Every Radio Needs A Song - Amsy1492 (2024)

Chapter 1: Drag Me To Hell

Chapter Text

Your fingers twitch as you resist the urge to pull out your cell phone for the hundredth time tonight. Like somehow checking your email again and again will make the audition results come in faster.

The casting director let you know you'd hear something by Thursday which is today and it's already 8:49 pm.

This was your third audition and if you passed this one you'd be in the final casting call for a real Broadway play. You had never gotten this far in the process for a major production before.

Your musical theater degree from NYU and all the work you've been putting into local theater might finally be paying off. Maybe you could even afford to pay off the egregious amount of student loans you currently have.

A snap of hot pink manicured fingers in front of your face pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

"Earth to Andi, I've got two fish and chips for table twelve. Hop to it girlie."

Ah, yes though Broadway is the goal, waitressing at "The Tipsy Leprechaun" an Irish-themed sports bar in South Brooklyn was your present.

You shoot an apologetic look and give a quick nod to your coworker Cassie who just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. It was just the two of you on shift tonight so you needed to get it together.

So you buckle down and put on your winning smile and try to finish your shift without spacing out again. Throwing yourself into the monotony of waitressing serves as a decent distraction from your anxious mind.

Food sizzles and pop music buzzes throughout the familiar space.

The smell of cheap beer and fried food clings to your tacky green, “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” uniform shirt.

You pause for a moment and take in the familiar chaos, you might even miss this place one day, it wasn't much but it had kept your share of the rent paid and food in the fridge for the past three years.

Duncan the owner had taken one look at your flaming red hair and freckled face and hired you on the spot despite your lack of experience in food service.

If only the casting calls were that simple.

Soon your shift was finished and because you don't work for free you head to the back room and clock out grabbing your olive aviator coat and crossover bag from your locker.

With a few quick goodbyes, you head out into the chilly November air. Your breath puffs from your mouth like smoke as you finally give in to temptation and check your phone.

Subject: Final Round Confirmation: SiX Broadway Audition

Dear Andromeda

I hope this email finds you in good spirits.

I'm delighted to inform you that your audition for SIX has earned you a spot in the final round of auditions. Your performance was truly outstanding, and it's clear that you possess the talent and charisma we're seeking for this production.

We'll be in touch closer to the date with additional details regarding the audition process, any materials you may need to prepare, and logistical information.

Your dedication and skill have brought you this far, and we're excited to see your continued excellence in the final round.

Congratulations once again, and best of luck as you prepare for the next stage of the audition process.

Cheers,

Cecilia Rush SIX Broadway Casting Team

You don't even try to suppress your scream as you skip out of the bar.

You spy Jade your bestie and roommate waiting for you in her usual spot.

She must have finished up tutoring early tonight. So you run up to her and jump into her arms. The action catches her by surprise and she nearly swings on you.

She catches herself though and returns your embrace, she always humors you.

"You made it to the final selection, didn't you?" The unintelligible squeals you make in response are all she needs to know as you two start walking home.

"Gods Andi, I'll miss you so much while your touring." She says with a shake of her ebony braids and a slight sigh.

You hadn't really thought about it but you two had been nearly inseparable for the past six years. The theater nerd and the stem major who'd of thought.

You briefly recall the stormy afternoon you met sheltering under the same awning during a freak rainstorm on campus a bond was forged even with the running make-up and wet socks. She was like family and leaving her would be hard.

"I don't have the part yet... who knows I could totally bomb this next audition you say awkwardly." She turns around and fixes you in place with an exasperated look.

"Andi, you're gonna totally nail that audition! I've got this gut feeling that something huge is about to happen for you. It's like your time to shine is finally here, and while I'll seriously miss having you around, I'm genuinely thrilled for you." Her expression softens into fondness, her deep brown eyes warming.

Much like your dearly departed Grandma, Jade was a superstitious sort and you trusted her gut. Something big was going to happen and for some inexplicable reason, a chill ran up your spine.

The streets felt off tonight and oddly empty, it's like something was in the air as you made your way home.

Jade hands you her left AirPod, and you accept it with a grateful smile, eager to share in her current musical obsession. The lyrics of Mitski's song resonate with the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, serving as a pseudo soundtrack to your evening trek.

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart
Baby, bang it up inside
I'm not wearing my usual lipstick
I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

You feel yourself singing along with the lyrics but stumble slightly. One of your shoelaces is untied so you bend down to tie it.

Baby will you kiss me already and
Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart?
Baby, bang it up inside

Jade wanders further in front of you and as you look up you see her swaying to the music.

Movement from the alley beside her catches your eyes and something reaches out towards her.

Every fiber of your being screams at you to run something is wrong. Unnatural smoky tendrils stretch towards her figure, a smell like rotten eggs burns your nose and you’re up and moving before you could even think about it.

Baby, though I've closed my eyes
I know who you pretend I am
I know who you pretend I am

You act on pure instinct and move faster than you ever have before in your life, but the darkness reaches still.

You do the only thing you can think of and shove her forward out of its grasp but put yourself directly into it.

Why not me?
Why not me?

Jade falls forward from your shove and a chilling feeling surrounds you. It feels almost wet against your skin.

What happens after becomes a blur. It’s like you’re looking at everything underwater. You can’t make out any details in this overwhelming opaque darkness.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabs your abdomen. A scream is it yours? An inhumane screech follows along with the sound of glass shattering. Your throat burns with a hot metallic taste. “Run”then another overwhelming burst of pain fills your throat.

You can’t tell how much time passes was it a moment or forever?

A sinister laugh sounds in your skull, and a putrid smell assaults your nostrils.

Something cold grabs your ankle and it hurts and you feel yourself being drug down…down.

Why not me?
Why not me?

You're falling and everything fades to black. The pain overwhelms your senses and you lose consciousness.

When you finally come to you're met with a crimson sky.

Chapter 2: Welcome To Hell

Chapter Text

As your consciousness slowly returns, a sense of disorientation comes with it. Your head spins, and your vision blurs, making it difficult to make out your surroundings.

The crimson sky above feels ominous, casting an eerie glow over where you lay.

Why is the sky so red? Is it already sunrise?

The thought flickers through your mind, but you can't grasp onto it fully.

How long have you been lying here? Time feels elusive, slipping through your fingers like sand as you struggle to piece together what happened.

You try to sit up, but your body spasms in pain, and you fall back on the rough concrete with a dull thud. Your head feels different, oddly heavy, as if a weight is pressing down on your skull.

Your hearing is severely muffled, but you can still make out the sound of traffic and voices in the distance. It's a jumble of noise, distant and indistinct, like echoes bouncing off the walls of your mind.

Have you been lying in the alley all night? It sure feels like it, with the way your body aches and the stiffness that sets in with every movement.

sh*t... Wait, where is Jade? Panic starts to rise within you as you realize you can't remember what happened last night. You were attacked by something... but what?

Blurry flashes of memory roll through your mind but you can’t fully piece together what happened in that alley.

You turn your head over and notice buildings in the distance you seem to be laying on a rooftop or something as you're high up.

One of those buildings appears to actually be on fire. When you turn to the other side you see a billboard.

It's lit up with purple lights and has some kind of furry white humanoid creature on it with a salacious grin. The title says, "Well, Ok!" and what you think are colorful genitalia surrounding the individual.

You simply close your eyes at that and turn away. What the absolute f*ck is that about.

Your mind chides you in a voice that sounds suspiciously like your grandmothers for cussing even internally.

When you open your eyes you stare at the sky and really look at it for the first time and you notice that there seems to be a weird shape in the sky.

It's almost like a star... or wait... it's a pentagram? Your stomach sinks as you try to logic yourself through what it could be.

When you try to sit up again to look more closely a wave of dizziness and nausea washes over you and you feel your eyes grow heavy and slip into the inky blackness once again.

The next time you gain consciousness the sky is a darker purplish red it must be nightfall now.

The pentagram looms still in the sky above and you try to push it from your mind as you reorient yourself. You manage to actually sit up this time despite your body’s protests.

Things sound more clear this time around and your vision seems better as well.

You’re still dressed in the same clothes but your shirt is severely damaged and covered in something dark.

Oh, it’s dried blood, it’s your blood. Upon closer examination, you seem to have a wound across your stomach. It’s mostly healed but still tender and delicate, you'll need to be gentle with it.

As you’re examining yourself you notice that your skin looks different. Perhaps it’s just the lighting of the sky. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look up at the sky again. It’s a silent denial, and the wrongness of the situation strums at the corners of your psyche.

With a quick head shake you bring yourself to your feet, your legs feel shaky and unsure. But now you're standing at least so you sway a little and stumble over to the brick railing of the building.

You seem to be about three stories up and there is a rickety fire escape just below the section of roof you're standing on. Down below is an empty, dimly lit alley littered with what looks like trash. An updraft of humid air hits your nose with various smells of rot and urine.

You swear you feel the railing sway so you hurry down to the last rung which hangs about eight to ten feet off the ground. There is a ladder that you could shake loose to close that final gap to the ground but when you kick it free to deploy. It falls to the ground uselessly with a loud clank.

Oh, now that was frustrating, you flex your fingers a couple of times in stress and choke out a strained laugh.

Guess you're going to have to jump the rest of the way.

You try to formulate the best way to go about this and you settle on laying out on your stomach and trying to stretch as far down as you can before letting yourself drop the last few feet. Your body is still weak so it becomes difficult to hang on to the edge of the rail and end up falling the rest of the way.

Landing roughly on your hip and bottom hurts. Nothing feels broken but you will for sure have a nasty bruise. Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks as you roll over and try to stand up again. You notice a used needle by your foot and kick it away. Everything just hurts so bad, you just want to go home to the safety of your apartment and friends.

You limp over to the side of the building and lean against it allowing it to support some of your weight while you fidget through your pockets for your phone but its gone. The wound on your stomach has reopened a tad as well and the tears can't be held back any longer after that and you let yourself sob for a few minutes and sink down to the ground pressing your back to the wall. You turn your head towards a sound and see something pass by the front of the alley.

