Chapter Text
If one were to mention "New Orleans", what would be the first thing to pop into your head?
The answer usually varies from person to person. Some think of jazz and parades. Others think of speakeasies. Still others think of its fragrant cuisine.
For a certain Radio Demon, it brought on a horde of memories, most of them rather unwanted.
The smell of gumbo boiling away in an iron pot, in a rundown Creole cottage decorated with begonias and sunflowers in the French Quarter. Accompanying it was a woman humming Three O'Clock In The Morning.
The memories were... colorful. Literally.
Like the blurry pastels, then a sudden onslaught of gray, the absence of that humming, then a splash of red here and there, and then... light.
Not the blinding kind. The kind of golden sunlight that crept through blinds in the morning to wake you up, surprising you a little as it shone straight at you.
What followed it was another splash of red, vibrant and pulsing and sickening in a way that Alastor had never understood before that moment. It was something the demon thought he'd put behind himself a long time ago, or at least that's what he called brooding over it every now and again. It wasn't... pleasant. And he liked to forget it, thank you very much.
Still...
Leaning his cheek against his fist, Alastor traced the rim of his ceramic mug with a long, slender finger.
October 21st, 1930...
October 31st, 1933...
He seemed to turn those dates over in his mind, before catching himself and straightening in his seat. Noting to himself that Forgetting is quite the difficult task to accomplish, he took another bite of venison.
Nothing quite matched the taste of freshly-caught (and slaughtered) game. Aside from a physical fullness, it gave one a feeling of accomplishment. And, if game happened to share characteristics with him... superiority! Truly a wonderful combination.
Exquisite, he thought in satisfaction, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. Being a demon certainly had its benefits. No need to worry about silly things, like salmonella, when you're a cannibalizing Eldritch deer horror in Hell! Best deal he'd ever made. The metallic taste of raw meat, not even drained of blood, was worth the occasional annoying, probing question from Rosie.
Pushing his memories away with these thoughts, Alastor continued dining.
It was only 9:30 in the morning, and Vaggie was already tired.
Scratch that, she'd been tired since Alastor, in particular, showed up at the front door and practically declared he was the co-owner of the place. It'd been around a week. He was eccentric (putting it lightly), a grinning stand potato. Plus, his weird yellowed smile creeped her out. If only the dentist down the street wasn't such a creep who hit on every client who entered his office, she'd have kicked the wendigo-like demon in there long ago.
Vaggie groaned loudly, head throbbing as she eyed the hole in the ceiling that Pentious's Egg Boiz had inflicted with a Carmine weapon.
It only took a few minutes to rebuild it with magic and strengthen it once more, of course, but it was annoying. It used up magic, no matter how little, and who knew when they'd run out of resources if anything bigger broke?
"The eggs are going OUT," Vaggie said firmly. "Pentious, we don't make weapons here. Being on the road to redemption and buying illegally obtained or engineered weapons from an Overlord are two actions that aren't exactly compatible."
"B-But... But they're my MINIONS! They do my EVIL BIDDING!" Sir Pentious said in horror, eyes turning round and welling up with shiny gloops of tears. "What did they ever even do to you?!"
One of them conveniently piped up, "Boss, did you know that if you hold a knife long enough, it starts to feel like a friend? I named mine 'Bartholomew'." He veered around to beam up at Charlie, "He wants to meet your shins!"
"..."
Vaggie cleared her throat. "Pentious, do you want to get redeemed, or not?"
After a few moments of contemplative sniffling, Sir Pentious whimpered, "Yes..."
"Then say goodbye to the eggs."
Vaggie ignored his wails of "I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU" and "NO, DON'T RESIST, IT'S FOR THE BEST" behind her. Charlie was relatively better at handling messy, icky, emotional breakdowns like that. At least, Vaggie hoped so, considering that Charlie had so many of them herself.
She led the Egg Boiz away and, after some thought, decided to let Alastor deal with it.
"Honestly, I'm being fair. And I'll kick his rear end if he keeps sitting on it doing nothing,” she reasoned with herself.
That's how she'd ended up in his room.
"Ugh, gross," Vaggie gagged as she entered Alastor's room, pinching her nose. There was the sickly, sweet and sour smell of venison. Oh, there's the source. A deer's carcass. On a table.
"Would you mind?" Alastor crooned pointedly. "I'm in the middle of breakfast."
Ignoring him, Vaggie continued, "I need you to get rid of Pentious's eggs so they don't trash the Hotel."
