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Bella hummed as she hopped up into a seat, clad in only a frilly nightgown and her slippers. The morning sun rested pleasantly on her speckled, ivory skin, shining through the windows of the dining room. It glossed over the table as she propped her elbows up on the wood, and swung her legs idly.
Her head was still a little hazy from slumber, even after Alastor let her snooze for a few minutes. It was only around eight, and frost still snuck along glass, offering a somewhat warped view of Chicago in winter.
She yawned quietly, and the sizzling of meat filled her ears. Satly, tangy scents started to entice her nose, and Bella’s stomach grumbled. Bacon .
“Bella, dear, elbows off the table.” Alastor reminded patiently, not bothering to turn from his spot facing the stove.
Bella scrunched her face up with a playful disobedience, and displayed great displeasure as she slowly removed said body parts and instead let her hands fall in her lap.
The kitchen and dining room were both in the same vicinity, with the table being set to the side of the counters. The area was pleasantly open, making it a nice place to dine. Gaslamps hung on the wall, but were turned off in favor of opening the drapes. The metropolis was starting to wake up, and one could get a pleasant view of inner-city life from the large bay window covering the far wall.
Sometimes, Bella liked to sit on the outcrop and watch automobiles drive by. Her Mama needed to be right in the middle of Chicago for her job, and there was never a dull moment. Action happened all around her in a city that never slept.
She knew she was far luckier than most of her classmates, too. Her house was big, despite the somewhat seedy area it was situated in. Four bedrooms, with all the modern amenities like plumbing, lighting, and heating. The latter was especially nice during this season, when night often dipped below zero. The foundations were made entirely of brick, and geometric wallpaper, hued aquamarine, dominated the interior.
It was a row house, squeezed between two others just like it, but there was still a luxurious amount of room for a lounge and study on top of all the other features. Alastor confessed he particularly liked the lounge, located by the front door, because of it’s warm fireplace and pleasant atmosphere for reading.
The kitchen was situated just behind, allowing the bay window to exist. Since there were shared side walls, only the front and back of the house allowed for such accents.
It was where Bella grew up, so to her, it was perfect.
The only quam she had with it was how empty and cold the hallways could be with just her- which was how it often had been. Mama rarely ever came home, and even though Bella knew she cared, it wasn’t enough to make up for putting herself to sleep on countless nights.
Now that Alastor had moved in, the house truly was perfect. He was strict, and if she was being honest, a little weird , but he had a bombastic personality that complemented her own. She was happier than she had been in a long time. Homework help, betime stories, boardgames- all of that and more which Bella had longed for was now reality.
Sometimes, she almost felt like pinching herself, because things had become too idyllic- it must be some wonderful dream, where she was bound to wake up at any moment.
Then, a plate of bacon and eggs was set promptly in front of her, and Bella was jolted out of her contented trance. It couldn’t be a dream, she told herself, because her dream would never involve the addition of collared greens next to the lovely spread. Her eyes had laid on the abomination of vegetables last, and she felt her spirits dampen considerably.
She had prayed it would be just bacon and eggs.
There the bane of her existence was, weeping it’s juice into the perfectly crisp meat and destroying everything with it’s muted shade of juniper.
“No,” Bella whined mournfully, and dragged her tiny hands through the wayward mass of red curls atop her head.
Yes, Alastor was pretty great. Until he forced her to eat disgusting things. He said it was important for a ‘-growing young lady, like yourself-’ , but she highly doubted that adding collared greens every other day or so to her morning was essential. It did the absolute opposite, and actually ruined the rest of her day.
Unfortunately, her argument fell on deaf ears, both to Alastor- and later, her own mother.
The betrayal still burned deep in her heart at the reminder of that conversation.
“Yes!” Alastor sang cheerfully, bustling back over to his pan with a spatula. He donned an apron over some freshly ironed red slacks, and a matching waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in preparation for cooking, but Bella knew he was planning on showing off his new cufflinks today.
