Chapter Text
One minute, Alastor is deep in the bayou, dragging his latest victim behind him, looking slowly up at the telltale sound of a shotgun being cocked…
And then, the next, he’s waking up laying on the floor of a parlor, a pair of gleaming black eyes looking down at him, uncomfortably close to his own face, studying him.
He flinches back, but has nowhere to go, as he’s already laid out flat on his back.
“Who are-" he starts to say, then cuts himself off mid-word, cut off guard by the sound of his own voice.
He sounds like a radio show, a filter of static clinging to every word.
The eyes move back, now that she’s not quite so close, Alastor can see they belong to a woman, a rather unusual looking woman dressed fully in Edwardian garb, like something out of an old book.
She laughs at him, and his eyes widen further.
“It’s nice to meet you in person, Alastor!” She greets, jovial. “You sure didn’t waste time getting down here, did you! It hasn’t even been a day since we spoke… you must’ve been eager to meet me! I’m flattered, really!”
Alastor blinks slowly. He knows that voice. He had just spoken to that voice yesterday, in the middle of his cabin, coming from the altar he’d built. So that means…
“I’m dead.” He says, shell-shocked as the realization hits him.
His hand comes up to press flat against his forehead, the spot the hunter’s bullet had priced.
The woman’s grin widens. “Indeed you are my deer!” She says, cheerful, something teasing in her voice. “Welcome to hell Alastor! I’d say I’ve been waiting for you… but you didn’t give me time to wait, did you?” She says, then cackles. “Not a very lucky fellow huh?”
Alastor looks up at the woman, the demon who he’d sold his soul to, as she laughs like the end of his mortal life was the greatest joke she’d ever heard.
He had prepared to end up in hell… but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He was only twenty-eight! He thought he’d have at least a couple of decades left on earth! She was right. What terrible luck…
She claps her hands together, startling him from his thoughts.
“Well, up and at ‘em Al!” She says cheerfully. “Can’t have you lying on the floor all day, can we?”
Alastor blinks at her, then slowly gets to his feet. He stumbles, unbalanced, almost falling right back down to the ground again. He looks down at his… Hooves? He has hooves, he realizes, alarmed.
The woman coos sympathetically. “Oh, I’ve heard those digitigrade legs can be an adjustment…” she says. “But don’t worry! We can get you some special shoes to help with that.”
She links their arms together, dragging him up so they stand side by side, holding him up until he’s found his balance.
“Looks like you got lucky overall though!” Rosie says cheerfully, walking him across the room, arms still linked. “Two hands, two feet, two eyes, one mouth, one nose. Got all the essentials, and no extras! It shouldn’t be too terrible of an adjustment. And you turned out pretty cute too! Especially with those ears. Some poor folks show up here looking downright tragic.”
“…The ears?” Alastor repeats, confused then looks up. Oh.
Those ears.
She has walked them over to stand in front of a grand mirror propped up against the wall. He doesn’t recognize himself at first, doesn’t register what he’s seeing as him.
The ears she mentioned sit atop his head, fluffy and tall. How bizarre. And antlers.
He remembers the man who shot him, just some hunter out in the woods late in the evening. The man probably hadn’t even intended to kill him, and probably mistaken him for…
…a deer. Oh it seems the universe has a sense of humor, although Alastor fails to find its idea of a joke very funny.
His eyes are red as blood, as is his hair. He looks nothing like the self he saw in the mirror this morning.
He’s still dressed the same. A bloodstained shirt and plain slacks.
“Don’t look so glum hun!” Rosie says, reaching around him to pinch his cheek. “At least you don’t have any extra limbs to contend with. I’ve heard those can be a real pain to get used to!”
Alastor knocks her hand away from his face on reflex, then wonders if he should be more careful with this obviously powerful being who owns his soul…
Luckily, she just looks amused and not offended at his prickly response.
“Why don’t we have a seat? We have a lot to talk about, I think.” She says, grinning at him.
Alastor’s own smile is tight as he looks at the demon he’d sold his soul too.
“I suppose we do.”
He had expected to be shown the ropes of this new place he’s ended up in… instead, it seems like she’s far more interested just in laughing at him.
His death, mostly, and how quickly he’d ended up here after making their deal.
Admittedly, the timing is quite ironic. Too ironic, actually… Had making such a deal cursed him? Marked him for an early demise?
His eyes narrow at her. Or perhaps she had a hand in it. Just how much sway do demons have in the mortal world?
“I fear we’re at a bit of an imbalance here, ma’am.” Alatsor says, shaking off his suspicion and the still present shock in favor of dredging up some charm. “You seem to know quite a bit about me, yet I know nothing about you… including your name.”