Alastor clearly was enticed by the prospect and immediately stood up, throwing his utensils aside without a care in the world. "Why, you should have said so immediately, Vagmeralda. I'd be delighted to!"
"Humanely," Vaggie added stonily.
"Hmmm. Well that's a lot less hot," Alastor amended in accordance with her statement. Nevertheless, he strode past Vaggie, Egg Boiz in tow.
Vaggie's eyes roamed over his suite critically as he left. If one ignored the disconcerting pocket of bayou that the room abruptly morphed into somewhere in the middle, it was... actually quite homey-looking. The high-backed chairs, along with the hutch and practically everything else that was red, had become less of an eyesore. It was balanced out by the green light from Alastor’s fireplace.
The candles swayed despite there being no wind, almost as though dancing to a jaunty tune only they could hear. They faintly illuminated the varied bones adorning the mantel. Taking it all in, the décor struck Vaggie as rather pleasant, albeit rather eerie. As much as she loved Charlie and usually indulged her, her tastes in décor (in all shades of red) was less than stellar.
At least it's consistent, Vaggie thought with a small smile.
Turning her attention back to the room, she had fully intended to leave it. It doubtless wasn't in good form to snoop through a person's room, whether or not they could rip you open with a mere tentacle or two. And yet...
Who hasn't wanted to pick the brains of the Radio Demon? It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Did he keep a diary of sorts? A journal? What were the books on his shelves? Were they for entertainment or info?
She glanced at the desk. Without quite being aware of it, she walked over to it. Tracing the edge with a finger, the mahogany's quality was unmistakable. A faint smell of varnish was still present, which explained the desk's beautiful dark sheen.
Aside from the two radios on Alastor's shelves, Vaggie found out he had an extra one lying in his drawer (weird), another one in the drawer opposite of it (another one?), and one more stuffed behind three books in his bookshelf.
"What kind of freak hoards radios like they're contraband?!" Vaggie snapped, slamming the books back in place. "Who even has this many radios in a single room?"
Shaking her head and muttering, she examined the titles on the books' spines.
"The Radio Station... The Science of Radio... Tune In Yesterday... Empire of the Air... what did I expect, the guy's clearly got a radio fetish- wait, is that the first edition of The Great Gatsby? Hey, that's not too bad! Not bad at all, actually!"
The book beside it was very thick, didn't have a title on the spine, and was a disconcertingly cheerful yellow, which naturally piqued Vaggie's interest.
Glancing back at the door to make sure nobody was around, she ignored the small twinge of guilt and unease in her gut and took the book off the shelf. It was unexpectedly heavy, and in her scuffle to catch it before it hit the floor, dust rose up from it.
Coughing and remaining eye watering, she finally got a good luck at the cover. It... had nothing on it. It was hardcover, with no discernible title. There seemed to be some sort of book jacket, though, cleverly made from cloth.
Opening it, the very first thing that popped out to her was a loopy, slightly squiggly handwritten "The ABCs of Hartfelt Receipts".
"'Hartfelt'?" Vaggie whispered. She flipped through the pages.
There were handwritten recipes for roux, gumbo, jambalaya, maque choux, calas...
"What are calas?" Vaggie muttered. She vaguely remembered Alastor saying something about knowing a jambalaya recipe from his mother. She supposed the source of that information was from this cookbook. Was it homemade or something?
While going through several pages, a slip of paper fell out and landed on the floor.
Vaggie froze, then put the cookbook back in its place before she bent down and picked up the slip of paper, which turned out to be a little more than a mere slip of blank or scrawled paper.
It was a slightly faded, black-and-white photograph.
Shaking slightly after a wide-eyed look, she quickly took the book back out and jammed the photo between its pages then left the room, feeling very much as though she'd seen something that was never meant to be shown to the light.
In an attempt to encourage trusting each other, Charlie had decided to fix up a platform as the perfect prop for the ultimate trust exercise: trust falls!
Less than 10 minutes into these trust exercises and it was already a disaster. Like, seriously. Charlie decided, however, that Imperfections were part of the process! Growth didn't need a perfect environment to be fostered, y'know? All that shebang.
Thaaaaat was kinda dampened as Niffty scuttled up on the platform and, with her one giant eye sparkling, exclaimed, "Sometimes... I LIKE TO KILL MOTHER ROACHES IN FRONT OF THEIR CHILDREN AS A WARNING TO OTHERS!"