Ever since he landed in Chicago, Bella noticed he was incredibly invested in his appearance. When Ma gave Alastor his first paycheck, he scampered off to the tailor for a new wardrobe. Both because he left all his clothes in New Orleans, and to abandon the mortification of wearing Ma’s outfits. One of the first things he brought home was a thick burgundy overcoat, made for snow and hail. Alastor had a rather unpleasant lesson on midwestern seasons the first day in the city, something he did not care to repeat. Ma brought it up sometimes, making his cheeks flush a dark bronze. The habit hadn’t lessened with time, and he still made monthly trips.
This month, he returned with gold cufflinks, and had been itching to don them for the first time. Bella knew they had to go grocery shopping today, both from the state of the refrigerator, and Alastor’s list of ingredients sitting idly on the kitchen counter. The elegant cursive scrawl was most defiantly not her mother’s.
Mama said he was like a peacock, preening at every new feather. She didn’t know what preening meant, but it sounded like something he would do.
“Al, these stink.” Bella complained, picking up the conjoining fork with a scoff, and poking at the wilted leaves.
Alastor completely ignored her, instead choosing to hum loudly to a garbled tune flowing from an adjacent radio. They only had one radio in the house, and it was rarely used until Alastor moved in. Now, Bella would be hard-pressed to find a time when the thing wasn’t on, playing a jaunty tune.
He situated it wherever he was planning on spending a proportionate amount of time, so Bella had come to associate Alastor’s presence with soft jazz.
His insistence on the art of radio was lost on both her and Mama, but she could enjoy it if he did. To Ma, anything that made Alastor chipper just seemed to make her upset.
That observation was proven once again with a groan from the staircase. Bella’s head turned in the chair, snapping up to the sharp figure of her mother descending into the lively room.
She was dressed for work, today forgoing her usual pants for a long black skirt that brushed at her ankles, and a big fur coat swallowing up everything above the knee. Her kitten heels clacked noisy on the hardwood as she adjusted a form-fitting hat pinned to her head. It gathered up all her hair, leaving only the sides of her olive face to be brushed with midnight curls.
Mama breezed over to her with a soft peck on the forehead, brushing some wayward ringlets away from her chubby cheeks. Bella leaned into the affection with big doe eyes, and beamed.
“Mornin’ ma!” She chirped, and her hands reached up to curiously thumb at a string of pearls hanging from the woman’s neck. They would’ve been hidden by the coat, if not for the way she leaned down.
“Good morning, bear.” Ma gave her a parting pat on the head, before she gently untangled the fingers from the necklace and drifted toward the counter.
“Alastor.” She greeted stiffly. Her gloved hand reached out, trying to swipe a piece of bacon from an open platter next to the stove.
Alastor intercepted her with practiced ease, gripping her wrist firmly in obvious warning. He turned to her, clicking his tongue. “Dear, I will not have you foraging through here like a raccoon.”
Bella sayed quiet as she studied the two warily. Like most times they interacted, Mama opted to level him with a glare, to which he matched with one of his own. It often went like this, until one broke the silent, scathing challenge between them.
Today, it was Ma.
“Listen, I can’t stay for breakfast this morning. Either I take bacon here, or I eat down at Tony’s.” She explained frostily, in a manner much like the weather outside.
“Then off you go! My cooking is made to be eaten at a table , among manners . Stealing bacon without so much as a plate clearly does not fulfill that description.” Alastor made a shooing motion with his hand, and extinguished the flame on the stove before he nudged the last of the eggs off the pan, and onto the same platter.
Ma, for a moment, looked dumbfounded, before that was quickly overtaken with the usual nasty scowl that only Alastor could seem to summon. A quick growl of, “Asshole.” passed her bared teeth.
Alastor’s smile dimmed, and he regarded her with a reprimanding tone, “Really, Mrs. Provenzano. Your daughter is present.” He tutted with a shake of his head as he gathered up the steaming array of food and set it on the table, along with a plate and fork for himself.
He situated his place across from Bella, and pulled out the chair innocently, as if there wasn’t a borderline feral woman foaming at the mouth with rage just a few feet away.
“Nothin’ I ain't heard before.” The girl said proudly, scooping up some yolk. Her extensive knowledge on swears was courtesy of her mother, and it made Bella feel cooler than her classmates. She could whip out some phrases even the teachers didn’t know!
