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Long have mortals waxed poetry about the supposed splendor of color. Sonnets were written about painted sunsets and songs composed in honor of radiant auroras that glimmered in the winter. It was insisted that color was something to be desired, that it enriched one’s life and brought magnificence to the mundane.
Alastor wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about.
His world had always been colorless, and not once had he felt cheated by that. It was clean and precise, with contrast providing a clarity that color seemed to obscure, at least from his own position as a third party observer.
It all sounded so messy to him, given the way others attached such emotional vibrancy to the supposedly pretty hues. Far be it from him to mourn something he never missed to begin with.
If color was as important as others made it out to be, surely it would have presented itself by now.
It had not, so Alastor filed it away as an overblown phenomena not worth getting invested in. Besides, the Sinner was quite content with his current life – well, technically, afterlife given he was in Hell.
Or he had been content, until the bothersome, incompetent, pest of a King had come crashing through the doors of the Hotel he had helped drag from the bowels of irrelevance.
Their clash had been immediate, with the Overlord intent on teaching the pitiful angel exactly how little royal intervention was needed. It was easy enough to gauge which knives to twist and the reaction he clawed from the little monarch had tasted sweeter than top shelf brandy.
If Lucifer was good for anything, it was the sheer entertainment he provided by way of his feeble flailing.
Alastor gave the encounter no further thought.
It was only later, seated before the fire in his room with a drink in hand that something…peculiar made itself known.
The world…looked different.
It seemed warmer. The stark lines of contrast somehow blurred and softened.
Trying to quantify the change began to gnaw at Alastor’s ribs, the Sinner struggling to put to thought exactly what had shifted.
Shadows no longer seemed as crisp as they should, instead they eased at the edges, bleeding softly from one outline to another in a way they never had before. At first the Overlord worried something had gone wrong with his powers but no, even the stark white of the lamplights seemed to have warmed. It was as if his perception of reality had taken a deep breath and then relaxed.
He sat up a touch straighter, eyes narrowing at the offending atmosphere, as if he glared at it hard enough it would set itself to rights. It didn’t, of course, and that only served to unsettle him further.
Alastor did not like change, and he disliked not being able to explain a change even more so. He couldn’t exactly put into words how his world had shifted, or even why, but there was no denying the unexpected depth that had begun filling in the gaps around him.
Lifting his glass upwards, the Radio Demon emptied it with a single, decisive draw and dismissed the entire affair as an unfortunate side effect due to his interaction with Hell’s so called sovereign.
That must be it.
There could be no other reason.
In time, the strangeness of Alastor’s new normal faded into the background like so much static, the faint change to the hues of his reality becoming little more than a footnote. It wasn’t worth giving his attention to anyway, he had far more pressing engagements to dignify with his focus.
And so the days passed as they usually did in Pentagram City, filled with vice and violence, Hell’s odd rhythm unbroken until months later when the skies unexpectedly split open.
A particularly vicious bout of scream rain flooded the streets, turning the city into a shrieking, half-drowned spectacle that drove even the most enthusiastic degenerate indoors. The hotel, by necessity, became a refuge.
And with the storm came him.
Like an ill fated wind, Lucifer Morningstar arrived with that annoyingly hopeful expression he wore whenever he thought he might be helpful. Whether summoned by Charlie or perhaps dragged forth by his loneliness from the palace he usually haunted, Alastor neither knew why nor did he care. It mattered little. The fact was, the King of Hell had once again decided to insert himself into the Sinner’s carefully curated domain.
So, like the true professional he was, Alastor resolved to simply ignore the intrusion entirely.
He attended his duties. He entertained the guests (or rather, watched them for his own entertainment). He did all that he could to ensure the establishment did not fall into chaos sown by too many bored Sinners collected under one roof.
Avoidance, however, was not an avenue to be pursued for the entirety of Lucifer’s stay, especially not when the Radio Demon desired to enjoy a drink for a day’s work well done. Which is exactly how he found himself clashing with the Devil once more.
“You can’t just go around antagonizing guests.” Lucifer spoke through clenched teeth, glaring at the deer from the other end of the bar. “You are supposed to be welcoming them, not acting like some big, red boogeyman.”
Alastor didn’t look up from where he was slowly turning a glass between his fingers, watching as the light danced through the liquid inside.