Everybody collectively took a step back as she jumped to the floor with a concerningly crunchy noise.
"YAY! PAIN!" Niffty cackled. She scuttled back up the platform and jumped off, repeating the process over and over while giggling madly.
At least she's... having fun? Charlie whimpered.
Stepping away from the group with Vaggie for a moment, she admitted, "I don't think this is going so well... Oh!" With a grin, she began, "We could-!"
"Honey. Don't worry. I got this," Vaggie assured her. "I'll figure something out. So just... relax, okay?" She smiled, but a weird look came over her as she glanced into the distance.
Charlie meant to say something about it, but she realized Vaggie probably wanted to use this moment to show her that she could be someone she could count on more.
Realizing how determined Vaggie was about this, she felt a butterfly fly around in her stomach, going up her spine and morphing into a smile on her face. She really was lucky to have someone like Vaggie by her side.
She was about to say so, opening her mouth, but Angel Dust interrupted their little moment by sleazing into their personal space and griining, "Heeeeey, toots. Couldn't help but overhear y'two are on the market for ideas. If you're lookin' for somethin' to really build up some trust, I think I've got just the thang for ya."
Charlie blinked owlishly as Vaggie groaned and sighed at Angel Dust, "Alright. What do you have in mind?"
In her distraction, Charlie temporarily forgot about Vaggie's mildly odd expression a few moments before.
"I like your suit, mister!"
"What'a the antlers for?!"
"Can I touch your staff thing?!"
"Are those your ears or your hair?! I can't tell!"
Alastor's eye twitched as he inhaled very deeply, very quietly.
I knew I had no fancy for fatherhood, never have, and most certainly never will, he thought venomously, wallking along briskly ("Hey, Mister! If you’re a radio, can we put pennies in your mouth and hear a song? Frank says you're a jukebox!"). No brats, no tiny feet stamping about, no pelting my ears with incessant, arrant nonsense... just one more delightful benefit of my current damnation!
Alastor barely sensed a certain entity’s proximity before a figure morphed from the shadows and stood immediately before him, startling him slightly.
“Ah. Hark, Alastor. How fare thee, this day?” Zestial asked pleasantly.
Though Alastor would sooner saw off his antlers than state it outright, he respected the demon standing before him (maybe a little more than respected, too, but as if Alastor would ever admit to it openly). Not only was his presence thrumming with a quiet power, he had a similarly subtle, tasteful sort of theatricality. A quality that Alastor could certainly stand behind.
One of the Egg Boiz most conveniently piped up, ”Who’s that, Boss? Want me t’rough ‘im up for ya?”
With a sort of spontaneous urge to turn the Egg into a large omelette, he restrained himself with a Herculean effort, tapping the offender with his staff with a mere, “Follow in silence if you value your shell.”
I’m playing quite nicely recently, Alastor noted briefly with a hum.
“Greetings, Zestial!” Alastor spread his arms as though he were a host. He tactfully ignored the demons who screamed and swore at the mere sight of his new companion. “What a pleasure to be meeting you!”
“Ah, the weather doth become this fine day,” Zestial said agreeably. His voice was pleasantly rich, and his enunciation was equally as satisfying to the ears. Alastor appreciated such qualities.
Hmmm. Perhaps he would have made a delightful host for the wireless in his era, if only they had it, thought Alastor.
”Indeedy! It does appear that we'll have a little acid rain this afternoon," crooned he, leaning on his staff.
"If our luck do hold," said Zestial, "T'would be passing fair. I do revel in the screams. Oh, would you deign to stroll with me?"
Smile still plastered on his face, Alastor strode along by Zestial's side.
"It has been an age since thou hath graced us with thy presence," the latter continued. "Some hath spun wild tales of you falling into... holy arms. Perchance, coerced into revealing tricks of Hell?"
Alastor hummed with static, which turned into a cackle of laughter. As if those winged heathens wouldn't attempt to strike me down on sight! But then, why bother with the tedious labor of study when one can simply indulge in a bit of mindless carnage, right?
Readjusting his bow tie in the reflection of a shop window, he merely said, "Oh, I only took a well-earned sabbatical. Nothing serious, I assure you." He turned back with a flourish and added, "Though it's fun to keep everyone on their toes!"
"There, too, hath been rumors of your involvement with the princess and her recent flight of fancy," Zestial informed him. He suddenly spread his appendages and asked in a decidedly altered tone, "Tell me, how does thou fall into such folly?"