“-And nothing you will repeat, either.” Alastor shot back, the force behind his message clear as day.
Bella grumbled, and chose not to reply, busying herself with another mouthful of egg.
Ma gathered herself as well as she could, and took a sharp inhale. “Well, I’m leaving. Bella, be good.” She gave her a soft, affectionate smile.
Bella returned the expression, and waved goodbye. Mama didn’t bother to acknowledge Alastor, turning on her heel sharply.
The sound of a door opening and closing followed in quick succession.
“Well! No school today, I’m afraid.” Alastor initiated conversation. Another thing Bella had noticed about him- he rarely ever resided in silence. He either needed to busy himself with radio, or talk to others.
Not that she minded. Bella found it endearing, and she enjoyed having a friend. Someone who was always there. It was much preferable to sitting alone in her room with a picture book.
“Thank god. I hate school.” Bella rolled her eyes, and crunched on a piece of bacon. Alastor quirked one dark brow as he distributed food on his empty ceramic.
“Oh? Is that pesky boy still bothering you?” He asked naturally, but there was a weight to the sentence that gave Bella the strangest feeling it was a loaded question.
“Nah. I did what you told me too and punched him. Since then, he hasn’t talked to me.” Bella replied, adept rather smugly.
Alastor gave a barking laugh in reply, and his deep eyes regarded her with a jaded fondness. “Atta’ girl!” The slight drag of the words marred his snappy transatlantic accent, molding it into something more creole.
It happened in bouts, but Bella often wondered why he’d bothered to change how he spoke in the first place. Like many other questions floating in her head about Alastor, they continued to go unanswered.
“Hey, Al?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you make pasta fazool tonight?” Bella didn’t mind Alastor’s dishes. In fact, bold new flavors invaded her palette almost every night- and even Mama scarfed down anything he cooked up. She could say with confidence that her culinary horizons had broadened considerably.
Today, however, she was in a peculiar mood, and wanted something nostalgic and homey. Ma always used it as a special treat on the rare night she was able to, and wanted to make it.
They had to go out anyway, what could be more perfect timing than to gather the components then?
Alastor paused, and cocked his head with a curious grin. “Pasta fazool, you said? I’m afraid that I haven’t the faintest clue what that is, darling.”
“It’s a soup with beans n’ stuff in it. I’m pretty sure I can make it from memory.” Bella ended on a hopeful note, pursing her lips as she recounted the steps in her head for good measure.
“Pretty sure? Well then, I’m positive we can attempt this elusive new soup.” Alastor teased. His smirk curled with mirth and intrigue at the thought of making something new, and with his culinary talents, Bella was confident they wouldn’t have an issue.
The rest of a leisurely meal was finished in warm jabs and pleasant quips. Bella got through the collared greens with barely her life intact, and Alastor watched with unbridled amusement as she practically choked on one of the mouthfuls.
Sometimes, Bella had no doubt in her mind that Alastor was pure evil . No remorse was found in those glittering black pools, even as she hacked- she wouldn't call it food - down her gullet.
Afterward, he gathered all the dishes off the table, and ordered her upstairs as he trailed over to the sink. “Get dressed, then. Fetch the brush when you’re finished.”
It was becoming tradition for Alastor to brush and take care of Bella’s hair. The little girl sped up the stairs in anticipation, finding the practice something she looked forward to often. Mama, when confronted with the tangled, poofed ringlets, often just left it so. Bella didn’t mind that either, but Alastor took such time to detangle- and if they weren’t in a hurry- braid it in stubby pigtails out of her face.
He’d confessed to her that the texture of her locks were much like his own Mother’s, whom he helped often while in New Orleans. He assured her that it was no trouble, and added she wasn’t going to look like a, ‘-street urchin!’ when seen in public with him.
Bella, hoping they’d have some time for a more elaborate style today, ran upstairs to her room. It was right next to her Ma’s, with Alastor’s at the very end of the narrow hallway.
