each other their barbs had lost their original venom and more often than not he was having fun arguing with Lucifer instead of being enraged or even aggravated.
But then again, it was quite difficult to be angry at their pint sized monarch when Vox was being such a nuisance – not only dragging his reputation through the mud by broadcasting that cursed video from extermination day over and over but also trying to replace Alastor as the hotel’s sponsor.
Which in turn had incensed Lucifer who, as Charlie had made very clear, had to suffer Alastor because he was dear Charlie’s faithful friend that had supported her when no one else did. The idea of an overlord trying to cozy up to his daughter and sponsoring her, while her father – the king – stayed at the hotel and helped with its running, had sent the former angel into a rage fit.
The enemy of his enemy was indeed his friend.
Not that he would either consider Vox an enemy, no picture box was a nuisance nothing more, nor Lucifer his friend, what a ridiculous notion, but the sentiment was quite apt.
Having finally reached the top floor Alastor turned right toward the sanctuary of his room and immediately stopped. There was a gift box standing in front of his door.
A square yellow box with an obnoxiously big red bow on top.
Was this a joke?
He certainly wouldn’t put it past Angel to do something like this.
Having reached his door and the offending object he bowed down, picked it up and entered.
Years ago, what almost felt like a lifetime by now, he would have merely incinerated the box and be done with it.
But he wasn’t alone in his humble abode on the outskirts of the pentagram, nor was he in the little cottage in Cannibal Town Rosie forced him to move into: He was in a building not only warded by himself but also by the elder Morningstar.
And while he certainly had his critique on the technique he couldn’t deny Lucifer’s sheer power, meaning that it was impossible for anything remotely dangerous to have been smuggled inside.
So it wasn’t necessary to destroy the present and not only was Alastor curious about who had the guts to leave this for him, he was also in desperate need for a laugh which would be either provided by the gift or by the revenge he would enact should this turn out to be a joke on his expense.
In any case the surprise was a welcomed change from the stifling work he had been busy with the past days.
He opened the box and found … a love letter?
Well, letter was generous, the short note only said “I saw this and thought of you” but there was a, admittedly, beautiful drawing of a heart in one corner.
Angel Dust seemed more and more likely to be the culprit. Even though the lack of any male genitalia drawings did surprise.
Well, the crude innuendo was sure to come.
He put the note aside and uncovered the box’s content.
It wasn’t anything crude at all.
Quite the opposite. In the box laid a collar brooch. A giant opal set in delicately worked gold which, judging by the slight red hue on it, had to be Wrathian Gold above an emerald, nestled in the branches of obsidian antlers.
He carefully took the brooch out of the box and immediately felt the magic penetrating from the gold. He had heard the stories about Wrathian Gold and it’s innate magical powers that made it basically indestructible and allowed a skilled mage to draw power from it but he had never seen or felt it for himself.
Wrathian Gold was one of the few things that Alastor had feared where even in death out of his reach as the hellborn nobility was fiercely protective of the mines and anything that came from them and the lower hell born successfully cowed by the draconian punishments set for those who would dare sell any of it to Sinners. It was rumored that Zestial owned a piece but Zestial was rumored to posses many things.
The important thing here was that this brooch was not only a marvelous piece of craftsmanship that indeed did suit Alastor’s tastes quite well, it was a treasure beyond comprehension for most Sinners.
When even Alastor, an overlord of 90 years and one of the most powerful beings in pride, had been unable to procure Wrathian Gold it was impossible for any of the lower sinners to have gotten their hands on it, much less gift it to him.
Which begged the question who his mysterious benefactor might be.
He looked again at the note.
The writing was done in artful calligraphy and the paper didn’t give him any more clues either.
But his eyes were drawn to the heart again and suddenly he had a bitter taste in his mouth.
Romance was not something that he liked to dabble in neither in life nor death.
For one, he thought love to be a rather foolish thing.
But also because he had learned that Romance, without a doubt, always led to the expectation of intercourse and that was something he had no interest in what so ever.
The idea to put on the brooch and wear it like a mark of ownership was deeply revolting. He was no fair maiden wooed by some jewels, he was Alastor, the Radio Demon, the Overlordkiller!
However, the brooch did speak to this, didn’t it? Th Wrathian Gold, usually only worn by Hell’s nobility, the obsidian antlers so obviously him and even the fine craftsmanship that seemed to be at least inspired by the Art Nouveau, hell, even the calligraphy on the note, all of it clearly speaking to his tastes.
If he were to bereave himself of not only such a stunning accessory but also a potential source of power, wouldn’t he be shackled far more than if he were to use it?
The next morning Alastor held the brooch once again in hand.
It was a magnificent piece and to entertain this secret admirer would certainly be entertaining.
After all, Alastor had never been able to withstand the thrill of a good puzzle and he had to admit he was still stumped on the identity of his suitor. He had shortly thought about Charlie being his benefactor and the heart merely meant to be platonic but had given up on the idea rather quickly.
In all the months living together and helping her run the hotel he had never seen her use any form of writing utensil that needed ink, instead preferring to do everything with those silly crayons of hers.
Not to mention that this simply wasn’t her style.
The poor girl was filled with overflowing affection that she bestowed upon everyone she met.
A grand gift like this would have never ended in front of his door if Charlie had gotten it, no she would have given it to him personally, trying to take advantage of the situation in order to get a hug in.
No, he was fairly certain that it wasn’t Charlie who had given him this gem.
Without further ado he donned the brooch instead of his usual bow tie and left in order to enjoy a cup of coffee on his favorite balcony before the usual madness would begin.
Enjoying the early morning and taking down an ‘errand’ Voxtech drone, Alastor didn’t realize that he was being watched by someone other than Vox.
Lucifer, giddy to see if Alastor had liked his gift, had gotten up early as well and was hiding from the radio demon with a big smile on his face.
Phase 1 was a huge success!