“My dear fellow, when you invite a cabaret of moral bankruptcy through your doors, one must expect a certain degree of…misbehavior from them.” Alastor’s grin hitched slightly at the corners. “I was not antagonizing them. I was keeping them in line.”
Lucifer sucked in a breath, the first hint of his horns peaking through his forehead. “It sure as shit doesn’t seem that way. I don’t think you take this that seriously.”
That drew a snort from Alastor, the Overload rolling his eyes as he finally turned to look at the fuming monarch across from him.
“Please, as if you do.”
Whatever direction the fallen angel had expected the argument to take, it wasn’t this, and it showed in the way his mouth opened and then snapped closed, his wings manifesting behind him and expanding.
It reminded Alastor of a cornered alleycat trying to make itself seem bigger.
“What the hell does that mean, Bellhop?”
“Oh don’t be coy, it doesn’t suit you.” The deer set down his glass, flapping his hand loosely in the direction of the Devil. “You don’t actually give a damn about the hotel, or even Sinners in general. Your only desire in this whole endeavor is to worm your way back into the heart of the daughter you abandoned.”
Silence stretched between them like the gap between lightning and the inevitable roar of thunder. Alastor knew the small seraphim would snap, but he hadn’t fully anticipated how spectacularly he would do so.
A fist slammed against the wooden bartop, Lucifer’s form shifting as his horns erupted to their full height, his tail manifesting with a sound reminiscent of a whip crack.
“You son of a bitch, if you had even half–” The rest of his words faded into the ever present static of Alastor’s mind, lost from his attention as the Radio Demon’s reality suddenly began to rearrange itself.
Something was unfurling before his eyes, another change to the sepia-toned world the Sinner had only just adjusted to.
A searing, impossible hue blazed its way into being, awakening within the dark shadows that had defined the inner feathers of the fallen angel’s wings. Like a secret finally spoken outloud, the shade seemed alive with a heat that pulsed and breathed all its own. It danced along the elegant curve of the King’s horns, pouring across them like a rich wine and leaving behind a faint glimmer as though the light itself had been sweetened with crushed jewels.
Then it found Luceifer’s eyes.
That brilliant splendor sunk deep into the Devil’s blazing gaze where it smouldered in wrathful radiance. Beautiful, frightening and entirely without definition.
Alastor’s smile faltered, his fingers clawing into the underside of the bar without thought.
For the first time in his long existence, the Sinner was looking at something he could not reduce to contrast, shape or sound.
It was color; it had to be.
But how? Why?
And most importantly: What did it mean?
He didn’t understand but what annoyed him even more was that he was curious. Gone was his desire to agitate the King and left in its wake was the urge to know. Even if it were some cruel joke being played on him by Lucifer, the Overlord was so captivated by the deep, ardent hue that he couldn’t even produce an ember of rage at the thought.
It shifted something within Alastor, another one of those indefinable yet absolute pieces that encompassed one’s perceptions of the world.
“You’re…uh, freaking me out, Bellhop.” Lucifer’s voice finally cut through the static, prompting Alastor’s ears to flick backwards as he attempted to play back what the King had been shouting at him moments ago.
“Are you having a stroke or something?” And despite the fact that they’d been nothing but snide to each other moments ago, the angel’s voice was softer, as if he was, at least in that moment, experiencing some shade of worry for the deer.
“I find myself feeling unwell.” Usually Alastor would rally. He would brush off the concern, deflect from it, mock it even. Weakness was to be exploited after all. Yet he found himself unable to do so beneath the weight of that now vivid gaze.
“Uh…” Rubbing the back of his neck, Lucifer hesitated. “Then you better go take care of that.”
The King attempted to make the words sound commanding and dismissive, as if the Overlord was bothering him with such mundane excuses. Perhaps if there had been any true spirit in the statement it would have raised Alastor’s hackles but, as it stood, the Devil had barely managed to conceal how put out he was, like the rug had been pulled out from beneath him.
“Indeed.” With an unenthusiastic wave of his hand, the Radio Demon sunk into the shadows leaving behind a bewildered seraphim trying to understand how the Sinner had gone from staring at him with near unfiltered contempt to something that could very well be described as wonder.
Later, Alastor would learn the color he could now see was called ‘red’ and while its vibrancy had faded in the absence of the King, the hue had become an annoyingly permanent fixture in his world.
