Chapter Text
The slice of city that was Cannibal Town was all a go-go, all day every day: the muted roses and maroons, the bustling bodies, the dead bodies, the faint lilting music that permeated the air from no particular source was all part of its irresistible charm. Alastor had been quite taken with the town and its residents when he dropped in this infernal pit, finding it quaint and peaceful, even with the brutal sounds of dismemberment taking place a few times a week. If anything, they just added to the atmosphere.
If Alastor was that sort of man -- man, deer, radio transceiver, what have you -- then he would have been keeping track of his time spent in the afterlife, for no other reason than to look back and see how far he’d come -- or fallen -- since his sudden death. But he wasn’t, because time was irrelevant and he had more important matters to attend to, namely that of ongoing entertainment in between whatever flights of fancy that plagued his dealer.
He met Rosie his first day, or moment, whenever he opened his eyes onto smoldering red skies and muggy air that tasted of ash. In the short time since he’d contacted her, the picture he’d conjured in his mind to match the voice hadn’t shed a light to the visage that met him. Admittedly, Alastor was no expert on beauty or what counted as attraction -- he’d never had the desire, not with the cool clinical precision he’d faced life with -- but after the fact he couldn’t deny the stirring of… something… in the general region of his heart. Which was ridiculous if he was being honest. Hearts had no more effect on feelings than alcohol had on the liver in the afterlife. To suggest otherwise was nonsensical.
The glittering of her eyes, like a thousand diamonds in a pool of shadow; the sharp way her grin turned when mischief seized her; the cold porcelain skin that sent tingles through his nerves whenever she touched him; her snow white hair that was never out of place. She was ethereal in all the worst ways.
...Is what he might have thought. But Alastor had never been that sort of man in life, and he wouldn’t start now in death. He was much too busy on this fine day, after all.
Dealing with Susan.
His eye twitched above his eternal smile as he listened to the old bat, swinging her cane like a mace and popping off about some new grievance in the town. Because Heaven (heh) forbid, some young lad and lass dare to link arms before they were officially courting and is SHE the only one who cares for manners in this town, just wait till she tells Rosie about this, it’s positively scandalous, and for that matter, what’s a red fuck like you doing standing out front like a glorified guard dog, I’ve as much right to see her and no mangy asshole like you is going to stop me --
Alastor brushed off his lapel like she’d dirtied it merely by existing too close and folded his hands behind his back. He hadn’t even intended to confront her, just having returned in high spirits from another successful hunt as he meandered his way back to the Emporium in the center of town. It just so happened that Susan had approached from his left before he managed to cross the walkway, and now here they were.
“Valid though your concerns may be, do you know what time it is, Susan?”
Another windy gripe about whether the radiowaves messing with your own head that you need someone to tell you the time you pinstripe freak? causing yet another eye twitch, and Alastor inhaled through his grit teeth.
“It’s precisely half-past, and I’m sure you of all people know when the Emporium closes for the day?”
Susan adjusted the thin frame of her glasses as she scowled. “Don’t get pedantic on me, young man. I oughta bust those yellow teeth out your--”
Dials flickered momentarily as the Radio Demon fought to keep himself cool. Starting a fight in broad dusk with Susan of all Cannibals was hardly the look he wanted to cultivate for himself. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Rosie would truly mind…
“You are welcome to visit tomorrow and present your concerns, but as for now, business hours are to conclude and I’m sure you'd prefer this matter take time and consideration.”
Susan jutted her chin towards the warm yellow light leaking through the doors of the shop. “Yeah? So why’re you headed there?”
None of your business. Alastor forced his smile to relax. “Why, I have a prior engagement with the woman of the house. Terribly sorry to cut this riveting dialogue short, but needs must. Ta-ta!” He pivoted neatly on his hooves and sauntered down the walkway, Susan’s colorful verbiage ringing like music in his ears.
That wasn’t the only thing ringing.
Before he stepped through the door, scraps of multiple conversations caught his ears, ever pricked and alert. His grin tightened. Rosie’s Emporium boasted the best and widest selection of goods, biased though that may be, fairly priced or at least matched well enough. She was first and foremost a meticulous businesswoman and Alastor respected her initiative. He walked into a sea of last-minute perusers. A colorful and diverse array of sinners and Cannibals alike, chatting up a literal storm as they needlessly clogged the aisles. His lip curled as he attempted to slip through, aiming for the bottleneck that was the check-out.
