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Alastor gripped the trash can with both hands, claws digging into the metal.
They made marks on the filthy surface.
Filthy, just like he. Reduced to a common tramp for that wretched moth, Mr. Valentino .
He tried to vomit, vomit all the infernal substances he was forced to digest. Alastor wanted to rip his skin off more often than not, but the top priority now was to try and expel that blasted pink goo.
The stuff that made his head fuzzy, and his reasoning reduced to that of a fucking potted plant.
Dry heaving came from his chest, left open and fluffed up to imitate breasts .
His coat, a mockery of what he fell to hell in, barely covered anything. It was red and pinstriped, but that was where any respect it could’ve garnered ended.
It dipped down laughably, exposing his fur. It also ended right below his rib cage, where tight, buttoned shorts started.
They were somewhat modeled like what he would’ve worn when he was alive, besides the fact they were so short he couldn’t bend down.
Mr. Valentino realized earlier on that he could milk the old-timey Radio Host aesthetic, so Alastor had pieces of what could be 30’s clothing, if it wasn’t whore-ified .
Just like he still clutched onto pieces of himself, under the mask he always wore.
Smile for me, mi pequeño ciervo. You want to make Mr. Val happy, don’t you?
It didn’t matter what he wanted. Day and night, Alastor was subjected to hands all over him, and absolute defiling of his own body.
He was a prisoner in his own marked flesh, wishing day after day he could shed the debauched, despised thing and leave .
It truly was Hell, he supposed. Just as miserable as he had heard from fearful ministers on the street.
“Look at this bitch.” Voices floated down from the alley he was in.
Alastor’s blood started to rush hot in his veins. His ears were permanently downturned, he guessed from the constant state of disgust he was in, but they still twitched at the new sound.
Adjusting his red-tinted glasses, Alastor pushed off the trash can, and rose to his full height.
His smile became slightly more genuine, more crazed.
Finally, he could let off some steam.
Putting his hands on his hips, Alastor regarded the three cads making their way toward him.
He squared his shoulders, and let out a confident laugh. “Oh, Pardon me. I must’ve been mistaken! What did you call me? ”
That exhilarating rush of power curled around him like an old friend, shadows licking at his exposed legs.
Rosie insisted he could’ve been a great Overlord, had he not been entrapped by the lies of a pompous pimp.
Alastor used that to fuel his rage, eyes flickering to radio dials. Valentino was why he was rendered nothing but a piece of meat every night.
Why he was in this situation in the first place, cornered by repulsive pigs who thought they could just have their way with him .
Fucking Valentino .
“Oh- shit ! That’s Val’s Radio Star!” The middle one, who looked, ironically, like a hog, squealed.
Black tentacles rose up behind the demons, unbeknownst to them.
Veves flickered and floating around his head, and Alastor flicked his hand with a jerky motion.
Static laid thick in the air, rising higher with a whine. It drowned out the pitiful screams.
Alastor was proud of his reputation, the only thing that wasn’t overlooked by Pentagram City. When he was off the clock, and relatively safe from Valentino’s twisted mind, he had marginal freedom to terrorize whoever he wanted.
Valentino allowed it, as long as he didn’t hurt his fellow workers .
Usually, it was relatively easy to get yourself killed by the Radio Star, because Alastor dealt with all his shame and helplessness by lording his considerable power over others.
In moments of bloodlust, it didn’t matter that he was under someone else’s thumb. The only thing that mattered was Alastor was in control . Nobody could hurt him in that moment. He was pulling the strings, if only for a few hours.
And Valentino ate it up.
He loved having such a chaotic force on a leash. His leash . Alastor had a sinking suspicion it was another source of euphoria for him, which is why he likely didn’t protest when Alastor broadcasted himself eating another fresh chap on air.
Hell seemed to like it too, considering all his films- oh how he despised the technology - sold like hotcakes. Just like he got a rush from subjecting those less fortunate to his claws, viewers likely felt the same way watching the Radio Star, someone so callous outside the studio, get degraded five different ways. It made him sick .
Unfortunately, the smell coming from the new corpses only increased the rolling of his stomach. Greasy and lecharious. They would bring him no pleasure to feast on.