In the months that followed their incident at the bar, the tension between Alastor and Lucifer settled into something neither were keen on examining too closely. They did not seek each other out to blatantly antagonize each other anymore, but neither did they fall into a pattern of avoidance.
Conversations, when they happened, were still filled with clever barbs and the occasional landmines but they were no longer designed to wound. Rather, it became a game of circling one another, of prodding with thinly veiled curiosity that bordered on cordial.
On nights when it was just himself and the fire, Alastor was able to admit that his actions were entirely driven by the appearance of that crimson hue, by his desire to understand its sudden existence in his life.
One thing the Sinner quickly discovered was the intensity of the color tended to fluctuate with his proximity to Lucifer. When in the presence of the Devil, it existed in the background of his world as vividly as it had upon its first manifestation. It felt intrusive at first but the more Alastor allowed himself to experience it, the more he found himself enjoying its depth.
And that became even more true once Sinsmas arrived.
The hotel had embraced the holiday with an enthusiasm that bordered on structural hazard. Garland was hung from near every horizontal surface, though most predominantly it was woven from banister to banister. Lights sparkled all throughout the lobby, their reflections scattered across polished surfaces in a manner that mimicked the twinkling of stars.
Guests mingled in cheerful clusters, their quiet chatter melding with aggressively upbeat piano renditions of carols no one had asked for. Charlie spun in delighted circles, spreading her infectious holiday cheer from demon to demon as Vaggi valiantly attempted to keep a stack of wrapped giftboxes from collapsing.
Above it all, Alastor watched from the balcony, elbows resting on the decorated railing as he allowed his eyes to wander.
“It appears,” he drawled softly, “that your daughter has lost all sense of self control in her quest to spread Sinsmas cheer.”
Beside him, Lucifer huffed in a way that could have been a laugh. “Hey, no one is screaming. So I’m taking that as a win.”
With the King right beside him, the reds that had become interwoven throughout his reality were at full vibrancy. It coated velvet ribbons looped into decorative bows and danced within glass ornaments shaped like sugared apples. It swam in bowls of spiced punch set out for the guests below and teased itself into the berries of holly that couples mistook for mistletoe.
“She’s happy, by the way. About…this.” Lucifer gestured to the space between them and the lack of violence occurring in it. “The whole…us not trying to kill each other.”
The Radio Demon hummed his acknowledgement, his smile tilting slightly. “A tragic loss when it comes to my entertainment, but one must make sacrifices for the holidays.”
“Yeah, I guess..?” The Devil exhaled softly, the sigh seeming to ripple through the entirety of his body before he visibly straightened and looked towards the Sinner with determination.
“Speaking of the uh–the holidays and all…” Clearing his throat, the angel pulled a small parcel from a pocket it had no business fitting into, but thus was the nature of magic. “Here. A Sinsmas gift.”
Alastor’s eyes dropped to the gift, his head tilting slightly to the left as confusion made itself evident across his expression.
“How unexpected.” He joked lightly, allowing his gaze to drift back to Lucifer’s. “Should I expect it to detonate upon being opened?”
“It’s not a trap.” The Devil snapped, then winced at his own tone. “It’s just–Look, I just want to..reset things. Start off on the right foot this time. Charlie is so, so happy and if this…peace between us helps with that? I want to try and…you know, keep it.”
Taken aback by the seraphim’s honesty, Alastor found himself unable to offer a witty retort. Instead he slowly, with just the slightest touch of theatrical hesitancy, reached out for the neatly wrapped peace offering.
It was then that their fingers brushed gently against each other. It was an accident of course, a small touch that was, in the grand scheme of things, quick and insignificant. But with it came another shift in Alastor’s world.
A new hue expanded at the edges of the Overlord’s vision, as tentative as a sprout breaking through the soft earth of spring. It gathered in the bunches of garland draped across the railings, painting them lush shades of verdant greens. The color seemed to breathe and grow, climbing through the decorations like ivy reclaiming the old stone walls of an ancient garden.
And it was not alone.
Golden tones stretched and yawned, easing their way through the glimmering lights. It danced into the chandeliers and candles alike, turning their glow into something warm and honeyed. It twisted along the edges of ribbons and spun itself into fabrics like sunshine made manifest.