The woman slaps her forehead. “Oh dear, where have my manners gone?” She says, jokingly self-scolding. “I’m Rosie! And you're here in my emporium. Another stroke of luck on your end, my dear! Some get dropped right in the streets!”
“Rosie…” Alastor repeats. “Well, it’s nice to meet you formally, Rosie! Although the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal.”
Such an average name. He had expected something more dramatic or intimidating.
Rosie grins at him, and tops off his tea.
Alastor accepts it to be polite. He’s never been much of a tea drinker, vastly preferring coffee.
He takes a sip, observing this Rosie over the rim of his teacup. The demon he sold his soul to only yesterday. She wasn’t exactly what he expected, although he’s not sure what he expected her to be. The devil himself perhaps?
“About the deal we made-” he starts to say, and is briskly interrupted.
“Oh, straight to business, aren’t you!” Rosie says with a laugh. “Why don’t we get you settled in first? I’ll call my tailor, get us some grub, and explain how things work down here!” She says cheerfully.
Her smile widens, coal like eyes glittering.
“And then we’ll talk about our deal.”
Alatsor ends up in a pink and white pinstriped suit. Too pastel for his tastes, but he supposes it’s better than the clothes he died in.
It seems to fit the aesthetic of her town well. Because this, as he has now learned, is her town. Cannibal town. A fitting enough place for him to have end up, he supposes.
They have a dinner befitting the town name, and as they eat, Rosie explains how hell works.
The concept of overlords, soul ownership, soul binding deals, territories, and the royal family.
By the time she’s done, they’ve long finished eating and his head is practically spinning with all the information he’s taken in.
He isn’t sure if he’s at an advantage or a disadvantage here.
On one hand, he’s here, day one, with his soul, apparently the greatest bargaining chip you have down here, already owned. Was he a total fool, to have sold himself already? Before he even knew what it meant?
But on the other hand… he’d sold his soul for the promise of great power. Power that Rosie was bound to supply, if her explanation of the rules here is to be believed, just as he’s bound to belong to her until he can complete the favor she had requested.
She had vowed that he’d be the strongest sinner in Hell… which doesn’t seem to be a bad position to be in, at all!
It confuses him, though. She has presented herself to him as an overlord, one of the sinners who have risen above the rest to seize power…
But she must be more than that. How else could she provide him the power she promised? Just who is she?
When she finishes her explanation, she presents him with a staff.
Red and black with a microphone as its head.
Alastor tilts his head curiously to the side, eyeing it. It looks like it’s looking back at him.
“And what is this?” He asks, reaching out to take it from her. He feels a surge of something immediately, and a green light bathes the room.
“That, dear, is my end of our deal.” Rosie says, the green light reflecting eerily off of her devilish smile.
“This will grant you power, more power than any other sinner…” she says.
Alastor’s own smile widens, and a peel of laughter leaves his lips.
“Oh… this will be fun!” He cackles.
The power filling him makes him almost manic with glee as he looks down at the staff in his hands.
Before he can get too carried away, a collar of golden light wraps around his throat.
Rosie pulls him in by this, until their faces are mere inches apart.
“I trust you remember your end of the deal as well, don’tcha pet?” She asks, something sharp in those empty eyes.
“Of course.” Alatsor says, eyes narrowing. “It was only yesterday we made it yesterday, after all.”
“Good! Good. Remember, until you’ve settled your debt… you’re mine.” She says. “You’ll continue your fun, you’ll secure yourself amongst the highest demons, just like you asked for. But, you’ll answer to me. Do you understand, my deer?” She says, the golden cord around his neck tightening. Not enough to hurt or even to cause discomfort, just a reminder that it’s there.
“I understand completely.” Alastor says through gritted teeth, an inkling of resentment already starting to build in him.
Rosie grins. “Good boy!” She says cheerfully, amused like she can sense his frustration.
The golden light retracts, brushing his face gently as it does like a fond caress.
“I think this is the beginning of a wonderful thing.” She tells him, not breaking eye contact.
Rosie provides him with whatever he needs.
A bed to sleep in. Food. Another new suit that suits his desired aesthetic better. Companionship. Information.
She’s quite the gracious host.
Alastor spends four nights in her abode, getting used to this new reality, this new body. He learns how to walk on his new feet without stumbling. He learns how deliciously sharp his new claws and teeth are. He stops flinching at his reflection. He learns to keep the tail that sits at the small of his back from perking up every time he’s alarmed or excited.
And then, on his fifth night in Hell, The Radio Demon makes his first appearance.
His first broadcast reaches even the darkest, farthest corners of the city, and Hell is never the same again.