You clasp your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from screaming at the sight of a large green reptilian-looking humanoid sauntering by cussing into a cell phone.

Your heart rate accelerates and you press yourself deeper into the darkness of the alley. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to the street and you watch monstrous thing after thing walk by. There is no way for you to logic yourself through this waking nightmare and your mind supplies no reasonable answer.

You're not sure how much time passes but you notice that the alley is becoming lighter and soon your hiding spot won't be viable anymore.

The monsters seem humanoid and most even wear clothing some look very similar to humans while others are very animalistic.

Breathe in breathe out, you can't stay here much longer so you calm yourself as much as possible and zip up your jacket and pull up your hood in an attempt to hide yourself. Your hood snags on your head but you don't linger on it and slowly make your way to the street. Random gunshots sound in the distance but you try to ignore them.

Blue and purple neon lights flash distracting you briefly as you emerge into the bustling city and someone bumps into your shoulder nearly knocking you over.

"Watch it, ya dumb bitch!" A goat-like man in a gray business suit sneers as he stomps passed you.

You lower your head and go the opposite direction, trying to get a bearing on where you're at but it's definitely not familiar in the slightest.

Sex stores and strip clubs line the streets of your current location. Near-naked couples make out against buildings and club music blasts.

A tall blonde bunny-like woman wearing a skin-tight leather dress winks suggestively at you when you make eye contact, and you speed up out of this part of town.

The overall vibes change dramatically and quickly as you head to a quieter part of town away from the flashing lights. You glance down at your stomach and notice red seeping through the green of your jacket.

Physically you're nearing your limit and you duck into a quiet street outside of an establishment called "The Oasis" to rest, how ironic.

At this point the only thing keeping you going is adrenaline, your throat aches for water and you spy a spigot on the side of the building.

"Please... Please work," you plead to the universe, and with one turn, cool water streams out gently. Quickly you cup your hands and greedily gulp down mouth full after mouth full of water. It feels soothing going down your throat, and you have never been more grateful for tap water in your life.

A door creaks open nearby and you freeze as a winged tuxedo-cat-like person holding a bottle of alcohol saunters out laughing at some voice from inside.

His black eyes narrow at you and you jolt up onto your feet and try to flee but instead stumble to your knees. The concrete roughly scraping your hands.

"Ah, f*ck me.." his deep voice practically sighs. When you glance up you see a hand coming out toward you and you flinch instinctively.

"Ya want help up or not kid?" Huh, you blink in surprise but take his extended claw anyway and he pulls you up easily.

He's quite a bit taller than you and gives you a once over, eyes lingering on the bloody spot on your jacket.

"You look like sh*t.."

"I feel like it too.." you quip quietly.

He looks annoyed and runs his clawed hands? Paws? Through the fur under his hat. He picks the bottle of amber-colored liquid back up and takes a swig and starts to walk away but groans and pauses taking a second glance back. His black eyes roam over you and he takes a deep breath.

"Got somewhere to stay?" You just shake your head, and he sighs again as he takes another sip from his bottle before he continues his march.

"Well get a move on then, kid, I know some sappy broads that'll take you in."

He keeps walking and you limp behind him slowly. While following a stranger home was not something you'd normally ever do, it was quite literally the only choice you had.

You feel the distance between you and him grow as you struggle to keep and he admonishes you, "Hurry, the hell up kid I ain't gonna wait for your ass."

"Yes, sir..."

He groans at that, "It's Husk, just Husk."

You nod and try to move faster, but in actuality, he's slowing down you realize. Even with all his grumbling this Husk had shown you nothing but kindness so far.

The two of you walk for nearly half an hour and you're barely paying attention to your surroundings you simply stay focused on the man in front of you and ignore your body's protests.

His wings are red and have a pattern on them like playing cards you notice that he's wearing pants with suspenders that blend in with his fur.

It's slowly become daylight again and the city is becoming busier, as "people" start about their day.

He stops and you look up finally and are met with the oddest building you've ever seen in your life up the hill.

It's massive, with red brick walls that somehow manage to clash with the flashy lights that scream "Vegas casino".

There's an actual ship sticking out from one side, like someone decided a building just wasn't enough and they needed a nautical touch.

On the other side, there's a lit-up carousel. Honestly, it's like someone threw a handful of random ideas at a building and decided to go with all of them.

But the Icing on the cake. A freaking radio tower jutting out from the upper right side, complete with an "on air" sign that blinks at you menacingly.

It's like the whole place is begging for attention, and you can't help but feel a mix of curiosity and confusion as you stand there, taking it all in. At the very top, you see a sign flashing "The Hazbin Hotel."

"Home, sweet home," he says sarcastically gesturing gruffly for you to follow him.

You quickly follow him as the front door swings open into the grand foyer, and you're greeted by a sight straight out of some kind of period drama.

The lobby sprawls out before you, all plush carpets and gleaming marble. The chandeliers overhead twinkle like stars, casting a soft, everything is so over the top in style but worn down with age. You can see the vision but it’s not been maintained.

To your right, there's a cozy space and a fireplace. Old victorian-style couches invite you to sink into their embrace, with a crackling fire near.

On the left, things take a slightly sinister turn. A bar glows an eerie green, giving off major haunted mansion vibes. Above it, a freaky antlered skull hangs, staring down at you with empty eye sockets. It's enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Husk appears to be looking for someone and you hear a chirpy female voice coming down the stairs. A tall lean woman with a bright red suit trots down the stairs. She looks... human... well mostly she's a bit too pale and her toothy smile a bit too sharp.

Her eyes snap to you and her friendly smile grows exponentially. Husk intercepts her as she's walking over to you and you can't quite make out what they are saying as you take a seat on a bar stool. Your exhaustion finally catching up to you.

A shorter second woman has come from upstairs and joined her as well she looks mostly human too with long white hair and a tan-ish gray complexion. Her countenance is less friendly and more alert as she full-on stares at you. You're barely remaining conscious at this point.

A prickling sensation, like static electricity, clings to your skin, causing your heart to race. Goosebumps rise along your arms, and an unsettling feeling washes over you, reminding you of the time you stumbled upon a mountain lion while playing in the woods as a child.

It's that same primal instinct, warning you of unseen danger.

"Who do we have here?" A voice crackles from behind the bar, jolting you out of your thoughts.

You freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention, and slowly turn your head to face the source of the voice. Tilting your head upwards, you're met with a towering figure, a wall of red pin-striped suit looming over the bar.

Leaning in far too close for comfort, a man with fiery red hair leers down at you, his unsettling smile sending a shiver down your spine.

Were those ears on top of his head ?

What grabs your attention the most, aside from his imposing height, is his grin—a mouth stretched a touch too wide, filled with razor-sharp, off-white teeth.

Balanced precariously over one crimson eye, a monocle adds a peculiar touch to his already eccentric appearance.

By this time the woman in the red suit has already finished up with Husk and slips into the stool right next to you.

"HellomynameisCharlieitssonicetomeetyouwelcometothehazbinhotel," She squeezes out all in one breath and extends her hand towards yours in greeting.

"OH, what's your name by the way sorry for rambling. I'm just so excited to have another guest."

You reach out and take her hand gently and she gives you a firm shake you don't catch everything she says but nod.

"It's nice to meet you, Charlie, I'm.."

Something in that moment stops you, a tug of warning and you recall something your superstitious grandmother said to you.

"Remember Andromeda never share your true name with the fair folk, if you ever meet one."

Her Irish tilt whispers in your ear. You highly doubted these were Fae but better safe than sorry.

"I'm Andi.."

A hum comes from the man behind you and Charlie practically beams.

"Welcome, Andi! Oh, we are so excited that you're joining us here at the Hazbin, where redemption from Hell is within reach," she chirps, rattling off some additional information, but your mind fixates on one particular word.

Your mouth dries .. as your mind runs over her words.

Hell. Oh, you're in Hell. That means... that means you died. You're dead.

Your breath catches as the realization sinks in. Memories flood back—the alley, the chaos, the pentagram in the red sky. You glance over at Husk, who eyes you warily, and you can't help but laugh. It's a painful choked sound.

Charlie's smile vanishes in an instant, replaced by a look of concern as a hum of static ripples over your skin. She reaches for you as you struggle to remain seated.

"Oh, so this is Hell... I guess I died, huh?" you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.

Complete silence fills the air... Charlie's face pales, and her head whips towards the other woman worriedly.

"Ah, sh*t I didn't know she was new!" Husk growls.

You feel the last bit of your sanity snap and the world once again goes black, you were getting tired of this. Maybe you'll wake up in a better place, maybe it's all just a dream.

Chapter 3: We Promise, It's Not All Fire and Brimstone!

Chapter Text

As you drift in and out of consciousness, the sounds around you seem distant, as if coming from a far-off place.

"This injury looks bad..."

"Lost a lot of blood..."

"Looks like claw marks or.."

Someone’s touching you but you’re too tired to worry about it.

The voices, tinged with concern, mingle with the gentle touches on your stomach, creating a strangely comforting symphony. The gentle touches are accompanied by a cool sensation as if someone is applying a soothing balm.

The feeling is like being wrapped in a cozy blanket on a cold day.

So you let yourself drift, content to bask in the warmth of the moment, knowing that you're in good hands, even if you can't quite open your eyes to see them.

When you finally wake you find yourself alone tucked into a plush bed with a deep red comforter. When you sit up and the covers slip off and you realize you've been stripped down to your undergarments.

Also, a white bandage is wrapped around your midsection snuggly and you are feeling better than you have since you first woke up in this nightmare.

Taking in your surroundings you notice an empty wooden chair pulled up next to your bed and a nightstand with a lamp and glass of water.

As you reach for the glass of water you notice your odd skin tone, your once pale skin is now a silvery gray your nail beds are a bit darker, and your nails are slightly sharper. You’re different, the realization causes your heartbeat to quicken and you slip out of bed.

There are a few doors in this room and one that's slightly ajar leads to what appears to be a tiled bathroom.

Reaching against the wall you flip on a light and are met with a stomach-curling sight in the mirror.

It's almost like looking at a stranger, and it takes you a second to recognize yourself, as you take in your changed appearance.