It kissed Lucifer’s hair and transformed his eyes into molten pools of curiosity.
How vivid he was. Even backdropped against all the gleaming wonder that had bloomed within Alastor’s perceptions, the fallen angel was the most beautiful presence in the room.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Lucifer shifted under the Radio Demon’s intense scrutiny, offering him a wary grin. “The uh–intense staring thing. Should I be concerned?”
“Perhaps.” The Sinner said softly.
He glanced down at the gift in his hands then back up at the Devil who had, quite without permission, begun repainting his universe. In that moment, Alastor allowed his smile to soften into something more genuine.
“But probably not for the reason you’re thinking.”
That prompted Lucifer’s own head tilt of confusion but his expression remained relaxed, almost hopeful. Below them the lobby burst into song, led into the chorus of a particularly jaunty holiday tune by the princess herself and the moment on the balcony between the two guarded souls faded into the night unnoticed.
The holidays passed and life in the hotel continued in accordance with its own particular rhythm.
Like before Alastor’s world did not return to what it had once been but, rather, it seemed to strike a compromise between the familiar contrasts of his old reality and the newly sanctioned aberrations he had since encountered.
This time, however, the Radio Demon noticed the strength of the hues did not seem to be as heavily influenced by the presence of Lucifer, yet there was no denying the way they sighed with warmth the closer he was to the King of Hell. A warmth that lingered in his absence, like the final note of piano echoing quietly through the night.
Mornings were, more often than not, spent in the company of each other as it seemed the two kept surprisingly similar schedules. With both tending to haunt the kitchen at five in the morning, it was easy to fall into the routine of sharing a cup of coffee and debating the finer points of whatever subject struck their fancy.
Today saw Lucifer arriving in the kitchen first, an occurrence that happened with a frequency he could count on one hand. When it was ten minutes past the hour, the Devil actually began to worry. It wasn’t like his companion to be off schedule.
At fifteen past the hour, right when the fallen angel was considering looking for him, Alastor finally manifested into the kitchen, stepping from the shadows with all the grace of an octopus on ice skates.
“Wooooah, Bambi, who ran your ass over?” The words were genuine in their curiosity but playful in tone. It helped that they were accompanied by an offered ‘oh deer’ mug, filled to the brim with fresh coffee.
Taking in a slow breath, Alastor closed his eyes and simply basked in the aroma of the warm drink. It wasn’t his own personal brew but after the night the Overlord had he would have accepted anything, even that garbage from those maddenly indisposable singular pods.
“Sleep has been proving difficult lately.” In testament to their change in attitudes towards each other, the Sinner offered up the truth for his current state without hostility. Then, taking the mug in hand, he made his way over to the kitchen table and flopped into a chair. Though his grin maintained its presence, there was no missing the way it had wilted at the edges.
Lucifer, for his part, was uncertain how to handle the Radio Demon’s unexpected honesty, leaving him to fidget from hoof to hoof as he considered how to respond.
“Do you…want to talk about it?” He offered with uncertainty, moving to take the seat next to the exhausted Sinner. It wasn’t that the King had no interest in hearing about Alastor’s woes, more that he was uncertain that the man wanted to share them.
For a moment, silence was the only answer to the question as the Overlord began to slowly trace the rim of his mug with a scarlet claw.
“Did you know there isn’t a piece of music I can’t find?” The question was asked, seemingly, in response to Lucifer’s own and it prompted the Devil to knit his brows in confusion.
“I mean, no. I did not know that.” Lucifer then flopped his hand, a gesture he had picked up from the Sinner sitting beside him. “But I guess that makes sense with the whole…Radio Demon gimmick.”
“Indeed. Which is why there isn’t a single song I don’t know. But lately I’ve been dreaming of a piece of music that is…incomplete.” Alastor’s mouth tested the limits of his perpetual smile, dipping dangerously close into what could be a frown.
His dreams had been loud as of late. Not just filled with sound and shape, but also color. They had been abstract things, pairing instruments with striking hues that swooped and curved in time to an eccentric ballad.
But it was fragment…lacking even.
Trumpets blared with crimson intensity while a playful piano wove verdurous fields of melody into existence. Behind them both beat the laughter of drums, sending motes of amber delight spinning through the chaos.