It was filled to the brim with anything a child could want, courtesy of Mama’s instance in all Bella’s interests. She had a bookcase in th back with all her favorite fairytales, and a toy chest at the foot of her wire-frame bed. Her bed had at least three more blankets on it because of the weather, with all the stuffed animals originally propped there found strewn across the dark oak floor.
Alastor would surely childe her for it later, but that was a problem for the future. She moved over to her dresser, a glossy wooden piece at the immediate left of the door, and picked out a light blue dress.
It had white accents, such as a round collar, and the snappy belt just above a prim, pleated bottom that ended at the knee. Bella, as an afterthought, also fished out some warm cotton stockings, because it was a bit of a walk to the grocer.
She shed her nightclothes, and changed quickly, popping on her bed to lace up a pair of light leather boots.
The snow on the sidewalks would’ve seeped into her normal flats quickly, so she took precautionary measures.
After that task was fulfilled, she did a test jump, morphing into a twirl at the spark of pride in her heart. Mama liked dressing smartly too, why shouldn’t she be happy with how she looks?
That lead to a detour, and instead of barrelling back downstairs, Bella crossed the hallway to the guest bathroom. Technically it was her bathroom, because Mama and Alastor both had their own conjoining ones in the master rooms.
There was a stool in front of the sink that she used, teetering on the lip of the basin so she could get a good look at her top half in the silver mirror.
She had to make sure her own perception was correct, and the reflection staring back at her told Bella all she needed to know.
She gave herself a sharp nod, business conducted.
Turning on her heel, she screamed at the wall of red encompassing her vision. Bella, being rather clumsy by nature, almost knocked herself off the stool.
Warm hands came out to grasp at her shoulders, lighting-fast reflexes working to the advantage of both. “Bella, dear, you must be more careful! So jumpy!”
Bella, still a little dazed at her near heart-attack, leaned into the hold. Her head propped up against Alastor’s front, and her brain struggled to think of a comeback.
“Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on me like that!” She pouted, the pounding in her ribcage receding with the sense of security Alastor brought.
Alastor stiffly unlatched her from himself, putting some distance between them. Bella noticed he had a very strong aversion to any sort of contact, but she liked to think that he had gotten better with her. In the first week, he flinched away from simple gestures she was used to- grabbing onto a leg, or trying to hold his hand.
Now, he had basically let her hug him for a grand total of five seconds ! An improvement!
They also came to an unspoken agreement with the handholding, which stemmed more from Alastor learning a very important lesson the day she decided to explore Little Italy while he was preoccupied with buying the newspaper.
Needless to say, Alastor accepted that if he didn’t reign her in to some degree, Bella can, and would, go missing on outings.
“Perhaps you should pay more attention!” Alastor poked her side, grin curling delightedly when it spawned a tiny snicker. He bent his long legs to become more level with the girl, and snatched her metal bristle brush hanging from a mounted hook on the boldly decorated wall.
“Now, turn around, cher.” He made a motion with his finger, and Bella obeyed with a bright smile. “Can you braid it today? Please, Al! Please, please, please, please-”
“I will make you look like a powderpuff if you don’t cease and desist , darling!” That only elicited another laugh out of Bella, but she decided to play along. Besides, testing Alastor was always a bad idea.
Gentle strokes started to snag at the ginger knots, and a sigh was flushed behind her, before the squeak of a faucet, and she observed Alastor wetting the dense bristles.
“Sorry.” Bella muttered, looking down at her scuffed shoes.
A snort. “What are you apologizing for?”
“My hair is such a hassle. I know you said it’s fine, but you can be honest.” Bella’s big brown eyes scanned the floor, finding every crack in the white tile more interesting. Her poor, childish heart swung from every intense feeling to the next, and guilt washed through her in an overwhelming amount.
Alastor resumed taking care of her curls, and it was a while before his smooth timbre responded.
“I’m not in the business of lying, petit rouge . Your hair is a great deal similar to what I’ve worked with my whole life. I find it charming, and not the least bit inconvenient!”
The comfort slowly mitigated Bella’s anxiety, and her cheeks became pink with his complements. Alastor always knew how to make her feel better. It helped with all the soft touches carefully weaving her hair into darling braids; Bella found the little contact he did allow was always filled with meaning . It conveyed an overwhelming amount of feeling, despite Alastor’s outward grinning mask.