On the other side of the store, Rosie was a perfect hair short of a breakdown. The day had been a constant and continuous sort of trainwreck, something neither she nor her employees could tear themselves away from for too long without everything falling apart. And it hadn’t only been today; this had been going on for nearly a week straight. She never remembered things being quite so active. Not that she was complaining about her hopping business -- this was her baby after all. It filled her with a warm pride to see her shop doing so well -- but surely her feet and back shouldn’t be hurting this much at the end of the day, nor should her poor assistants look quite so wrung out. She should look into fine-tuning hours, she owed it to them and all their patience and hardwork, even if most of them were contracted souls.
And even if some of them weren't. Rosie was a fair sort, believing in give and take, equal portions, no one carrying a load too heavy. She ran her slice of paradise with a perfectly manicured iron fist, a diamond in the rough as it were. But this just couldn’t stand. She was exhausted and her last nerves were frying. Her eyes kept darting to the clock on the nearby wall, ready to pray that the minute hand sped up just enough that she could throw everyone out and have herself a cup of tea to fully unwind.
And then a familiar flash of red caught her attention as she bid goodbye to Customer number… fifty(?, she’d lost count about an hour ago). If she needed to breathe, she would have forgotten at that moment. He’d returned quicker than she expected, but she really shouldn’t have been surprised. Of all the souls she held, this one in particular was her favorite. In all her years and after countless chains and promises, the Radio Demon was a shining light among them all, loud but never bombastic, the careful presence of a predator.
And so efficient! She simply had to hear everything, and for a brief and blissful moment there was no last-minute rush of customers nor a clamoring patron trying to get her attention.
Oh. Until there was. She hastily blinked back to the present, absently brushing hair that hadn’t fallen out of place, surprised at the flush heating her cheeks. “Oh! Burdette, darlin'! Don’t mind this ol’ gal. It’s been a day, let me tell you!”
And like that, she was back in the reins. Small talk and advice flowed easily as she packed and packaged items, handing them back before calling others over. The line gradually shrank as the minute hand ticked closer to the hour. The crowds dwindled and the conversations dimmed to a manageable hum until the final body left at exactly one minute before. Rosie felt herself deflate, letting out a long unnecessary sigh as she placed her hands atop the varnished counter. The girls bustled about, collecting their things, flipping the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, and bidding the Cannibal Queen goodnight. She felt like she was in a daze as she returned the pleasantries, thanked them for all they did and waved them out.
Alastor remained a saturated pop of red around the displays and shelves, minutely swaying in his place. She didn’t bother to hide her grin as she stepped away from the counter and approached. “Well, you sure turned up at primetime, didn’t you?”
Alastor rolled his shoulders like he’d been the one standing at check-out. “I don't know how you manage it, Rosie.”
“Manage what, deer?” She motioned for him to follow as she stepped into her parlor off the main shopping atrium, flicking the switches and closing the door with a satisfying click.
“People,”
Rosie laughed. As personable as Alastor could be, he very much preferred his solitude. She just couldn't relate to that; she had fingers in so many pies even she lost track of them. She was still snickering as she moved with purpose towards her tea set, fatigue be damned (hah), setting her favorite brew together with a snap of her fingers and collapsing into her armchair. She motioned Alastor to sit. “Now, what brings you by so late?”
Alastor crossed the room with a fluid grace and sat opposite her, the sharp reds of his hair and coat somewhat lessened by the cozy lamplight. He smirked as he swung a leg over the other. “Why, I was fresh from the Doomsday District when I bumped into Susan outside.”
Rosie grimaced as she poured a cup of steaming tea. Fantastic, a Susan story as a final hurrah…
“I sent her away, but I should warn you she’ll likely turn up tomorrow. Something about decorum and courtship customs.”
Rosie arched an eyebrow. “You just turned her away?”
“It was already half-past, you’d be closing soon. And it was a good thing I did. I can’t imagine unleashing Susan on you, not with a crowd like that inside.” He waved, airily.