The tentacles, drenched in blood, writhed and dissolved back into nothingness, their master no longer needing them.
Alastor was startled when they cleared to find a rather skinny figure looking down at the bodies with wide eyes.
Another one ?
He could’ve sworn she hadn’t been with the group, otherwise she would be dead.
No, she didn’t look like she had bad intentions. In fact, she had warm red eyes that glimmered with an overwhelming amount of empathy. Understanding .
His eyes glanced past her, toward the end of the narrow alley, and found a long glossy automobile parked by the curb.
Ah. She must’ve seen the carnage while driving by, and stopped.
Why, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Curiosity?
Even if she didn’t know who he was, the display that brought her here should severe enough of a warning.
“Hello!” She offered brightly, crinkling her brows as she hesitantly stepped over the dead pig demon.
Dressed in a sharp suit, popular for the current decade- last time he checked, it was 91 ’- and long blonde hair let loose and wavy, per the norm for most modern women.
He kept his guard up, but that instinctual yearning for entertainment, the showman within him urged to hear her out.
“Good evening! How may I help you?” Alastor greeted. His mama had raised a gentleman, despite all that changed.
Besides, she hadn’t done anything irritating.
Yet .
He matched her chipper tone, and his smile shrunk to something less maniac.
“-And if it is anything unsavory you wish, I would recommend leaving immediately!” Alastor added after a beat. His grim profession taught him he always had to at least give a disclaimer .
Either way, it usually lead to him rendering the offender without limbs, because some demons didn’t take no for an answer.
A blotchy red covered her white porcelain cheeks at the implications. Frantically, she waved her hands with an uncomfortable giggle. “Oh, no! No- none of that!”
Alastor’s red hooves clicked on the asphalt as he strode up to her, head cocking to the side. He studied her from a respectable distance, but otherwise stayed silent.
“I- erm, saw that you were in a bit of trouble, and I wanted to help!” She admitted, and then glanced down at the bloody result of the confrontation.
“But you seem to have it covered,” She muttered as an afterthought.
Alastor barked a laugh, and clasped his arms behind his back. “You wanted to help ? Come now, dear. We mustn’t tell lies.”
He leaned down slightly, drinking in the condescension he could afford with this little slip of a woman.
Already, Alastor could tell she had a very shy disposition. It would be easy to manipulate .
Valentino allowed him to deal in souls, but he had a limit to how much he could take. It was laughably small, but Mr. Valentino didn’t want to take any chances. Alastor was already powerful enough.
He dangled the taste of something greater just above Alastor’s head, purring and cooing at his favorite pet .
“-ah- hello?” The woman in front of him squeaked, waving a hand slowly out of his vision. Black lips frowned, and she looked slightly disturbed at the tight smile ripping his face.
Alastor realized his static was steadily wailing at the darkening thoughts, and shook his head quickly.
“Aha-! I apologize, darling! What was it you said?” He brushed it off, adjusting his glasses before he returned attention to her. She wisely saw his reaction, and opted to let it go.
She was more perceptive than he first took her for. Interesting .
Smoothly, she continued, “I just said that you seem a little upset! Are you alright?”
Alastor narrowed his eyes. “ Quite dandy ! Run along, now! You’ve ensured my safety .” He made a shooing motion, sarcasm dripping heavily from his tone.
Alastor didn’t know what to make of this conversation. And what he didn’t know, he erased .
She should count herself lucky he was feeling generous.
The girl pursed her lips, leveling him with a skeptical eyebrow raise.
“Maybe we should start over!” She said with a weak grin, and threw out her hand in greeting.
“I’m Charlie!”
The gears in Alastor’s brain started to turn.
“Would that happen to be short for something?” He purred, innocently brushing some lint from his shoulder. Alastor was going out on a limb here, but usually his gut feeling was right.
Charlie sheepishly used her other hand to rub the back of her neck. “Charlotte, but I don’t really like that name.”
Oh, he had hit the jackpot . Alastor was knowledgeable in Hell’s Royal families and Overlords. He was always looking for ways to get out of the wretched contract with Valentino, and kept hoping he would find a key to his magenta chains. Both Overlords and the Hellborne represented a chance at some higher deal- what he could use against the owner of his soul.