The fiery red hair that you liked to complain about clashing with everything is nearly gone. It looks like all the color bled out of your wavy locks. As the top part of your hair near your roots is a stark white that slowly bleeds into a peachy pinkish color towards the ends.

What's more concerning than the color of your hair is the fact that you now have taupe-colored curved horns protruding from your skull, they appear ram-like and sit at the side of your skull above your ears. You run your hands across them and are met with a smooth texture.

Your skin is indeed silvery gray and the freckles that cover most of your body have taken on a milky opalescent appearance.

Even in Hell, you can't have clear skin it seems. You grip the side of the sink tightly and close your eyes attempting to try to ground yourself. Then try to look at yourself, I mean look at yourself again.

The shape of your face and the tilt of your nose are all unchanged and your eyes, are the same shade of blue as always just like your dads and grandmothers.

The familiarity warms you and a tear rolls down your cheek. A shaky huff leaves your mouth as the door to the room opens with a creak.

Charlie the tall blonde has come in carrying a tray of steaming food. A mild look of panic flashes when she sees the empty bed but she notices you in the other room and she relaxes.

Quickly she sets the tray down on the bedside table and approaches you as you stare into the mirror.

"Oh, you're up? Are you feeling ok? I don't know if you should be up yet."

She speaks rather quickly again you notice perhaps it’s just a part of who she is.

"I-I look different..."

She nods understandingly and gently guides you back towards the bed. "And that's completely normal," she assures you, handing you a paper brochure from her suit pocket."

The cover has a rainbow and a picture of two horned creatures walking hand in hand happily as fires dance in the background, the title says "Welcome to Hell: We Promise, It's Not All Fire and Brimstone!" in a cheery font.

"Feel free to read this whenever you’re feeling up to it." You nod and set it aside, as she takes a seat in the chair near you. She glances at you and averts her gaze, ah you realize you’re indecent and pull the blankets up.

"I hope it's okay that Vaggie and I cleaned you up a bit. I know it was forw-"

You cut her rambling off, "No, Charlie... It’s ok. I really appreciate you and this," you say, gesturing to the room around you. "It's just all so much to take in."

Her expression softens, and she reaches out to grasp your hand comfortingly. "Andi, I'm sure this is all very overwhelming for you. Just know that you're welcome to stay here as long as you want. If you want to enter our redemption program, that's great, but the choice is yours."

"Oh, and I brought you some breakfast as well, it's just some oatmeal but I figured it'd be easier on your stomach. I also brought some clothes in, you can find them in the dresser it's just some old things of mine but you can have them."
She says standing.

"I'll let you eat and rest up, I'll be back to check on you later. If you need anything at all just open the door and give me a yell!"

You thank her again profusely and she gives you a cheery smile as she heads out. Left alone you decide to eat some of the oatmeal while it’s still warm.

It's comforting with a light sugary maple flavor.

A feeling wells up in your chest as you finish eating and you drop the spoon into the bowl with a dull clank.

The weight and finality of your situation settles in, and the ache in your chest becomes unbearable.

Your dreams, once within reach, now feel like shattered fragments of a reality that slipped through your fingers. Tears stream down your face as you bury your face into your pillow, muffling the sobs that wrack your body.

Why were you in hell to begin with? You weren't particularly religious or pious, but you certainly weren't out there committing crimes either. You were just a regular twenty-five-year-old woman, living life as best you could.

Sure, you could be stubborn from time to time. And enjoyed a few too many drinks with friends every now and then, but you never did anything particularly heinous.

The worst thing you ever did was vandalize Jade's ex's car, but he'd cheated and abused her. A decision you still stand by. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what you'd done to deserve damnation.

It just feels so unfair.. you know realistically that life isn't wasn't fair but you were so close.. so close to achieving your dream. Everything you've worked for, every sacrifice made, rendered meaningless in the face of your new reality.

So you grieve the loss of your life, you think about all the choices you made all the things you did or almost did. Regret claws at your heart as you ponder what could have been.

You think of the family and friends you've left behind and it weighs heavily on your mind. Your thoughts drift to your father, the only family you had left after your grandmother passed away. How would he cope with your absence?

Would he be ok.. What about Jade... was she ok, how would she make rent without you? It might be a silly thing to worry about given that your dead and have bigger issues to worry about but the thought of abandoning her hurts.

Something killed you... you wish you could remember what happened it gnaws at you. You spiral emotionally and stay in bed.

True to her word Charlie checks in on you periodically throughout the day, she chats lightly with you but gives you space. She brings you dinner some type of stew but you cannot stomach it and politely decline.

As darkness fills the room you drag your body to the bathroom to clean up. Charlie had let you know that the bandages were waterproof so you started the shower.

Standing was more effort than you were willing to put out so you sit on the edge and let the water caress your body.

The heat feels great against your skin and the bottles of product in the shower smell nice faintly like vanilla. It’s a weird sensation washing your hair around the horns.

Your skin prunes completely before you finally leave the shower. You put on a shirt that was given to you and some cotton shorts.

You and Charlie are similar sizes but you're a bit more on the curvy size (blessed as Jade always said) so the shirt fits a touch too snuggly across your chest but you don't care. Beggars can't be choosers as they say.

Ignoring your new self in the mirror you decide to brush your teeth with supplies left for you the "Tartarus Toothpaste." Which is Hellfire Cinnamon flavored and leaves a clean but burning sensation in your mouth.

Sleep doesn't come easily for you so you read the brochure over a couple of times trying to internalize all the new information.

It goes briefly over hell's hierarchy apparently all sinners (you) end up in the pride ring. The pride ring is fairly large but the epicenter is where you are currently which is Pentagram city. The city is divided into districts ruled by Overlords. You need to beware of those said Overlords and making deals with them, whatever that means. It talks about hellborns as well.

Huh, hell has an economy, and a chaotic but thriving community and infrastructure. Oh yea, you’re a demon now, too, and judging by what you've seen so far you lucked out appearance-wise. As you still resemble your old self and not say a couch or animal.

It feels like you're starting completely over, suddenly you're that broke kid trying to survive in New York City again. Perhaps you can make it here, you already have a place to stay rent-free.

You try to remember the steps you took last time and pull out a pen and pad from the nightstand.

You needed order.. you needed a list it might not be as simple as last time, but if you had a plan maybe it could help organize the chaos of your life.

Ok step one, get familiar with your surroundings and build a support network.

Step two get a source of income and purchase necessities.

Step three establish yourself.

Step four wait.. redemption was an option, right?

How long would that take did you even need the rest of the list? Surely it wasn't a fast process, you'd need to talk to Charlie.

But having a plan even one as vague as this brings you a small sense of relief. Enough so that you're able to sleep a thankfully dreamless sleep.

In the morning you feel a bit more composed so you get dressed. Fake it till you make it right?

So you pull on a gray sweater and a pair of black stretchy pants that Charlie gave you.

The sweater has some kind of apple emblem on it and you don't get the reference.

You fix your hair and try to make yourself presentable, not long after both Charlie and Vaggie check-in, you ask the former seems thrilled with your choice to dine with the rest of the hotel. They assist you in changing your bandages first though. The injury on your stomach is looking much better, you are healing at an inhuman speed.

As you descend the stairs that nervous feeling envelopes you again but you ignore it the best you can.

You spot Husk passed out, sprawled across the bar with his face buried in the counter, an empty bottle of booze lying beside him. Soft snores escape his lips, and his clawed hand twitches intermittently.

Near the bar is a long wooden dining room table with a few pots and bowls with food in them.

Someone has made breakfast, Charlie gestures for you to take a seat. According to the clock on the wall it's around 9 am. Vaggie glances around before sighing and heading back upstairs.

As you settle into a wooden seat, a door swings open, revealing a familiar flash of red.

It's the tall, redheaded man you saw on your first day here. Although you don't know who he is, his eyes lock onto you immediately, and his grin widens, you notice two small antlers a top of his head. Like a deer or something?

He's also carrying a glass pitcher of what appears to be orange juice, which he sets on the table.

His overall presence is incredibly intense but the fact that he's wearing a white apron that says "Do Absolutely Nothing to the Chef," eases you some. But his smile isn’t quite right.

It’s scary what a smile can hide.

The man wastes no time in approaching and invading your personal space. He’s just a few steps too close.

"Why hello, dear. It's so very nice to see you out and about. I don't think we were properly introduced. My name is Alastor, and it's a pleasure, simply a pleasure to be meeting you." His voice carries an echo as if it's emanating from a speaker.

Following his air of politeness, you stand, even though he towers over you.

You manage a kind enough greeting. "Uh, it's nice to meet you as well. I'm Andi," you say, glancing at the table. "Thank you for making breakfast."

His eyebrows shoot up, "Aw, such a polite little thing,” he croons as he ruffles your hair like one would do a child. His touch leaves a buzzing feeling against your skin.

Before he can say anything else Vaggie stomps down the stairs, with a vaguely familiar towering figure in tow.

Why is everyone so tall in hell? You were several inches above the average height of a woman up top but here in hell the only person you were taller than so far was Vaggie.

Chapter 4: Hell's Kitchen

Chapter Text

The imposingly tall figure dragging behind Vaggie with crossed arms surveys the room with keen disinterest and says, "Hey, who the f*ck is this broad."

You momentarily forget about Alastor and turn your attention to the tall fluffy man who addressed you. Charlie cuts in explaining how you were a new guest.

His accent has a familiar tilt, distinctly New York, and you can't help but smile.

It seems to cause him to grimace. He takes a seat directly across from you, giving you a slow once-over.

"You're cute and all, but I don't do girls. The lady bits ain't my stick," he remarks bluntly.

You flush at the insinuation but sit back down, determined to continue. "Umm... okay. Hey, are you— I mean, were you from New York?"

"Yeah, what of it, toots?" he replies brusquely.

You mumble out a nervous apology, sensing his annoyance. "Nothing... I was just living in Brooklyn before all of this and..."

He cuts you off. "What neighborhood?"

"Bushwick."

He slaps the table with a dull thud and gives you a lopsided grin. A glint from a golden tooth catches your eye.