Rosie thoughtfully tapped her teacup. “Don’t recall anyone shuttin’ her down before. Most would just wash their hands, not that I blame them.”
“She’s not for the faint of heart. Luckily, I don’t have one.”
They sat in shared silence for a moment as Rosie savored her tea and Alastor flicked on some jazz as ambiance. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“What’s that, dear?” Alastor’s ears perked.
“Wrangling the dragon,” Rosie said with a sly smile, delicately sipping the brew. “Now, tell me everything. You surprised me showin' back up the same day.”
Alastor placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Why Rosie, you wound me! All this time together and you still doubt?”
“Doubt’s got nothin’ to do with it. I’m not exactly sendin’ you out for small fry, here. These Overlords are heavy hitters, Alastor.”
He scoffed, music to her ears. “He folded in a matter of moments, it was almost boring.”
Rosie threw her head back with a cackle. “You’re makin’ me feel bad!”
“It’s hardly your fault. My reputation is starting to precede me, I suppose it can’t be helped.” Alastor didn’t look particularly bothered. If anything he looked… hungry.
Rosie set her cup down. “Well, it’s nice to see you looking so… at ease.”
His eyes crinkled in amusement, ears twitching like he wanted to relax but had to keep up appearances. “Same to you.”
“How’s that?”
He nodded towards the door. “Forgive me, but you do look rather peaked.”
Rosie sank into the armchair. “Ugh, I feel like half the city passed through those doors today, I barely even breaked for lunch, I don’t know how Celine, Frances and Hannah managed, that was our busiest day this week, and that’s sayin’ somethin’! And then add Susan to the mix? I mighta bitten her head off if she’d come stormin’ through, let me tell you!”
Alastor grinned wickedly. “I would have loved to see that.”
Rosie pouted. “Not like I haven’t tried before. Why, you should have seen her just last year! All up in arms over a coat of paint -- a coat of PAINT! -- bein’ the wrong shade and ready to raise hell over it!”
The deer’s shoulders shook, static popping amidst his laughter. “You truly don’t know peace with her running amok.”
Rosie huffed, unbuttoning her lacy collar as she excused herself. “Care for a nightcap?” She snapped and a bottle with two tumblers appeared on the table.
Alastor chuckled under his breath and poured a finger for them both. He switched the music to something more befitting and two pillows popped into existence on Rosie’s chair, along with a footstool. She was barely gone ten minutes, but when she returned the apples of her cheeks were dimmer, her opalescent eyes more subdued. She had forgone her hat, wearing a simple plain nightgown with a burgundy wrap about her shoulders.
Something… panged in Alastor’s chest, in the cavity that he denied housed a heart. When Rosie returned to her seat, he spoke. “You overextend yourself, my dear.”
Rosie didn’t argue as she sipped. “After today, I’m going to make some changes.”
“Oh?”
She nodded with finality. “Maybe I’ll set a limit on customers, or ooh! extend the west wall. It gets too crowded too easily and the thrift rack just takes up space where it is -- That’s it! I’ll knock out the wall and maybe that’ll free up space for those bouquet arrangements, no one can get to them through the jewelry after all, and Cecil, bless him, can’t keep vaulting over stands like that to fetch them.”
Color returned to her face as she planned out loud, and Alastor’s smile slipped into something warm and familiar, like he was gossiping with an old pal rather than his dealer. The woman had power that made his own pale in comparison and it both frightened and excited him, a forbidden lure as it were. He wanted to pick her brain, find out exactly what made her tick and why. What secrets must she still be hiding, and when would she enact her favor? He broke from his thoughts seeing Rosie lean back against the chair, momentarily closing her eyes.
“Ah, now this is nice. Thank you, deer.” She propped her slippered feet on the stool and Alastor wondered if the room had gotten a touch warmer.
He brushed it off. “Happy to assist, Rosie. I wouldn’t be very useful otherwise.” He winked before he could stop himself or wonder where that had come from.
The dark eyes opened, almost indistinct among her long lashes. She considered him for a moment like he was a live painting, her lips pursing prettily. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart. You’ve settled in so nicely, why I almost can’t imagine Cannibal Town without you around!”
Alastor fiddled with his collar. “Nonsense, you’re the only reason this town thrives. Without you, I shudder to think what riffraff might creep in.”
