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Alastor rarely feels things in halves, which is to say that he rarely feels anything at all. At least not in the places that people are generally said to feel, like in the heart or the mind. He feels his emotions in the tightness of his shoulders, the burble in his belly, or the squinting of his eyes. These subtle alarm bells that speak to an oncoming crash but are as easy to ignore as a check engine light.
Unfortunately for him, when the emotions do register beyond the theoretical, they hit like a truck on roadkill. He tries so hard to be the truck in this analogy, barreling through what remains of his feelings without a care, but as his form dictates, he's more likely the deer in the ditch.
Good feelings, bad feelings, it doesn't matter. Once the gauge ticks past the threshold, it's sure to result in smears on the pavement as Alastor seeks any distraction to redirect his overstimulationーoften a rampage that spashes hell's streets in sinner blood. The gripping discomfort of feeling so strongly pulls his skin too tight over the squirming in his arms and chest, like a brood of maggots burrowing toward his bones. The tire-screeching sound in his mind overwhelms his thoughts as he reaches toward the break lever that might halt his feelings' onslaught. But like the deer in headlights, he has no control over the sudden rush of emotions finally bearing down upon him. By that point, his only options are fight or flight. And Alastor always picks fight, whether with cutting words or tearing claws.
Maybe with a bit more practice, the experience of pure emotion could hit a little more like whiskey, instead. An acquired taste that goes down like a flash of fire but burns warm and soothing as it sits in your belly and softens your mind. But who like Alastor could be masochistic enough to acquire a taste for the roiling rot of things like sadness, frustration, and rageーmuch less pleasureーsliding down his gullet.
Never mind that overripe carcass is a delicacy to Alastor's peculiar pallette. It's all a metaphor, anyway. Another vehicle of detachment, to explain why Alastor does not pusue feelings for their own sake. Joy is a maintenance tool to counteract the effects of frustration. And rage is a dampener on the debilitating repercussions that ecstasy might induce. Moderating emotions means always being in control, because the worst thing a person could possibly be is vulnerable.