"Hah...that's f*ckin' wild. That's where I grew up," he says with, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"The name is Angel Dust by the way but you can call me Angel. You're?"

"It's Andi."

The two of you fall into a short conversation about Brooklyn and your mutual neighborhood.

Charlie practically squeals in delight, clasping her hands to either side of her face.

"This is so cool! You two could have been neighbors! Give or take seven or eight decades, but still."

The fact that he's decades older than you strikes you. You can't quite tell how old he is under the white fluff that coats his body but he's clearly young.

People remain the same age they died at, so you'd be forever twenty-five.

A clap and buzzing sound disrupts your conversation and train of thought, "Well this is all very quaint but now its time for breakfast." Alastor says taking a seat to your left side.

You watch as Vaggie tracks his movements with her singular eye, she feels wary of him as well.

You glance back towards Husk who remains dead to the world still face down on the counter.

Everyone start loading their plates with food, it looks like scrambled eggs, bacon, and some kind of puffed pastry with powdered sugar is on the menu.

You pour yourself a cup of black coffee and take a sip. The absurdity of the situation frays at your mind, here you are in Hell having breakfast with a group of demons.

But it's a reality and you have a plan though so you try to stick to it.

"So Charlie" you pipe up trying not to interrupt the current conversation you were not paying attention to.

"How long does the redemption process usually take?"

The room goes absolutely silent... Not a soul moves but a sudden laugh track fills the room and you realize it's coming from Alastor somehow.

Charlie's face falls.

Angel pipes up with a co*cky grin, "Oh, sugar tit*... no one has ev-"

Before Angel can finish, Vaggie interrupts, "Redemption is a new concept. So no one has actually been redeemed from Hell yet. We've only been open for a couple of weeks now. But we have a plan, and..."

Your mind races with the realization that this process might not even be possible.

The idea of being stuck in Hell for eternity hits you, but you try to maintain a composed expression.

You notice Vaggie grasping Charlie's hand in support, their solidarity evident, loving even.

"Hey, there's a first time for everything, right?" Your reply slips out almost without permission.

Even in Hell, you can't help but be a glass-half-full kind of person. You were a dream chaser too after all, and Charlie had been nothing but generous to you and you'd support her regardless of the odds.

Vaggie shoots you an approving look, and Charlie perks up.

"Exactly, and now that we have both you and Angel, it’s like our chances have doubled!"

Angel rolls his eyes, digging into his food without further comment, while you feel Alastor's gaze lingering on you, his presence unsettling.

The rest of breakfasts conversations are much lighter and you chip into the conversations here and there.

After you volunteer yourself to clean up after breakfast as it was the least you could do. You were still a bit tired but it was nothing you couldn't shake off plus you liked to keep busy. Keeping busy helps to keep your mind from dwelling too much, something you desperately need.

You even make a plate for Husk and set it aside.

The kitchen seems normal enough with a large gas stove and deep mahogany cabinets that matches the rest of the hotel’s motif.

You admire the black granite countertops it’s a little run-down but nice much like the rest of the rooms.

There's no dishwasher so you simply wash everything by hand. It takes at least half an hour. Though no one else is in the kitchen, you feel like you’re being watched.

As you finish washing the final glass you set it down on the rack, you swear you've done it carefully. But no sooner than you turn away, a crash echoes through the kitchen.

You find the glass shattered on the marble floor. Had it slipped?

Bending over you try to pick up the largest piece, and you wince as it cuts your finger in a clean slice. A ruby bead of blood pools on your right index finger.

The door creaks open a moment later and Alastor enters with an expression of concern. "Oh my, are you alright dear ?"

You feel a twinge of embarrassment at his words.

With a grin he pulls out a white handkerchief and grabs your wrist tightly, then he wraps the cloth around your fingers.

You try to step back but he doesn't release your wrist immediately. You give him a quick thanks and static buzzes across your skin, and you meet his gaze.

He hums before he speaks, "So you're actually hoping to be redeemed?" his voice carries a hint of amusem*nt.

You shifted slightly, trying to maintain a casual demeanor despite the sharpness of his grin. "I mean, isn't that the point of this Hotel?"

His grin widens, a flash of teeth against the dim light of the room. "That wasn't an answer, dear."

You pull your wrist out of his grip with a firm yank and apply pressure to your cut. "I mean if its possible," your voice trailed off, uncertainty creeping in.

“So, you do have doubts? You sounded so confident earlier." His echoing words slice through the air, keen and probing.

"Doesn't everyone?" You clipped back, a hint of defensiveness tainting your tone.

He straightens his bowtie with a flick of his fingers, his movements precise and controlled.

"Do you always answer a question with another question, dear? It's quite rude." His observation carried a touch of admonishment, yet his smile remained in place.

He had you there so you give him some honesty, "Look… I suppose I really don't understand everything going on down here yet, but I want to support Charlie, regardless of the outcome. If I do get to go to heaven that’s great if not, well I'll manage. I always do."

“How interesting… Well, I’ll certainly enjoy watching you try.” He says tone dripping with condescension.

He then reaches out gesturing for the handkerchief back, the bleeding had stopped.

"I can clean it and give it back later?"

"No, that's quitealright."

Well whatever you think and hand it back to him, he pockets it quickly before snapping his fingers.

In a literal flash, a little woman with one eye appears and scuttles around the room in a flurry of motion.

"Oh, a mess.. this simply won't do!" She shouts as she whips a broom out from somewhere.

She makes quick work of the mess and whizzes by.

"Who’s this? Ugh, another woman I wanted a bad boy!"

Alastor tilts his head, "Ah, this is our newest guest Andi. Andi this is Nifty she's a member of the hotel staff and chief custodian."

Hearing your name in his odd voice sends a chill up your spine.

Nifty circles you quickly and climbs you like a tree before you can react and starts tugging on one of your horns.

"Oooh, I always wanted horns you’re so lucky!"

"T-thank you?" She's off and moving before you can even flinch.

Now that the mess is cleaned up you have no more desire to remain in this conversation.

So you grab Husk's plate and slip out of the room while Nifty runs laps around the room.

Alsastor seems delighted with the chaos.

You slide up to the bar and clear your throat hoping to wake Husk gently but he does not budge.

So you give his shoulder a gentle shake, still nothing... So you give him a not gentle shake.

He shoots up and slips behind the counter with a thud.

Oops... He stands back up and drags a hand over his face.

"WHAT... the f*ck do you want?"

Realizing you might have overstepped, you offered a hesitant apology.

"Sorry, I, uh, brought you some breakfast."

He glares at you but snags the plate anyway.

"Need something?" You shake your head.

"Then beat it," he muttered, his attention already shifting away from you to the plate in front of him.

You stand quickly, "OK... Uh, thank you for... ya know bringing me here."

"Yea...whatever at least you don't look like sh*t anymore." You can't help but smile a bit, and he groans.

You decide to leave the crotchety man alone and head back up to your room.

When you open the door you find a small box on your bed with a note. Upon opening it you discover a small black touchscreen phone.

"Hey Andi,

I just had this old phone lying around and figured you'd be able to get some real use out of it. It’s connected to my family plan so you don't need to worry about a thing. I put in Vaggie and I's number already.

- Charlie M.

You turned over the phone and notice the word IVOX. You tear up a bit, Charlie's kindness truly knew no bounds, so you shoot her a thank-you text from your new phone and decide to use the internet to get more information about life in hell.

You even download Voxtagram and a few other apps. There seems to be a mix of earth media and hell-made media.

But one common denominator you notice is the Vox corporation. They seem to own most sites, apps, and media even Hell has monopolies.

The next morning, over breakfast, you feel a strong urge to lend a hand with the chores around the hotel.

Sitting across from Charlie, you casually offered your assistance, mentioning that you didn't have much else to do and wanted to pitch in.

Charlie lets you know that she can't afford to pay you right now but you wave her off she'd already done more than enough for you.

Despite appreciating Charlie's kindness, you knew you'd have to find a job outside the hotel to pay for necessities eventually but for now you were content.

Chapter 5: A Hell of a Day

Chapter Text

Surprisingly one of the worst things about being in hell so far was without a shadow of a doubt your horns.

They curled slightly on either side of your head in such a way that made sleeping on your side entirely impossible.

You had been a side sleeper your whole life and now the damn things made it unbearable.

In the grand scheme of things, this might seem insignificant but to you, it was just another reminder that you were different, that you were in hell.

And adjusting to sleeping on your back was proving difficult, and stomach sleeping was an absolute no go it felt like you were suffocating. Plus the injury on your stomach got irritated laying like that.

Now today was your first day helping around the hotel and you'd barely slept last night. Pulling yourself out of the comfort of your bed was a bit difficult but you wanted to be useful.

So you got dressed for the day, digging around in the drawer full of clothing Charlie gave you, and decide on black yoga pants and a light purple sweater.

The only shoes you have are your black combat boots so they'll have to do until you can buy more.

You shoot your horns a glare in the mirror as you pull your hair up into a high ponytail and slip your phone into your pocket.

Heading down stairs you're met with a quiet lobby as today, was one of the days Alsastor didn't cook it was every demon for themselves.

Glancing towards the bar, you find it surprisingly empty of Husk's presence. He must have made it back to his room last night after drinking himself into another stupor.

You supposed he couldn't die of alcohol poisoning, but it was kind of hard to watch. He just seemed so miserable.

Despite his prickly demeanor, you felt a sense of gratitude towards Husk and actually liked him... Even if the feeling wasn't mutual yet...

When you slide onto a stool at his bar you notice yesterday’s paper laying on the counter and flip through it.

The paper's titled, "The Infernal Informer: Where Every Headline Burns Bright."

It's laid out like a normal paper and even has a crossword puzzle section. You start reading through the first few clues:

1. "Four-letter word for 'sweaty undergarment' (starts with S)"
2. "Seven-letter word for 'unwanted hair growth' (starts with U)"

Too bad you don’t have anything to write with. Maybe Husk would let you work the puzzles when he was done with it.

As you skim through, you notice a help-wanted section. Now that's interesting, as you read through the titles you start to feel a little discouraged.