Rosie tipped her head with a light laugh and raised her glass. “To being useful,”
Alastor clinked his and drank the contents in one go. Silence settled again, the music a pleasant balm over frayed nerves of the day. The two sat in comfort, gazes finding each other every moment or so. There was no rush or insistence to be on the move again, even if Alastor knew he was overstaying his welcome. Or, well, he thought he was. Rosie was clearly ready for bed, why wasn’t she saying anything?
And more puzzling, why didn’t she seem to mind?
Rosie regarded the deer between fleeting glances, lost in thoughts over renovations, new marketing, defined hours for herself and her staff… only to come back to the very real presence sitting across from her. Even in cozy quiet, Alastor rang louder than life. The sharp angles of his frame stood in stark contrast to the soft curves of the armchair. He was on alert, even while he traced the empty tumbler. She almost didn’t notice the fidgeting, not until he cleared his throat.
“I should let you rest,”
Her heels hit the floor before she realized what she was doing. What was she doing? She was seeing him to the door, yes! She stood with none of the elegance she felt, lightly dusting her frame. “Right. I’d hate to keep you up any longer, you must be tired yourself.”
Alastor’s chuckle felt forced as he rose. Maybe he was tired. He couldn’t look Rosie in the eye like he had before. It was definitely too hot in here. “Until tomorrow,”
She escorted him to the side door, one hand knotting her shawl, the other reaching to undo the latch. “Thank you for dealing with Susan,”
Alastor shrugged, averting his gaze from her shoulders to… what an interesting patch of grout. “It was nothing. If I could make her disappear, then the thanks would be more warranted, wouldn’t you say?”
She shook her head, fondly. “No need to go that far.” What was taking so long with this latch? “Besides, what would the town think? I can’t have you snapping folks out of existence,”
“Just the ornery bitches,” came the cheeky reply, quick as a whip.
Rosie’s apples darkened a shade as the door (finally) swung open, letting in the cool of night. The streets were already lit and the cobbles were quiet. A breeze slipped over her and she pulled her shawl tighter and turned. They stood nearly toe to toe, pops of static brushing the air, suddenly charging the moment. He didn’t recoil, she didn’t press, they simply… remained. Focus was on each other’s eyes, darting down to the other’s lips and back in an unconscious dance. Neither seemed to know what move to make next. Not until they’d already moved.
It wasn’t all at once, it was slow and hesitant. Rosie leaned in, barely a touch from Alastor’s lips, when his voice stopped her. A soft, “Rosie, what are you doing?” Ruby eyes, half-lidded, stared into hers.
“Nothing.”
The soft voice continued, “Are you sure?”
She didn't trust herself to respond.
Dark lashes fluttered and lips quirked slightly. “I don’t think this is very wise.” His words hung heavy in the air, floating just out of reach as cozy lamplight illumed their frames, close enough to smell ash and flower petals respectively.
"How do you mean?"
A brief flicker in the sanguine gaze, almost like... regret? "It would be a mistake, Rosie."
A weight tugged at her heart, solid and unmoving. Her tongue flicked out to wet her parted lips as she thought fast. “I agree… but, that’s clearly not what we’re doing.”
Alastor was warm, and his smile was the gentlest she had ever seen, and her useless heart was pounding in her head. “Then what are we doing?”
Standing. Waiting. “I call this Very Close Talking™.” She murmured the words like a treasured secret, speaking them almost directly into his own lips.
A soft, amused huff. “Ah. Of course.” They breathed together, in perfect accidental synchrony, gazes unbroken. “Did you need anything else, tonight?”
An imperceptible tilt of her brows, a hitch in her breath, those impossibly dark eyes casting down for a flicker of a moment. “No.” Stay.
He couldn’t.
She wouldn’t force him.
They drew back. She dropped a polite curtsy, feeling rather like she’d been peeled open and left to shrivel in the sun. “Goodnight, Alastor.”
Alastor replaced his hands behind his back, his smile crooked as he swept a bow. “Goodnight, Rosie.”
She stepped aside to let him pass, his steps clicking. She hung in the doorway for no reason, waiting for his smart snapping coat to turn down the street, for the light buzz of static to ebb…
She closed the door and leaned against it, the silence suddenly weighing louder.
