Work Text:
At the edge of the world, Zestial and Carmilla Carmine gaze at the last remnants of the Extermination.
Cherri Bomb takes a photo of herself with Sir Pentious while Angel Dust smiles at them both.
In her emporium, Rosie erases her late husband’s name from the sign.
Below, the Extermination clock resets.
“Thanks for the ride,” the taxi driver says.
“Yeah,” Valentino replies simply, as if nothing had happened. “Listen, if you could keep this discrete. I can't let it get out I'm offering my services to randos on the street.”
“You say, slut,” the driver retorts with a raucous laugh.
“Ooh!” says Valentino, slapping both hands over his face. “Such an insult. Let me know when you come up with something creative to call me.”
He stops at the first vending machine to pick up a tiny bag. He’ll need it before he goes home.
The din of the turf war quickly distracts him.
A few hundred yards away, Velvette arrives to find Vox facing off against Baxter and his war machine, phone in hand.
“Need some help, old man?”
In the SerNews offices, Alastor endures the interview with Katie Killjoy as best he can, with Rosie waiting for him backstage. Unsurprisingly, it’s not going well.
“I don’t care about your reputation! I’m too rich and too influential to worry about that.”
Rosie could surely have presented their project better than he could, but he insisted on being there. He’s the better-known of the two, and too bad the interview is taking place in this awful studio—he’ll survive it.
Until Killjoy tries to make a fool of him on live TV. And worse, she shows him footage of Valentino taking part in an armed conflict.
So much for his image as a calm and composed killer.
It’s not like Alastor really cared about it anyway.
In the car, no one says a word. Valentino fiddles with the window, rolling it up and down, thinking about Velvette—whom Alastor had thrown out of the car when she tried to get in with him—and about Vox, who had sensibly backed off. And about the fact that only Rosie’s presence is keeping Alastor from doing the same to him—and chopping him into little pieces, no less—while the car is moving. He finally closes the window for good. No point in tempting the demon sitting across from him any further.
“What?” he finally dares to ask, because the tension is getting to him and because he’s not sure it’s worth trying an excuse now.
His simple “What?” sets off all hell in the car. Alastor jumps to his feet and an icy band tightens around Valentino’s neck—he can only breathe because Rosie grabs his arm and orders him not to kill him. It would take too long to wait for him to regenerate.
“I was helping friends,” he pleads, still out of breath. “I thought it was a good thing, helping your friends.”
“Not with turf wars that end in genocide,” Alastor replies coldly.
“Everyone loses sometimes…” Valentino replies weakly.
Especially since it would be his territory too if he weren’t stuck here.
“And besides, it wasn’t that bad.”
Alastor’s smile flickers—a dangerously bad sign.
“I had to do it!” Valentino tries again. “It's a matter of credibility. What would people think if I tried to change…”
Alastor doesn’t even let him finish.
“What are you doing to our credibility?” he asks, his voice crackling. “And the hotel’s? I won’t let you turn his project into a joke.”
“A joke is supposed to be funny! You, you’re…”
Alastor simply tightens his grip and carries on as if nothing had happened.
“I won't let you make a joke of us. Our reputation is at stake, and that matters more to me than yours.”
Then the grip around his throat loosens.
“I let you stay even though I didn’t believe in it, and I’ll let this slide because I owed it to Vox. Not to you. If you want to go back to living in the studio and filming twenty-four hours a day, that’s none of my business anymore. You’re here of your own free will, and as long as you stay, you follow our rules.”
“Does that mean I don’t have a free room anymore?”
Alastor finally throws him out the window. The closed window.
At least they’re taking him back to the hotel. But Alastor is against it.
“No one will ever take us seriously.”
“Of course they will,” Rosie retorts. “Maybe not tomorrow, but it’ll happen.”
She pinches his cheek, and Alastor endures it, still smiling.
“Look at my place! It took a while, but the people are nice, and on good days I even like to think they’re happy.”
“Your cannibals?”
“Exactly.”
“Can you remind me how many times you’ve been a widow?”
Rosie pats his shoulder.
“That’s not a question to ask a lady. Try not to kill our resident while I go freshen up.”
So Alastor steps outside, just to avoid killing their resident, while the latter tends to his wounds. Not for long, just long enough to catch his breath. When he comes back in, Niffty is already there waiting for him.
“Are you okay, sir?” she asks in her little voice.
Alastor immediately felt himself relax, truly. He shouldn’t let his guard down like this, but if there’s one place where he feels safe, it’s here. He shouldn’t… be here. But Rosie didn’t give him a choice.
He shouldn’t have agreed to Vox’s request either, and the guilt trip, please—I love him and he really needs help, even if it’s just to get him away for a bit—because if he hears Valentino’s voice again today, he’ll rip him to shreds and Vox along with him for good measure. And Rosie would be furious. So he just smiles at Niffty.
“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
Then there’s a knock at the door.
Alastor hesitates for a second, then pulls himself together. It’s his job to look after the place while Rosie’s away, so he straightens up, brushes his coat off reflexively, grabs his stuff, opens the door, and the Princess of Hell herself smiles at him.
“Hello!”
Niffty’s curious gaze and the thought that Rosie would give him hell for something like this keep him from closing the door. He… can face any sinner without hesitation. But he’s not stupid enough to fight an angel. However, she’s still smiling, very calm, so Alastor does the same. Even facing Charlotte Morningstar, it’s still easy.
"Charlie", she introduces herself. "I’m very happy to meet you."
And then she walks in as if nothing had happened, as if she were… at home, yes. Only her eyes move; Alastor watches her motionless lips and finally notices that she’s wearing a mask.
“What are you doing here, Princess?” he asks simply, since everything seems almost normal.
“I saw your interview,” she replies.
Ah. Alastor would have preferred not to be reminded of it so soon.
“I must have looked so ridiculous.”
“You’re mistaken,” Charlie corrects him. “I’m here to help you.”
Rosie, having been warned, brings out a teapot and some snacks in the little tea room. Charlie gladly accepts and doesn’t mind Niffty’s presence.
“Would you like to help us?” Rosie repeats, overjoyed.
Charlie slowly nods.
“With this place.”
Niffty raises her hand.
“Why?”
Charlie, at least, just laughs.
“My dear, I’ve been here for so long. This is the first time I’ve seen sinners try something different.”
“You mean, a bare-knuckle fight with a reporter?”
Alastor restrains himself from sinking deeper into his seat. Niffty must have watched the interview again. But there’s something gentle in Charlie’s gaze.
“I saw you trying to defend something worth fighting for. So I came.”
“Do you believe in the possibility of our rehabilitation?” Rosie asks her.
Charlie is silent for a moment.
“I’ve never seen anything like this happen,” she finally admits. “But I’ve never seen anyone believe in it before, either.”
So she wants to stay. It’s an unexpected stroke of luck.
Alastor struggles to keep his smile as she looks him in the eyes.