Despite the quite literal chill that crept into the atmosphere, seemingly crawling into the back of his suit, Alastor continued smiling passively. Twirling his staff like a baton before leaning on it once more, he hummed most cheerfully, "I'm terribly afraid that it is for me to know. Oh, but please, do guess! I'd love to know the theories!"
So saying, he continued his walk, Egg Boiz stumbling along like bizarre ducklings.
Apparently quite amused by Alastor's answer, Zestial reverted to his more reserved form and said, "T'would be far greater folly to assume the workings of your mind, Alastor." The older demon leaned down almost teasingly, saying, "Thou hath been naught but an enigma since thy manifested in this realm."
"Coming from someone as ancient as you, I take that as quite the compliment," Alastor preened.
In a rather good mood, Alastor and Zestial approached the building for the Overlord meeting.
Just before entering the lift, Alastor gave the security camera a smile.
Invasive little metal varmint, he thought carelessly. Of course, it suited the man.
I have my work cut out for me, I really do! Rosie thought as she put on her hat. More of my poor Cannibals lost this Extermination than in the past seven, transferring Frank's assets to myself, and to top it all off, a meeting!
"It could just break a lesser lady's heart," she said lightheartedly to no one in particular.
She'd left the Emporium to a dainty little Cannibal named Pally, who was, if Rosie's memory was reliable, one of the more self-controlled fellas in the Town who could resist nibbling on the meat that the Emporium sold. A mountain climber, she'd heard from the girl. One climb with a friend went terribly wrong, and she'd ended up cannibalizing out of necessity.
"We'll nurture that newly acquired taste just fine, darling!" Rosie had assured Pally cheerfully. Poor dear, so inexperienced in gourmet. At least now she'll never miss out!
Onto other matters...
As Rosie stepped out of the lift, she caught sight of Alastor just a few paces away, accompanied by Zestial.
"Ah, if it isn't 'deer' old Alastor!" Rosie exclaimed. She gave Alastor a smile, and he gallantly gave her a bow and stepped in beside her.
"Rosie! Positively top-hole to be seeing you today," said Alastor boomingly.
"Oh, please, Alastor, no need to flatter a thing like me." Rosie waved her hand dismissively. Glancing at the little egg oddity following the Radio Demon around, she gave it a nice, big smile that showcased every one of her razor sharp pearly whites.
The Egg gave a frightened squawk and scuttled nearer to Alastor, pulling a laugh out of Rosie.
The vintage pair stepped through the entrance of the room and took seats next to each other as everyone else settled down.
A faint tink, tink, tink reverberated faintly in the meeting room, coming from the steel pointe shoes Carmilla Carmine was easily distinctive for.
"Welcome, Hell sovereign Overlords." As Carmilla spoke, her lovely daughters Clara and Odette stood behind her with a strangely fitting air of quiet authority. Truly, they were their mother's daughters. Carmilla continued, "I've invited all of you here because you you represent the ruling powers of the Pride Ring. Together, you own millions of souls, souls which are at risk with the new extermination schedule."
Slamming a fist on the desk, she declared, "We have to discuss what can possibly be done to minimize the impact to our interests."
Zestial had made his way to his seat as Carmilla spoke, and settled in the seat at her right. Rosie smiled at the image as Carmilla greeted him cordially, "Zestial. So good to see you, old friend."
"Enchanted as always... Carmilla," said the friend gallantly, before taking a sip from the tea he conjured up. Alastor could learn a thing or two from his elders, if Rosie could say so herself.
Carmilla tore her eyes from Zestial, settling her gaze on the Radio Demon instead. "Alastor?"
"Yes, yes, I’ve been away!" Alastor tapping his finger jauntily on the tip of his staff. "A real cliffhanger, wasn’t it? I’m sure the suspense was positively shattering!"
Rosie gave a clearly tetchy Alastor a toothy grin as Carmilla said remorselessly, "Not really. But welcome back in any case."
Ahh, the entertainment a silly, little, psychopathic cannibal can provide. Rosie never regretted the deal she and Alastor had made nearly a century ago now.
At a crisp of her mother's fingers, Odette gave her the clipboard of what were likely charts and statistics on the losses caused by the last Extermination. "This year's extermination was brutal, far more even than years past. We have assessed that 16% of the population was lost."