"Female Dominatrix wanted, must be skilled with a whip." Yea, not that one.

"Pleasure Pain Practitioner sought, expertise in balancing pleasure and pain." That one makes you flush a bit.

"Assistant Torturer, proficiency in creative methods of pain infliction preferred. (With Full Benefits.)" Well, that one offered dental, so it was a maybe?

You started noticing a pattern, a lot of these jobs seemed to be from the Vee corporation, whatever that was.

Nearing the bottom you finally found one that seemed like something you could actually do, "Capable waitress wanted, must have prior experience. - Billie at Oasis Saloon."

The Oasis that's where you met Husk, maybe you could ask him about it.

Looking up toward the clock you noticed the time and decided to head over to the supply closet.

Charlie had given you a map of the hotel's insane layout which included among other things a ballroom, observatory, and pool all located somewhere... some of these places had locations on the map but no conceivable way to actually get to them.

When you find the closet you hear a clanking coming from within, and it pops open with a bang and Nifty rolls out like a bowling ball.

"Hehehe, good morning! You're late, but that's okay! It'll be nice having company!"

The smaller demon's appearance was slightly disturbing, with her sharp teeth and red, gleaming eye, but there was something oddly endearing about her.

You glanced at the clock; you were actually fifteen minutes early, but you decided not to argue with her. Instead, you offered a bemused apology and helped her get started with the tasks for the day.

Within a few hours, it becomes painfully apparent that you aren't and won't ever be on the same level as Nifty when it comes to cleaning prowess.

You literally can't keep up with her speed and efficiency. She leaves you to clean the fourth floor while she handles the bottom three single handedly. Even if you can't fully compete you'll still give it your best effort.

While sweeping you make several little piles of dust and make note to come back to them later once you grab the dust pan.

Strangely once you come back a few minutes later the piles are gone and the filth is back where it was when you started.

You check for open windows thinking maybe the breeze blew through but the windows are sealed tight. It's a bit frustrating but you persevere, Grandma didn't raise a quitter.

You see something move out of the corner of your eye you think but when you turn nothing is there but shadows.

The next few hours pass much the same way, with odd occurrences becoming the norm. You're making beds in some empty guest rooms and when you go back to check the beds are unmade.

When cleaning the kitchen you put all the dishes away only for Nifty to teasingly scold you later for not doing it.

You know given the circ*mstances your not in the best place mentally right now but you're not crazy. Well probably not crazy, you think pulling your hair out of your ponytail in frustration.

Later when you're dusting off some furniture in the lobby, you feel that familiar staticky feeling prickling your skin.

Sure enough, when you turn around you find Alastor standing behind you, he's got his hands behind his back and his head is titled in a slightly unnatural way. His smile is just as tight and menacing as usual.

"Hello, my dear," he says, his voice carrying an eerie timber. "It's nice to see you working so hard!”

He pauses dramatically and brings his hand to his mouth in fake shock.

“Oh my, but you seem to have missed a spot."

His eyes glint with an unsettling intensity as he gestures towards a table in the corner, covered in a layer of dust. You literally just dusted that table moments ago, you know you did.

He runs his clawed finger across the table leaving a trail on the dusty surface.

Alastor then shakes his head and tsks.

“Surely you can do better, than this." The sound of a disappointed, invisible audience booing fills the room.

When you look into his eyes there's a glint of amusem*nt there, a twisted satisfaction that sends shivers down your spine.

In that moment, everything clicks into place. You realize, with a sudden clarity, that Alastor is the one responsible for the bizarre occurrences.

Though you can't quite comprehend how he's managed it, you know it's his fault.

Staring into Alastor's amused eyes, you feel a surge of frustration and anger building within you.

Confronting him directly seems like the logical choice, but you quickly realize the dangers of such a move.

You're new and, still trying to find your footing in hell and the hotel. And Alastor practically holds the keys to the kingdom as Charlie's apparent business partner.

Accusing him without concrete evidence could jeopardize your position here at the hotel, who knows what would happen to you if you were suddenly on your own?

With your options limited, another idea begins to take shape in your mind—an idea born out of a desire for retribution and out of the stubbornness all members of your family possessed.

You'd get even...

Your grandmother had taught you manners but not to allow others to walk all over you.

She taught you to say no, to stand up for yourself. To be polite but not value it over your own safety.

And most importantly to bite back and hit first if the situation required it.

Taking a deep breath, you summon your best award-winning smile—the same one that won you the role of Glinda Goodwitch in your college's production of "Wicked" freshman year.

"Oh, my goodness! I'm terribly sorry Alastor! I don't know how I missed that. Let me take care of it right away!"

With practiced grace, you gently maneuver past Alastor and begin dusting the neglected table with exaggerated vigor. The dust swirls around the two of you, creating a hazy cloud.

"How's that?" you ask, injecting sweetness into your voice, all the while hiding your satisfaction at the subtle retaliation.

He blinks once, then twice before speaking, "Oh, splendid job, my dear," his voice smooth as silk. "Quite the improvement!"

He matches your tone and excitement perfectly, and he betrays absolutely nothing the perfect actor you realize.

“I’m glad it’s up to your standards, did you need anything else? I’d hate to take up any more of your time.” You flutter your lashes sweetly, trying to keep up the chipper façade.

He taps his chin, "Nope! I best leave you to it then, I'll see you later." He says turning to leave, he also pulls something like a cane from behind his back and gives it a twirl.

"Not if I see you first.”

He pauses briefly at your words and you feel a slight buzzing sensation in the air, then he laughs a single "Ha," before he goes about his day.

You grip the duster tightly before letting your smile fall. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. Messing with him felt like punching above your weight class, but you refuse to let him walk all over you. It wasn't your preferred approach, but you weren't going to be a pushover either.

After taking a snack break with Nifty (and discussing her passion for bug extermination), you resolve to double down on your course of action.

With renewed determination, you return to the fourth floor and meticulously sweep up the mess that had been made.

But instead of disposing of it in the garbage, you sweep it all under the door to the penthouse suite—the very same penthouse suite labeled as Alastor's room on the map Charlie gave you.

"Ha" indeed.

The rest of your day passes without further incident, and you enjoy a pleasant dinner with the rest of the hotel staff. You make an effort to engage in conversation with Angel, but he seems somewhat distant tonight. Husk is also noticeably absent, so you make a mental note to catch up with him tomorrow and ask him about the Oasis job.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary though but you do feel Alastor's stare once or twice but when you look his gaze is elsewhere.

Feeling thoroughly exhausted from a day's work and your lack of sleep, you decide to retire to your room earlier than usual.

As you open the door, a tickle in your nose prompts a sneeze. Flicking on the light, you're met with a startling sight—your entire room is covered in a thick layer of dust, it’s like the room hadn’t been touched for decades.

Every surface is coated, from the light switch to your pillowcase. You open drawers to find them filled with dust, even your toothbrush and the shower are not spared from the powdery residue. You don’t even know how to react.

Honestly, it was impressive, or at least it would have been if you didn't have to sleep here.

You let yourself go through a range of emotions while you painstakingly spend the next two hours cleaning your entire room.

You were definitely out of your depth.

Chapter 6: Landslide

Chapter Text

As it turns out a hard days labor was exactly what you needed to get a good night's sleep. In fact, you’re pretty sure you didn’t move all night, if your stiff shoulders were any indication. So you were finally well rested but sore.

Slowly rising from bed, you decide to alleviate the tension with a few gentle stretches. As you move, you notice specks of dust being stirred up from the floor.

Despite your cleaning spree last night, there were still some patches of dust courtesy of Alastor, the prick. So you were feeling a tad bit grimy but it wasn't anything a hot shower couldn't fix.

Making your way to your bathroom, you let the water wash away your worries and you find yourself singing a familiar tune from Stevie Nicks.

I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
'Til the landslide brought me down

You let the music take hold of you, as you sing into the steam. Your voice rises and falls with each lyric.

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?

Music is such an integral part of who you are as an individual. It was quite literally in your blood, your grandmother had been her church's choir director and lead pianist. While your father spent most of your childhood pursuing a career in music with his traveling Blues band.

You stayed with your grandmother during the school year but traveled with your father's band on breaks. Summers were spent in dive bars and concert venues, late nights full of song and dance. Records from decades past and present lined the walls of your childhood home, music plastered into the walls and foundation.

Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

But everything had changed. You were dead now, you'd lost everything and everyone.

Well, I've been afraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you

Yet you still drew breath, yes you were changed but you were still you and your voice was yours and your eyes were yours and this damned afterlife was going to be yours too. You'd make it down here.

But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too

A sense of peace washes over you as you utter out those last lyrics. A shuttering sigh leaves your mouth as the shower washes away another part of your grief.

After getting around you get dressed and settle in to a seat for breakfast. With so few guests there’s not a lot of deep cleaning needed today. You’ll only need to work a few hours. That gives you plenty of time to talk to Husk.

He casually reaches over toward you, and you try not to flinch as he wipes at your shoulder.

"A bit dusty today, cher?" he remarks, his tone dripping with insinuation as he leers at you near threateningly.

It feels like he’s challenging you to call him out.

Wait cher? That was new...

"Huh, hadn't noticed," you respond with complete disinterest, barely acknowledging his presence as you focus on your breakfast.

"But thanks for the concern, Alastor." You emphasize his name with a hint of sarcasm, not willing to let his attempt at intimidation go unnoticed. He chuckles lightly at your response.

You turn your attention to Charlie’s conversation and thankfully Angel comes to breakfast.

He looks exhausted wrapped in his pink fluffy robe and he cracks a yawn as he stuffs his face. He mentions something about his film running longer than expected.

"Wait, you're an actor?" you ask, genuinely surprised.

His usual salacious grin slips into place. "That's 'award-winning actor' to you, toots," he says, puffing out his chest fur and running his hands through his hair dramatically.

Your eyes widen in delight. Acting, now that's something else you two have in common. You wonder if he did theater work too, and you can barely contain your excitement.

So, you match his energy. "Oh, okay, didn't realize I was in the presence of greatness."