The music and color bled into one another but they did not harmonize. They clashed, trying to push against each other, trying to birth something new, something different and though Alastor knew, logically, how these sounds should blend together they defied all attempts at logical arrangement until he was left awake and staring at his ceiling in a frustrated haze.
Beside him, Lucifer hummed.
“It could be that you're dreaming of something that hasn’t been written yet.”
Now that was an idea…one that Alastor entertained with an acknowledging flick of his ears. Taking a slow sip of his coffee, the man let his unfiltered curiosity settle upon the seraphim in the form of a questioning gaze.
“Is such a thing possible?”
The King chuckled, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Anything is possible, Bambi.” He gestured to the air around him in a grandiose way that seemed to encompass the universe as a whole. “That’s kinda the point of all…this.”
“I see.” Another sip of coffee followed, giving the Sinner a moment to consider the possibility. In truth, while it was fascinating to learn that such a thing was plausible, Alastor was left with a nagging suspicion that the issue wasn’t the composition itself, rather the desire of the colors within his dreams to interact, to blend, and being unable to do so.
His lips parted to say as much, but the words hesitated to leave. Did he want to tell Lucifer that? Did he want to reveal the truth of the reality he’d been living for months upon months now?
And as if sensing the deer’s hesitation, the fallen angel offered him an out in the form of a subject change.
“You know, you look like crap. Why didn’t you just try to go back to bed?” Once more his tone was both playful and gentle, the cadence the Devil used when he wanted to tease the Radio Demon but not cause offense.
“Because then I would have missed our morning coffee.” Alastor spoke the words as if they were the most obvious thing in the world. What he was oblivious to, however, was the way they caused Lucifer’s heart to flutter.
The pair fell into a comfortable silence after that, the Devil wearing the silliest little grin with each sip of his coffee. Alastor didn’t mind the silence, it allowed him to observe the King, to enjoy the way color suffused his entire being. Especially the charming blush that scattered across his cheeks like golden stardust.
Eventually their cups ran low and though the caffeine put in a valiant effort, the Overlord found himself with no more desire to face the waking world than when he had first arrived.
Pressing the heel of his palm against one eye, Alastor let out a soft sigh of exhaustion. “Perhaps I will try to sneak in a few more winks. The hammock in the bayou tends to work wonders on my more restless nights.”
“Bayou?” The small monarch asked, brow raised in curiosity.
Lowering his hand, Alastor offered the man a slightly sardonic smile. “Is your age finally catching up to your hearing, sire?”
“What? No! I heard you just fine.” the seraphim grumbled, wrinkling his nose slightly. “I’m just confused by you mentioning a bayou, given the whole, being in Hell thing.”
Ah.
Yes, of course.
Lucifer would have no idea about the sprawling landscape he had painstakingly created in his quarters. Not many did and it showed how tired the Sinner was that he had let that information slip in such a careless manner.
Strangely, Alastor did not feel the anxiety that usually threaded its way beneath his skin at sharing something that was so personal. Instead he felt a…thrum of excitement. What would his world look like if he invited the King into his private sanctum?
“Would you like to come see it?” The invitation slipped from his lips freely, an offer made with no expectations other than a desire to share something with someone else.
“Uh, YEAH!” Lucifer winced slightly at his own enthusiasm, worried it might be off putting to the usually reclusive demon. Clearly this throat softly, he attempted to accept in a much calmer manner. “Yes, I’d really like that.”
Now it was Alastor’s turn to feel his heart shiver.
With their mugs cleaned and tucked back into the proper cabinet, the pair made the short trek to their shared floor without incident. Lucifer practically vibrated with excitement beside the Sinner, a trait he had once viewed as irritating but now found to be utterly endearing.
When they finally stood in front of the entrance to Alastor’s room, the man in question found himself much less nervous about welcoming the monarch inside than he thought he would be.
He kept his eyes on Lucifer the entire time. The bayou would be visible from the moment the door opened and the Radio Demon was keen to drink in the King’s reaction like the finest spirit served in Hell.
It did not disappoint.
“By Father…” The words left Lucifer in a reverent hush, spoken barely above a whisper. His hands covered his mouth as though to hold the wonder in and he stepped forward without thought, drawn in as surely as if the landscape had reached out to greet him.
Softly, the door clicked closed.