Rosie grew thoughtful as she studied the charts projected. Sixteen percent. My heart just bleeds for any little ones. It’s hard enough making a life down here when you’re born into the thick of it, but to have it snuffed out before they’ve even developed a proper palate? It’s a crying shame.
She sighed a little, but when Alastor glanced at her briefly, she gave him a smile and patted one of his ears primly, gaining a small "urk" from him.
"With the angelic legions now coming down here twice as quickly, I think it prudent we-"
With a crash! and a wham! the door slammed open at the kick of a boot. Rosie merely blinked and turned her head to see a woman in certainly... loud attire.
"Yes, I've got it all handled, Vox- are you doubting me? Me? Really? Uh-huh, that's what I thought. Yes. I know." The woman began laughing gratingly on her phone before breathing out, "They're all a joke."
Oh, dear. Now who was this boorish clack-box?
The woman ended her call with a "Haha, thank you Vee. Buh-bye, kisses darling!"
Immediately after, she lounged in the remaining empty chair and leaned her elbows on the table.
She's quite revolting! Rosie promptly decided. She also decided she did not like this woman.
"How nice of you to join us, Velvette," Carmilla said coolly. The Vee hadn't shut her cellphone off or even responded. "Will your... colleagues be joining, as well?"
"No," replied Velvette flippantly, "they have better s**t to do than listen to an old windbag who thinks she's a bad b*tch." Snap! went her camera as she leaned back for a selfie mid-conversation. "I'm here to represent."
"...Charming," said Carmilla dryly. She began to ignore her and gestured back to the chart being displayed, "So. As I was saying, we need to discuss-"
Velvette raised a hand, making everyone collectively inhale through their irritation.
"Yes?" said Carmilla stonily.
"On the subject of discussion..."
The younger Overlord suddenly pulled up the decapitated head of what was unmistakably an Exorcist angel, throwing it across the table and drawing out exclamations from nearly everyone.
Rosie eyed the splatter that trailed the head's path on the table.
Ichor, the golden blood of the divine.
This was... dangerous news. Exciting, perhaps, but dangerous. Not only they, but all of Hell, could be in trouble for knowing the mere fact that angels could be killed. They were as fallible as the demons they massacred every year.
If the news ever got out of this room, it was both good and bad.
The cons included a revolution by cocky Sinners, but the good part was... was it hope?
The eye-opening hope that the denizens of Hell could fight back, somehow? There was the inevitable sorrow and rage of her people losing loved ones, knowing it could have been prevented, but there was also the hope that the fallen could be avenged. That they could do right by their memory, and fight back.
Upon recovering from her own shock, she glanced up at Carmilla, who still seemed stunned. The latter swallowed and asked, "Where did you get this?"
"We found it during Extermination day," said Velvette, leaning forward with the hunger of an unsophisticated predator. "If these Holy Rollers can be killed, the game has changed." She got on the table, standing tall with a haughty sort of confidence. "We can take the fight to them. The boys and I have come up with a full assault plan-'
Siiiiiiip.
Everyone glanced at Zestial questioningly as he calmly set down his cup and saucer.
"If it's true thee and thy colleagues desire to war with meager proof, thou art far more... foolish... than I be thought."
Velvette had turned a blotchy shade, clearly quite humiliated. She snapped, "'Meager proof'?! It's a dead Exorcist! I'd say it's pretty damn definitive! You going BLIND, old man?"
Without missing a cue, Zestial replied, "We know not how this one perished. Mayhaps t'was not by a demon's hand at all." In a frosty tone, he demanded, "If we rush to war with Heaven without assurance, mightn't they purge all of Hell for daring an uprising?"
Velvette turned an even darker shade as everyone began murmuring. However, her sharp eyes seemed to have spotted something in Carmilla's expression. With a more taunting tone in what initially seemed a pathetic attempt to salvage some face, she said, "Oh, I get it. Grandpa's too much of a sissy to fight, so there's no point to it, is that right?"
She bounded across the table as Zestial remained quiet, crooning as she got in his face, "Oh, what's the matter, Fossil? Too senile to make a real power grab for-"
"You ought to show some respect!" Carmilla flared up suddenly, aggressively forcing Velvette to back off. "I don't care for that insolent attitude of yours; no one speaks to Zestial so irreverently!"
"Oh, I'm the one with a bad attitude, sweetheart?" Velvette sneered. "I think you've got it all wrong! Attitudes like yours are so backward, holding us all back from greater heights-"
"Enough! You and your wannabe associates, never heeding others' warnings-"
"Oh, did I hit a nerve, windbag? Scared of something spilling out?"