"And don'tcha forget it. Ya know... I can show you one of my movies. The one that won me my major award over that big-tiddied bitch Tiffany." His face looks disgusted having to even utter her name, and he stands abruptly. "Lemme go get it, stay put."

Charlie chokes on her food and Vaggie slaps Charlie's back vigorously as she wheezes.

"A fan of the picture shows?" Alastor asks with a sly grin.

The picture shows ? How old is this guy, you think to yourself, feeling a bit perplexed by Alastor's choice of words. You take a glance at him and his attire and it looks rather dated in style especially the cut of his suit coat but you can't quite place the time period.

"I enjoy movies from time to time," you reply casually, hoping Angel will get back shortly.

Alastor simply nods, his expression seems almost offended as he draws his eyebrows up and places a hand to his chest, "You know, radio is the proper medium for true entertainment."

"Those picture shows rely on flashy visuals and contrived plots to engage their audience, but radio... ah, radio stimulates the imagination, weaving tales so vivid and immersive that they transcend mere sight and transport you to realms unknown," he's oddly passionate about this.

Thankfully Angel returns and motions you towards the television area in the lobby.

Charlie whispers something at you but you can't quite hear her as you head over to take a seat near the left side of the couch while Angel fiddles with the dated television.

You get the sense that you're missing a key piece of information here but you’re finally getting Angel talking so who cares?

Husk wanders down about this time and takes a huge swig of something from a flask. He takes his usual spot at the bar and pulls up the paper ignoring essentially everyone else in the room.

Angel takes a seat in the lounging chair next to you as the movie starts to play the preview before it starts shows a V emblem, then a Vox productions tag. So he works for the Vox company that owns everything media-wise? It makes sense you suppose.

As the movie starts Alastor decides to materialize beside you in a haze of staticky shadows. It surprises you, I mean you'd seen Nifty's inhumane speed and other odd things but this was completely supernatural.

You try to hide your discomfort at his display and proximity. There was an entire couch but he chose to stay right next to you his body brushing up against yours slightly, he was trying to make you uncomfortable.

As the movie's first scene unfolds, you find yourself on what appears to be a poorly crafted spaceship set, complete with an odd, makeshift alien holding a button-like contraption. The backdrop looks amateurish, and the props are far from convincing.

The scene then shifts to Angel, who is dressed in a striking futuristic military uniform. It's incredibly well-made, and Angel looks great in it.

The stark contrast between the amateurish set design and Angel's impressive costume leaves you wondering if this is some sort of sci-fi fantasy film.

You missed a few lines as you were distracted by the shoddy set, but you hear Angel's line, "So the only way to save my home world is to f*ck you?"

"Well, Ok!" Something clicks for you in that very moment, you remember the first time you woke up in hell. You remember the graphic billboard you saw, it was Angel.

You feel every fiber of your being freeze as the raunchy scenes play out in front of you.

Angel is a p*rn star...

You’re watching hardcore p*rn right now in a room full of people you don't even know all that well. You’re pretty sure your face is heating up.

Sure you'd watched rated R movies that had a sex scene before with friends but this was different.

You'd never even watched something like this before. As the minutes tick by you feel your discomfort growing but try to keep a neutral expression despite the moans and explicit scenes.

"Wow, what vigorous coitus!" Alastor chirps from beside you. You want to sink into the cushions of the couch and disappear.

Just when you'd nearly forgotten about him he just had to open his stupid sharp mouth. You spare him a momentary glance and though he looks perfectly chipper and calm you feel him stiffen slightly, his eyes appear unfocused momentarily. Perhaps you imagine it.

Alastor, unfortunately, continues his commentary. "My, my, they certainly don't shy away from the theatrics, do they?"

You bite back a retort, however, his next comment shatters your attempt at indifference.

"Are these scenes rehearsed extensively, or is it more of an improvisational endeavor?" Alastor asks, his tone sounds genuinely curious.

Angel remains quiet and you bite your lip resisting the urge to respond, knowing that engaging with him will only prolong the discomfort of the situation.

Instead, you plaster on a tight lipped smile and hope the movie will end soon.

When you turn towards Angel you see a grim and resigned expression. He insisted on putting this on but he's unhappy about it.

When he catches your gaze his co*cky demeanor slips back into place.

"So what do you think toots, I put on a great show don't I ?"

Husk lets out a deep sigh from across the room but Angel's eyes don't leave yours it's almost like he wants you to be disgusted or lash out. There is something there just beneath the surface simmering in his gaze.

"I really liked your costume at the beginning. It suited you." You just decide to be honest.

His eyes widened a touch and he seemed at a loss for words for a moment, "Yeah, I picked it out myself. Well whateva the good parts over anyway." He gets up turns the TV off and wraps his robe more tightly around himself as he leaves.

"So it's my turn to pick the movie next time right?"

He pauses at your words, "Yea... Just don't pick any annoying crap I ain't sitting through any Disney fairy tale bullsh*t."

Maybe you’d make a friend yet.

Chapter 7: Heart of Glass

Chapter Text

After watching the movie with Angel, Charlie catches you and explains that Angel was a relatively famous p*rn star in hell and that he spent half his time in the studio. That his staying here at the hotel was a delicate situation.

Apparently, the studio owned half his soul, he'd made a deal for some reason with the V corporation. Charlie didn't know any details but she cautioned you again about deal making.

The concept of someone selling their soul was unsettling, to say the least. You had questions but didn't think it wise to ask Angel about it.

Thankfully the afternoon is quiet and you work on washing the windows with Nifty. The two of you can't find a ladder so you lift her up on your shoulders to scrub up as high as she can reach. Which is another thing that strikes you as odd is that most people in Hell are very tall.

The only people you seem to be taller than here are Vaggie, Nifty, and the little horned guys you'd met in passing Razzle and Dazzle. Earth-side you'd always been a bit on the taller side for a woman but down here most everyone towered above you.

Nifty gives your head a tap signaling that she was ready to be put down.

"Thanks, Andi! Hehehe! Glad I have—" Her playful expression turned suddenly predatory as her singular eye narrowed, catching sight of movement down the dimly lit hallway.

Without hesitation, Nifty sprang into action, leaping from your shoulder with agile grace. Her movements were swift and purposeful as she tracked the scurrying intruder, her instincts taking over.

She pulls a knife out of her apron and begins to stab at the unfortunate insect. Her knife leaves small gouges in the floor as she chases her quarry down the hall.

Guess you're done working for the day, Nifty wouldn't rest until the bug was six feet under. So you head downstairs in search of Husk.

As you approach the bar you notice Angel leaning over the bar conversing with Husk.

"So Husky baby when are you gonna take me out?" He says fluttering his lashes seductively. Husk is polishing some shot glasses and taking the flirting in stride and just ignores him.

"Aww come on, I'll make it worth your while."

As you slid up to the bar and take a seat, you greet them with a smooth smile. "Heeey guys, how's it going?"

Angel, never one to mince words, barks, "We're busy here, toots... beat it."

"What do you want, kid?" Husk asks eyeing you.

No beating around the bush with Husk, "I'm looking for a job," you begin, your voice steady, "and I saw an ad in the paper about a waitressing position at the Oasis. I thought I'd ask you about it since... well, I met you there."

He doesn't seem as put off as usual, "Yeah, I know one of the owners Billie. He's a decent enough guy both he and his business partner, well decent by Hell's standards. They have the good sh*t there." He grabs a bottle and swirls it around. "They smuggle it in from up top."

Angel, who had returned to his seat with a slight huff, chimes in, "It's tacky as hell, but it's in a neutral zone, so you don't have to worry about any overlord bullsh*t."

This is all great information and you are filing it away.

"So, do you think you could put in a good word for me?" you asked, clasping your hands together in a pleading gesture and giving your most earnest look.

Husk let out a long sigh, his claws drumming across the bar. "Look, kid, I gotta run down there tonight to pick up some more brandy. I don't mind if you tag along, but I ain't endangering my business arrangement. You're gonna have to handle the job sh*t yourself." His tone was firm yet not unkind, leaving the ball in your court.

You can't help but grin, you honestly hadn't thought about the logistics of getting there so this would make your life much easier. Besides, the idea of venturing into the chaotic streets of hell alone was honestly a daunting prospect.

"Sounds fair to me," you replied with a nod, a sense of relief washing over you. "I'll get cleaned up and meet you later. Thanks, guys!" You don't want to interrupt whatever they were doing any longer so you slip off your stool.

Angel just waves you off focusing back on Husk.

Husk runs his hands through his fur, "I'll head out at nine if you're late, I'm leaving without your ass."

"Yes, sir!" He groans as you practically skip back to your room.

The rest of your afternoon is spent clearing the remaining dust from your room and trying on different outfits from your meager selection. You find a plain white button-up and high-waisted black pants and pair them with your only shoes the combat boots.

Sliding on your boots you wince at a slight twinge of pain, for some reason, the bruise around your ankle wasn't healing well. You really needed this job so you could get some more shoes, the boots rubbed against the bruise uncomfortably.

You pull your wavy hair up into a romantic French twist, and two strands of white and peachy pink hair frame your face on either side.

You don't have makeup to cover your freckles or to doll up with so you just clean your face and apply some of the complimentary lotion your room is stocked with.

You are slowly starting to recognize yourself in the mirror again, it really is you despite the changes.

It's ten till eight so you go find Husk. As you make your way down the dimly lit hallway towards the lobby to meet Husk, you couldn't help but notice a door ajar, and voices spilling out from within.

Curiosity piqued, you slowed your pace and steal a glance into the room.

Inside, you spot Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor engaged in what appears to be a heated discussion.

Their voices were low, but the tension in the air was palpable. Sensing that it was a private matter, you decided against eavesdropping and quickly averted your gaze, continuing on your way.

However, as you turn to leave, you catch Alastor's gaze, his eyes locking onto yours with his usual predatory intensity. His grin widened, sending a shiver down your spine. That's a nope, you practically sprint the rest of the way to the lobby.

Husk is already heading out the door so you run out after him.

"Hey thanks again, for tonight."

"You gonna talk the whole way?"