His last allowed contract was saved for that lucky opportunity, and here the Daughter of Lucifer Morningstar came waltzing right into his clutches.
Perhaps his afterlife was finally turning around. Charlie, in the few seconds he’d known her, seemed laughably easy to manipulate. She had a bleeding heart, something he could squeeze a handshake out of.
Alastor was cunning. He wouldn’t have terrorized New Orleans for ten years if that wasn’t a fact.
Valentino liked to say otherwise, call him a mindless slut , but Alastor knew the moth was just lashing out. Being sharper than his foppish dealer, he often bore the brunt of punishment when his mouth got too smart .
Ah, you aren’t mad, are you niña pequeña ...? You know Mr. Val doesn’t mean it. Just keep that pretty mouth shut, Sí?
It was that simmering, furious resentment weaved deep into every fiber of his being that jolted him into motion. The promise of ripping that living piece of shit limb from limb was too delicious. He had fantasied about it for decades, and now he felt light with an actual opportunity to make that reality.
Yes, he would establish this connection, and then twist it to his benefit.
“Alastor! Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart! Quite a pleasure!” He returned the greeting with gusto, clasping his claws in her soft white palm.
Chipper jazz floated ambient around them, responding to Alastor’s rise in mood.
She beamed, pleased with his enthusiasm.
Oh, it was just too simple .
“Alastor! So nice to meet you! You- erm, work for Valentino, right?” Charlie inquired hesitantly, and her hand fell back to her side.
Alastor’s arms went behind his back again, a knee jerk reaction.
“ Unfortunately !” He replied through gritted teeth. His smile was bared to show black gums, and the false cheeriness in the answer was practically dripping .
Charlie’s eyes dimmed at that. “I’ve heard stories.” She commented lamely. Oh, was she trying to sympathize with him ?
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t be caught dead with the chap, personally!” Alastor threw out the bait.
Hook, line, sinker .
“Oh. Well then- why are you? Working for him, I mean.”
Ego be damned, Alastor forced the confession through his throat. The weakness raked at his mouth, and he spat it out like black bile. “I did not make the wisest choices when I fell. He owns my soul.”
Alastor refused to go any further. Refused to relive the horror of realizing he had been trapped. Tricked .
I can make you a star, querido. I work in the entertainment industry, like you.
You’ll need someone to help you get your bearings in hell. A partner. I can help you with that.
Sign here, nena.
The once mighty Darling of New Orleans Radio- the Bayou Butcher- brainwashed by that blasted pink secretion and signing his name away on his own shackles.
To further his shame, he couldn’t even remember all of it. The moment was a haze of smoke, and as if he didn’t already have the effects of the moth’s spit on him, the cigarette worsened that trance, making it impossible to think. Impossible to stop his hand from taking the fountain pen.
Impossible to resist.
Mr. Valentino never specified what kind of star he would be, and now with those dirty hands on his soul, he physically couldn’t disobey.
You’re wearing this tonight, Chica. Make sure to put some foundation over the scars, like I taught you.
Wear this, do that. He wasn’t his own man. He was a doll. A doll for Valentino to fuck and dress however he wanted.
But this woman in front of him was an intoxicating chance at escape. An escape from his infernal damnation.
And before he knew it, she was inviting him to his car.
Inviting him to talk about his feelings .
Alastor resisted the compulsion to cackle wickedly in her face.
Instead, he played the part.
He agreed, and offered her his arm.
She took it without any complaint, any caution. Already, she trusted him more than she should.
By this rate, he’d have Valentino’s head on a pike for Christmas.
“How about we go to a cafe? You seem like you need a pick-me-up!” Charlie chipped, skipping him over to her red limousine.
Alastor had to be back in the studio before nightfall, but that was a couple hours away.
“I suppose I can spare some time for such a charming demon belle !” He replied, forcing the fear and resentment of what he’d be coerced into doing at said studio to the back of his mind.
Instead, he focused on the foolish girl beckoning him to take a seat in the spacious interior of the vehicle.
And Alastor grinned at her.
Foolish, foolish girl.