And ‘petit rouge’ was a new one, although like most of the gibberish he spouted, Bella couldn’t understand what it meant. “What didja call me?” Her curiosity piqued.
Neither her, nor Ma, had bothered to ask what language he sprinkled tidbits of in his speech. Bella had a suspicion Ma knew, but didn’t mention it from resulting tensions with prolonged conversation.
She could understand italian, obviously , and it was almost similar at times, but not quite right.
Alastor chuckled good-naturedly. “Pardon? Do you mean petit rouge ?”
Bella gave an affirmative blink.
“It’s french, darling. It translates, quite literally, to ‘little red’.” Bella’s mouth became a small ‘O’, which quickly melted into an elated squeal at realization. “Oh! ‘Cause my hair!” She pointed to said ringlets in emphasis.
He looked rather proud, and rose with a flourish. “Indeed! Quite lovely, I might add- especially in such a precious style!” At the word precious, Alastor squeezed both of her cheeks teasingly, and gestured to the mirror.
Bella followed his lead, and drunk in her reflection. Alastor had done a wonderful job, per usual, and her hair was out of her face, and weaved into two neat french braids on either side of her head.
Her face hurt, and if she smiled any wider, she could’ve rivaled the man lingering behind her.
“I love it! Oh! We have to go out so I can show it off!” Bella exclaimed, and bolted off her perch on the stool. Her excitement was like a sugar rush, carrying her down the stairs in record time, past the kitchen, and into the lounge.
She caught a bright laugh from upstairs, and slower clacks of dress shoes as Alastor followed her at a more reasonable pace. “You’re a real gaggle, dear!”
“I know!” Bella called back smugly, and unhooked her wool shawl from the coatrack near the front door. It was on the lowest rung to make it more accessible for her short stature.
“Hey, Al?” She fixed him with an inquisitive scrunch of her nose when he appeared in the archway of the room.
He replied with a chipper hum, fetching his own overcoat from the rack. On his journey, he had unrolled his sleeves, and pinned the new cufflinks in place.
“Do you think you could teach me some french?” At that, he looked to be genuinely caught off-guard.
“French? Bella, you have no need for it, not here.” Confusion was thick in his tone as he shrugged on the warm garment, expertly starting to button up the front.
“Yeah, but if ya speak it, you must get lonely with nobody to talk to! It could be like our secret code!” Bella justified, already scheming up ways to use such a power to her advantage. Imagine, the look on Ma’s face!
Alastor’s stunned state redoubled with her response, and for a moment his eyes glazed over. Like he was looking off, far off, to something she couldn’t see.
His smile shrunk to a modest, close-lipped one. She associated that particular one with contentment, but over what, she couldn’t be sure.
“Darling, you really are too much.” Alastor broke the trance with a modest chuckle, and ran a hand down his gelled hair, patting the erratic curls back into place. “Fretting over me being lonely . Of all things!”
He reached to open the door, letting in a frosty gust of wind. “I suppose, if you wish, I can fulfill that request! However, you must put in the work. Learning a new language isn’t easy!”
Bella felt another intense rush of gratitude for this man in front of her, the person who had inadvertently become part of her world, along with her Mother.
She held out her hand expectantly. “Deal?”
Alastor seemed positively delighted at that, his black eyes sparkling down at her. It was the same expressions she saw on Fathers, gazing down at their children in the schoolyard. The comparison made her heart flutter, and as children do, she looked to the future through a rose-tinted lens. One day, maybe.
“Deal.” He agreed, shaking on it with a wide grin.
And with that, the two strolled out onto the sidewalk. Bella eagerly swung their joined arms, and tried to catch snow on her tongue.
Alastor looked on ahead, strangely misty. It wasn’t often his black heart squeezed so, but the feeling was becoming alarming familiar. The more he hung around this mockery of a family, the more he found himself apart of one like never before.
His mind whispered of weakness. Feared a day when this growing softness, this disease, overtook him entirely.
He squared his shoulders at the thought. Preposterous, he was sure.