"Nope!" He just shakes his head and you smirk.

Even in life, you'd been a bit of an acquired taste, always a bit too much for some people. It never mattered to you though, you were too busy living your own life. Grandma always said you marched to the beat of your own drum and you agreed.

Walking in silence you take a look around, Hell still had a crimson hue even at night though it was considerably darker. Looking up at the starless sky you glance at the Pentagram and notice what looks like a moon in the sky.

Upon closer examination, you notice the golden glowing object isn't quite round enough to be the moon. It's kinda shaped like a... a gate. It was a golden gate?

Husk's voice broke through your reverie. "Those are the pearly gates, kid," he remarked, his tone carrying a hint of solemnity.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Pearly gates? Like heaven... It was disturbingly ironic, to have the gates of paradise visible from the depths of damnation.

"How cruel," you whispered, the weight of the revelation settling heavily upon you.

Husk hummed in agreement, his expression unreadable.

You get lost in your thoughts momentarily and before you know it you're at The Oasis. It only took around fifteen minutes tonight, Husk had really slowed down for you the day he found you.

The last time you had been here you'd been dazed so you'd missed the fact that the place looked like an old western-style saloon on the outside.

Well, mostly the Neon sign flashing "The Oasis" with a shimmering palm tree kinda broke the vibe. But hey at least the swinging doors were accurate.

As you walk in a tall fish-like woman with green hair shoves past you carrying a guitar.

"f*ck you Vlad! Good luck running this sh*t without me!" She flips someone off and stomps her way down the sidewalk. That didn't bode well.

Husk seems unfazed though so you shrug it off.

As you stepped inside The Oasis, you were immediately struck by the eclectic mix of décor spanning various time periods.

Oil lamps adorned the tables, casting a warm glow throughout the bar while 80's style arcade games beeped from the corner. The overall aesthetic had a Western vibe, but it was as if they had added something new every year, resulting in a mishmash of styles.

The atmosphere was bustling and lively, with demons engaged in various activities. Some played poker at Vegas-style tables, while others gathered around the open bar, laughing and chatting animatedly.

Weaving through the crowd with Husk by your side, you find a seat at the long wooden bar. Above you, is a wagon wheel hung from the ceiling, adding to the rustic charm of the place.

You couldn't help but notice a commotion behind you, where a group of people seemed to be engaged in a heated argument on a small stage.

The noise and rowdiness of the establishment reminded you of the Tipsy Leprechaun, albeit with a distinctly hellish twist. Turning back around, you see Husk engaged in conversation with a large, imposing figure from behind the bar.

He was at least at nine feet tall, with horns protruding from his curly brown head longer than your arms, he exuded an aura of authority. This must be Billie. He wears an open red plaid shirt and denim jeans his toned and tanned muscles on full display.

As the Minotaur-like man glanced in your direction, you offered him a big smile, hoping to make a good impression in this new environment.

"Good evening, I'm Andi," you introduced yourself, extending your hand over the bar.

However, Billie simply looked at it uninterested, his attention seemingly placed behind you.

"Husk said you were interested in the waitressing job," Billie remarked, his voice low and deeply southern.

Wait, Husk did mention you? You couldn't help but feel a pang of gratitude towards the gruff bartender. He was such a softie.

"But we already filled the position," Billie continued, gesturing towards an insect-like woman with four arms who was effortlessly carrying more items at once than you could ever manage.

Your face fell slightly at the news. Well, there goes that idea.

Before you could voice your disappointment, another man brushed up behind you and took a seat between you and Husk.

He was shorter than Billie but still taller than you, with pale skin, red eyes and slicked-back black hair, and a pair of bat-like wings.

He wore a puffy white shirt and tight leather pants. He looked like some romantic fantasy villain.

You recognized him as one of the individuals who had been on stage just moments ago.

"Seems like Veronica's gone for good this time. The fishy bitch," the pale man muttered, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance along with some European accent you couldn’t place.

Billie slammed his fist on the bar in frustration. "Dammit, Vlad, cover nights bring in the most cash. You gotta stop fighting with all the vocalists, this is the third one this year." he scolded, the tension in the air palpable.

"But Billie, she was so damn annoying and had sh*t taste in music," Vlad counters.

They say opportunity only knocks once so you interrupt, "I can sing."

Husk spits out his drink, and the man called Vlad stares at you, "Who the f*ck are you?"

I'm Andi," you replied with a false confidence, meeting Vlad's gaze head-on.

"It looks like you could use a singer, and I'm currently looking for a job, so... Can I audition?"

Billie shrugs indifferently, while Vlad gave you an appraising look, considering your request.

"Okay, Dots," Vlad began, using a nickname that caught you off guard, "Who's your favorite singer?"

"David Bowie," you responded without hesitation.

Vlad nodded, seeming satisfied with your answer. "Decent choice," he remarked.

"Do you play any instruments?"

"I can play almost anything with a string," you replied, your confidence unwavering.

"But the piano and the guitar—acoustic or otherwise—are my strong suits."

"Good enough for a trial run, it's 80s night tonight and you best know Blondie. Because you're up in five, the first song is "Heart of Glass."

Husk whispers at you, “Kid, what the fu-“

“I’ve got this trust me.”

You wave Husk off and follow Vlad, a nervous excitement flooding your veins.

This spontaneous decision was one of the most exhilarating things you had ever done. The prospect of performing on stage again filled you with a sense of longing and anticipation—it felt like coming home.

Vlad introduced you to the rest of the band. Clara, a pretty demon with fluffy white hair, handled backup vocals and played bass.

She greeted you with a warm smile, her demeanor inviting and friendly. However, when you shook hands with Jester, a twitchy-looking young blonde man with solid black eyes who played drums, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered on your hand a moment too long, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

You still weren’t use to other demons yet, but the show must go on.

"Show me what you got, Dot," Vlad says with a wink and the band starts playing the tune to Heart of Glass and you just do what you do best and lose yourself in the music.

Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

If Husk had to name a word to describe what you sounded like right now it would be mesmerizing.

Your voice had an almost ethereal quality to it like it belonged to an angelic choir and not some kid he found bleeding out in an alley.

Yet there you were up on the stage like you owned the place. Most of the room had a similar reaction and conversations died down as you sang.

When he stumbled upon you that early morning, Husk had been tempted to just leave you there. After all, this was hell, and everyone needed to look out for themselves—it was the only way to survive down here. But the sight of your shaky form and blood-stained clothes tugged at something deep within him something he tried to bury.

Knowing that you were close to the "entertainment district," He thought that some shady ass pimp would snatch you up for hell knows what.

Plus, Charlie had been practically begging for new residents, and it wasn't much of an inconvenience for him to take you there. After all, he was forced to stay at the hotel most of the day. So, against his better judgment, he decided to bring you back with him, not realizing at the time that you were new to hell.

In the days that followed, Husk half-expected you to succumb to some form of depression or insanity, like so many new demons did. But you surprised him.

Instead of retreating into yourself, you emerged from your room with a fresh face and bright eyes, radiating with an optimism that seemed out of place in this dismal place.

It was a stark contrast to his own bleak memories of his first few weeks in hell nearly fifty years ago, which he remembered as pure sh*t. Considering everything, you seemed to have lucked out.

Of course, that freaking psychopath had locked onto you immediately. Alastor was a twisted cannibalistic monster that got his kicks out of f*cking with others.

Husk had the keen displeasure of seeing this kind of behavior before on several occasions. Alastor would get his entertainment, get bored, and usually leave them alone.

Sometimes, the unfortunate target of his torment would end up on one of Alastor's broadcasts. Husk shivered at the thought, the haunting screams echoing in his mind. Alastor usually reserved that treatment for people who really pissed him off or went against his f*cked-up moral code, and it was never a pleasant experience.

Husk highly doubted you'd do anything to warrant that fate, but unfortunately, there were fates far worse than death down here in hell. Because right now you were interesting, and anything interesting to Alastor was bad news.

Alastor had already shown a bit too much fixation on you, bothering you more than he normally would a victim.

But if he sensed potential, if he saw something he could exploit or manipulate, he wouldn't hesitate to make a deal with you. And he'd torment you until you conceded.

This thought sent a shiver down Husk's spine. Once Alastor had his claws in you, there was no escape. Husk knew this from personal experience.

Once I had a love and it was divine
Soon found out I was losing my mind
It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind
Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Husk felt a small sense of guilt creeping over him. He had saved you from the wolves prowling the streets, only to unwittingly lead you straight into the mouth of the lion. In his effort to protect you from the dangers of the outside world, he had inadvertently exposed you to an even greater threat.

Husk wasn't one to stick his neck out for others but he'd be damned if he let Alastor f*ck over another soul, especially one like yours that was so out of place here.

Chapter 8: Sweet Dreams

Chapter Text

You feel a change in yourself as you perform tonight. It was like there was this buzzing energy just beneath your skin, waiting to come out. As you sang, everything else faded away, and all that was left was the music. You've never felt quite like this before.

As you finished the song, it felt like time flew by too quickly. Your captive audience stares back and you hear a few claps and whistles.

Someone puts a hand on your shoulder, bringing you back to the present moment. You blinked, realizing you were being guided off the stage. It was like waking up from a dream.

Vlad sits down beside you with a toothy grin, “Holy sh*t Dots.”

“Did I pass my audition?” You won’t know peace until you actually hear him say it.

“Well, yes but on a trial basis,I gotta say, your vocals gave me literal chills, Dot," Vlad remarks. "You've got some serious pipes. My only issue is that you're dressed like sh*t but..." He reaches into his wallet and shoves five hundred dollars into your hands.

“This is an advance, show up Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at eight for practice before we’re on."

Two copper colored drinks slide across the counter from Billie and Vlad raises his glass to you.

“One fifty a night no benefits but you can have free drinks. Dress better and welcome to The Ungrateful Dead the best cover band in hell.”

“Hey I got a job, not the one intended but…”

He cuts you off, “That’s great kid, just great.” Husk grabs a few bottles of amber-colored liquid and begins to walk out. You quickly follow suit and take one of the bottles from him.