Rosie's eyes slanted towards Carmilla, who seemed extremely, almost disproportionately wound tight.
"'Cause I could've sworn that when I brought out the angel's head, your wrinkly face was reddening!"
"This meeting is over!" Carmilla snapped. Both women were breathing heavily from frustration.
A horribly tense silence reigned. It was plain to see nobody wanted to be either the first nor the last to leave. The debate was too interesting to end, but equally discomfiting to be in the presence of two such... fiery women.
Nobody made a move, not wanting to be the one to break the silence and have the ladies' attention zero on them while tempers were flaring hotly.
Er, always excepting the Radio Demon. He had no such qualms.
"Well that was a simply corking meeting!" Alastor crackled cheerfully.
Rosie could only smile at the man as the Overlords finally got up and filed away, murmuring doubtless about the events that had just transpired.
However, just before they went their separate ways, Rosie stopped Alastor by putting a genteel hand on his shoulder. She said to him in a modulated but still cheerful voice, "You didn't seem quite that... ravenous. That angel's head was a prime cut, quite literally with no other in existence."
"Why, I haven't the faintest idea what you mean! I took a lick, did you not see?" Alastor hummed. "Quite the delicacy, a bit sweeter than any I've tasted before. Why do you ask, Rosie my dear?"
"Does the idea of overtaking Heaven not appeal to you?" Rosie smiled. "You might even... see familiar faces."
And with that mere implication, Rosie knew she ought to be grateful that Alastor was bound to her, or else the dials that suddenly served as his pupils would have struck just a bit of fear in whatever she had for a heart.
"̴̭̉Ï̴͚ ̷̢̚w̵̻̄o̶͓̽u̶͙͘ļ̵̅d̵͝ͅ ̵̘̂p̴̛̦r̴̠͐e̶̫͘f̸̝̀e̴̦͑r̵͕̀ ̸̹̓ḯ̴̱f̸̲̔ ̸̹̆w̴̡͊e̵̱̓ ̷̫͌d̴̜̚ḯ̶ͅd̴̳̐n̵̻͋'̴̯̂t̶͍̾ ̶̡̂d̴̝̿i̵̱̅s̵͇̀c̵͓̀ù̶̪s̷̼̈s̴̤̀ ̷̹̑t̴̪̽ḫ̷̌ị̵̅s̸̡̓ ̴͙͋f̵͕̿ō̸͎ŕ̸̘ ̴̫̕ṋ̸̓o̵͍̓ẁ̸̖.̵̤͘ ̶̏ͅI̸̝̓n̸̝̆ ̴̙̓f̷̡̽ã̴͕c̵͙̍t̴̉͜,̷͔̃ ̴̝̈́I̴̪͠'̷̧̄d̸̢̈́ ̸̨͂p̵͔̏r̶̘͌e̶͕͐f̴̝̋é̸̱r̵͘ͅ ̸̳̀i̷̯͒f̶̲̓ ̷͔͊w̸̙̋e̸̱̿ ̵̬̓r̸͓̚é̸͍f̴̟̐r̴̗͘ǎ̴̡i̶̢̿ṅ̵̥e̸͕͒d̴̝̏ ̷̠̉f̸̟͐r̶̳͐o̸̪͂ṁ̷̹ ̴̻̑ţ̵̑h̶̤͒a̷̭̔t̶͉̄ ̴̜̐l̴͓͐ḯ̵̬n̴̩͒e̸̿͜ ̶͎̍o̵̙̓f̷̛̫ ̶͍̈́t̷̪͆h̴̩̀o̷̘͊u̷̝̔g̶͓̔h̷̳̽ț̶̑ ̸̭̀F̸̠͋Ȍ̸͓R̵̮̈́É̶̳V̴̓ͅÉ̴̼R̴̼̈́.̶̙̀"̶͗ͅ
Rosie sighed, hardly making out what he had said over the crackle of static. She settled for patting him anyway, much like earlier. "Oh, alright, alright. You could have just said so, dear."
Alastor, whose antlers were starting to sprout slowly, quickly reverted back to normal. "Splendid! That's the ticket! I'll be seeing you, then! Have a good one!"
Rosie waved him goodbye before he merged with his shadow and disappeared.
Well, things were certainly bound to get interesting soon enough.