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Alastor was the master of grinning and bearing it, but the day's merriment had worn even his impeccable patience thin.
It wasn't often Hell, or at least the parts actively occupied by Sinners, had cause for a celebration, so it seemed the entire population had swore an oath to behave as stupidly, recklessly, and irritatingly as humanly possible.
The occasion? Why, their princess was to be wed, of course!
Wed to a fallen angel who desperately sought validation, and oh boy would she get it.
Just not from him.
Truly, he did not understand the fuss, nor did he understand why it had to effect his life in any meaningful way. Alright, he had been careful to maintain connections with the royal family even at the cost of joining Little Miss Sunshine And Rainbow's quack scheme, so it would make sense for him to attend the festivities.
But good god, the buildup was about to put him in the ground for a second time.
Rosie was kind enough to handle clothing, the hotel would be hosting, and that incorrigible spider-thing had even insisted on performing at the reception.
Alastor made a mental note to find noise-cancelling earplugs.
When prompted, or, indeed, when no-one had said a single word to her, Charlie would give a lecture full of jubilation and young love, professing her belief in soulmates and the need every human or human adjacent creature had for their fellow man.
Fellow man/woman/other, and that didn't even begin to include the strange collection of species housed in their ring of Hell.
He thought the whole sorry rigamarole was piffle.
More than once, he had to tamp down the desire to object; 'We all quite understand that you are in love! Perhaps you need not shove it down our throats with quite so much ferocity!'
But that would cause a good deal of fuss, and he tried to avoid that wherever possible.
He did not understand the appeal. Why was everyone around him so fixated on finding themselves in double harness, yoked to the miserable plough of marriage?
Surely there were better ways to fill time.
Alastor had those he tolerated, and those he kept close for his own reasons, but Rosie was very much the exception. He despised company for company's sake, and had never once, in life or death, felt a predilection for another person. Swooning and yearning and sitting about with a heart full of fire and a heart full of butterflies was for poets with too much time on their hands.
Living in Hell was a uniquely terrible experience for someone who very much did not wish to be voyeur to seemingly hundreds of thousands of exhibitionists, but at least he could almost understand that urge.
Everyone except him seemed to have an invisible drive that caused them to do stupid things in pursuit of gratification.
Honestly, did these people never give a second thought to their dignity?
At the very least, they were in danger of contracting something, or incurring Alastor's wrath if they performed their little escapades too loudly or frequently.
How many hours of the day were squandered in service to base urges and, frankly, disgusting activities. But that was all primal and simple and just taboo enough to still be titillating for the freaks who happened to share an environment with the Radio Demon.
True love and marriage and soulmates were another matter entirely.
Despite his best efforts, he could not wrap his mind around the concept, and that only served to frustrate him.
As he had been forced to do so many times in his life and unlife, he resigned himself to the fact that some part of his mind or soul was simply missing the crucial compass that always pointed towards another person.
It all sounded very convoluted. And sweaty.
No thank you.