The bayou spread before the unlikely pair in whimsical, sprawling grandeur. Vast trees lifted their boughs above pools of water like cathedral arches, their limbs draped in veils of spanish moss that swayed in a breeze filled with the distant song of cicadas. The water lay still and glasslike, disturbed only in places where moss had dared to tickle its surface.
Then the fallen angel lifted his gaze upwards and for the second time in as many moments, the breath was stolen from his lungs.
Above the lacework of branches stretched a vast, open firmament strewn with stars. They spiraled above them like a thousand grains of luminous sand, reflected in the water below like nebulous fractals.
Lucifer had not seen a sky like this since his Fall.
“This…,” the king started then paused, his eyes filling with a wet shimmer of their own. “This is so much more than I was expecting.”
“I am pleased to see you like it.”
Alastor came to stand beside the seraphim, his attention entirely focused upon his guest. He watched each expression as it crossed Lucifer’s face, the astonishment, the fragile delight, the wonder that seemed to soften the very air around him. It was like observing a piece of music play out in visible form, every reaction a note and every breath a change in tempo.
The Radio Demon had brought Lucifer here to learn what color might blossom across the bayou in his presence, yet he found that curiosity dulled in the wake of such wondrous reactions from the little monarch.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the Devil, no matter how loudly his reality teased the promise of another hue awakening.
“How do you do it?” Lucifer turned towards him then and the already small space between them seemed to diminish even more. “How do you make the world so beautiful?”
Oh how tender, how soft, those words were. They clawed their way straight into the Sinner’s heart, splitting it open as his breath shuttered beneath the weight of the question.
“I am…not sure what you mean, my king.” Usually so composed, Alastor found himself struggling. Struggling to speak over the pounding of his heart in his throat.
Tentatively, Lucifer reached forward and allowed his sin-burnt fingers to brush gently against Alastor’s arm. The movement was done with a deliberate slowness that would allow the Sinner to step back if he didn’t wish to be touched.
He did not pull away.
“Long ago, before my fall, I used to see the world in such remarkable color.” The Devil huffed softly, attempting to keep the sadness in his words restrained. “It didn’t fade right after the fall. In truth, I’m certain I had it for thousands of years afterwards but eventually…everything–everything just went gray.”
A tear slipped down Lucifer’s cheek, one that was quickly intercepted by scarlet claws.
“Then…when I came to the hotel, it started to come back. I thought that–that maybe it was because I started reconnecting with Charlie. But,” The smaller man leaned into the hand cradling his face. “It was you. It’s always been you.”
And like the colors that had been reshaping Alastor’s world, something new expanded within his chest and settled right where his heart was.
The claws resting against Lucifer’s cheek swept backwards, they curled into his hair and tugged him forward. Their lips met not in a crash, but a moment of pure inevitability. With eyes closed Alastor drank down the man before him.
Every breath, every pulse and quiver of lips. Collected like treasures and tucked deep within where the very fabric of his being rearranged itself.
Slowly the kiss came to an end and when Alastor opened his eyes, breathless and warm, he found that all of creation had, once again, reinvented itself.
Blue breathed its way into existence, stretching across the heavens in vast sapphire strokes. The water below answered in kind, catching that brilliance and turning it upon itself where it deepened into velvets and navies that shifted with every lazy ripple.
From that first bold hue came others, emboldened by its presence to burst into a life of their own. Violet yawned at the edges of the star scattered sky, rich and mischievous as it seeped into the perpetual twilight. Softer shades wandered nearer the earth, casting shy irises in a dusky blush.
Then finally, finally, the colors let their rigid lines soften and come into harmony.
Blues deepens, violets answered, shades of greens sang a chorus between the cypress trees and shivering cattails. Golds made themselves known in the tiny winks of fireflies while reds found their homes amid croaking frogs and bushes covered in small, half open flowers.
No color stood alone any longer, every shade leaned into the next–blending, brightening–casting the world into a full symphony of tone and hue.
It was beautiful and wondrous. The poetry and pose did it no justice.
And at the center of it all was Lucifer.
Vivid.
Brillant.
More breathtaking than every shade that had ever existed or would exist.
Leaning forward, Alastor kissed the king once more, wrapping his hands around the man’s small waist and twirling him through the prismatic haze that had settled over the bayou.
Now this. This was something he could fuss over.