The night air has a bit of a chill, who knew Hell could be cold? You’re honestly pretty excited about tonight’s turn of events you had both money in your pocket and a job. Husk's mood was perplexing, and you two walked in silence.

"I know Alastor has been f*cking with you," Husk states abruptly.

His words catch you off guard, and thinking about Alastor dampens your high. "He has been, yes," you admit reluctantly, your hands clench around the bottle instinctively.

No use in denying it, but you're surprised Husk noticed, considering no one else had.

"Look, kid, he's a twisted bastard that gets off on that kind of thing. He's constantly looking for sources of entertainment, and right now, you're it, at least until he loses interest."

Husk's explanation tracks with what you've experienced so far, Alastor viewed you as a plaything....

“What you did tonight was very interesting, and you can do whatever the hell you want. But if Alastor gets a whiff of this, he'll keep hounding you. He might even try to force you into a deal."

A deal? But that's what overlords do, realization hits.

"Alastor is an overlord?" The words feel heavy on your tongue.

Husk whips around to face you. "For f*ck's sake, kid, no one told you that?"

The look you give him must be answer enough. He mumbles something about a naïve princess.

"Al is The Radio Demon. He's one of the most renowned overlords in Pentagram City."

You feel a bit woozy at the revelation. You'd been fighting with a powerful demon. Your heart races, and you try to stay calm.

"Why is someone like him at the Hotel?"

Husk sighs. "Who f*cking knows? Whatever his reason it’s nothing good I can tell you that much. Just try to keep your head down and let him get bored.”

He lets out another deep sigh and the two of you continue your journey home. You clench the bottle just a little too tightly to your chest.

Husk's warning about Alastor lingers in your mind, casting a shadow over your newfound sense of accomplishment. The realization that you've caught the attention of such a powerful and unpredictable figure is unsettling.

The hotel looms in the distance and you try to quiet your discomfort. The lights in the lobby appear to be dim, Angel was probably in the studio still and Charlie and Vaggie went to bed early like an elderly couple.

Husk creaks the door wide open, and you follow him inside. Soft jazz music wafts through the dimly lit room.

"Out for an evening stroll?" a voice suddenly interrupts.

Your grip on the bottle loosens, nearly causing it to slip from your grasp.

A chilling chuckle fills the air, and you slowly turn to see Alastor lounging in a plush red chair, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. He's sipping something dark out of a mug, his presence sending goosebumps racing across your skin. His legs are crossed casually and he has a lazy grin.

"Kid wanted to help me carry sh*t," Husk mumbles as he heads behind the bar. You stick close behind, helping him set the bottle on the shelf.

"Such a helpful dear," Alastor remarks, his voice carrying a hint of amusem*nt. With your back turned you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched, that every move you make is being scrutinized by those piercing red eyes.

"Y-yeah, just lending a hand," you manage to stammer out, your voice wavering slightly as you leave from behind the bar. This wasn't like you, you were acting suspicious, and you needed to calm down.

Alastor's grin widens, his eyes glinting with an unsettling gleam. "How delightful."

You nod, unable to break free from his piercing gaze. Every fiber of your being urges you to flee, but you force yourself to stay put and meet his gaze if only for a moment.

"Anyway, I have a long day tomorrow, goodnight." You send a small wave to Husk who just grunts and you have to will yourself not to run to your room.

A voice calls after you, "Sweet dreams, cher."

Once you're in your room, a sense of relief washes over you. You swiftly prepare for bed, tucking yourself snugly under the safety of your thick blankets.

As you lie there, you reassure yourself that everything is okay, and you are safe. Finally, you close your eyes and let the world slip away as you drift off to sleep.

As you open your eyes, a blue sky greets you, peeking out from behind the pine trees. The warm sun gently tickles your face, and the air feels fresh and clean. Standing up, you take in your surroundings. It's home, your childhood home.

These are the familiar woods close to your grandmother's house, the very woods where you spent countless hours playing during your youth. Everything appears vivid and crisp, but an inexplicable realization washes over you: you are dreaming.

Did it matter though? As you stand up you realize that you are no longer wearing your PJs but a dress a light purple one that you'd bought when you headed off to college. It was long gone now but it felt so real the texture soft and familiar against your skin.

While looking at your dress you realize that your skin is no longer gray but back to its normal peachy hue. The hair across your shoulder is red and vibrant again. Home is just down the trail and across the river. You find yourself running, the crunch of leaves across the forest floor sound below.

The sky slowly darkens taking on a gray hue as a stray fog rolls in, and the leaves beneath your feet start to squelch. When you look down you see your white sneakers covered in wet sticky mud and you stop.

The scene before you looks familiar but changed, the pine trees now have cyprus trees among them. Strange grumbling sounds fill the air. The air is chilly now and when you look up you can no longer see the sun.

A branch cracks behind you, and warning bells go off in your mind. You turn your head and in the distance you see something move in the Cyprus grove. A tall shadowy figure, it's almost like... like... the monster from that night... the night you died...

Without a moment's hesitation, you bolt forward, your feet propelling you forward over the slick, muddy ground. Thorny branches scratch and tear at your skin, but you pay them no mind, driven by sheer terror and adrenaline. The sounds of pursuit echo ominously behind you, and tears blur your vision as you flee.

This can't be happening—it's all wrong. This is home, yet everything feels twisted and distorted.

It's getting closer you can tell, a prickling sensation covers your skin. You spy the familiar bend that leads to the bridge over the river.

You take a shortcut through the woods it was faster than the trail, and whatever is chasing you is large and you try to tangle it up in the thick underbrush as you weave through with ease.

This was your home, your woods you have the advantage here. You break through the clearing and run towards the bridge, the distance between you and it seems to have grown farther.

Climbing up a gravelly hill, you slip and skin your knee, the red clay of the ground coating your legs. Despite the pain, you push through, driven by desperation and fear. It's just the bridge, then you'll be nearly home—you can do this, even as your breath grows ragged with exertion.

Finally, you reach the spot where the bridge should be, but to your horror, it's gone. The wood has rotted away, leaving behind nothing but a treacherous gap spanning the chasm below.

Glancing back, you see the shadowy monster at the bottom of the hill. Its form is indescribable, a grotesque being of pure darkness with horns that jut up like spikes, a neck too long and crooked, and shadowy teeth protruding from its gaping maw.

Despite the terror it invokes, you sense that this creature is different from what you encountered the night you died.

A deep, bellowing laugh emanates from the creature, echoing through the silent forest. It mocks you as it slowly ascends the hill, its laughter growing louder with each step.

With the bridge gone and the river roaring below, you realize you're trapped. The creature is nearly upon you, its cackling taunting you mercilessly.

Yet, amidst the fear and despair, a surge of defiance courses through you. Who is this thing to mock you in your own dream, your own memory of home?

Summoning all your courage, you turn and do something you were always too afraid to do in life—you jump. The air whips around you as you plummet into the rapids below, embracing the uncertainty of the unknown. You let the river take you.

It covers you with its protective embrace pulling you further away from danger and you let it. You kick above the surface and fresh air fills your lungs as you take a gasping breath.

It's as if the river itself is on your side, guiding you effortlessly towards the rocky shore on the other side.

As pull yourself up on solid ground once more, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, casting a warm glow upon your surroundings. You smooth your dress down, feeling it cling to your skin as remnants of the river's embrace linger.

As you turn around, you glimpse the creature across the river. Its shadowy form stands there, its head tilted slightly as it watches you with an unmistakable curiosity in its eyes.

Without hesitation, you straighten your back and meet its gaze head-on, refusing to cower in fear. With one last act of rebellion, you boldly raise your hand and flip it the bird.

Its eyes widen with mirth, and its form starts shaking, followed by a deeper, howling cackle that echoes through the forest. The sound reverberates in the air as you turn and sprint towards your house, heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

Each stride propels you forward, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the echoes of the creature's laughter behind you. The faded blue paint of your childhood home comes into view.

Just as you reach the threshold of your house, a surge of adrenaline courses through you, jolting you awake from the vivid dream. Gasping for breath, you find yourself back in hell.

Chapter 9: Newsletter

Chapter Text

It's unfortunate but ironic that the first dream you have since arriving in hell is a nightmare. Such a vivid one too, you can almost feel the chill in the air. You don't feel well rested and your heart rate is still coming down.

Tossing in bed you feel something sticking you in the back. Reaching underneath yourself you find a feather lying across your bed.

You hold it up to the dim morning light it's jet-black and rather iridescent with hints of blue and purple. It's rather long too, where did this thing come from a pillow or something? It doesn't seem like a down feather more like something a raven or crow would have.

It's not particularly important so you hop out of bed and place it on your desk. Maybe you could use it as a bookmark or something. Speaking of books there was a library in this hotel somewhere and you'd like to find it. Perhaps there'd be something enjoyable or familiar to read. Without a TV, gaming console, or headphones you'd not had too much entertainment as of late.

Now that you have some money maybe you could get a pair of headphones and listen to music with your phone. The speakers were a little messed up so the sound didn't come out well.

Pulling out said phone you flip through your apps and open Fire Vox. Your conversation with Husk last night comes to the forefront of your mind.

The Radio Demon huh, you decide to type that into the search engine. Not a lot comes up, in fact, there is not a single image available of him. Which strikes you as rather odd considering his apparent notoriety.

The top search is the website alastorsucks.com, he does in fact suck so you click the link.

The page loads in with a pop of confetti and cheer. You look through the tabs of the site, and this definitely took dedication.

Welcome to AlastorSucks

Are you tired of Alastor's outdated antics? Fed up with his cheesy radio broadcasts. You're not alone! Welcome to the ultimate hub for all things anti-Alastor.

About Us

We're the voices of dissent against the Radio Demon's pathetic existence. Whether you're a die-hard hater or just looking to vent your frustrations, you've found your community here.

Our Mission

To expose Alastor for the has-been he truly is. From dissecting his laughable strategies to sharing memes that roast him to a crisp.

Join the Movement

Ready to tune out Alastor's static once and for all? Sign up for our newsletter to receive exclusive updates on our latest anti-Alastor endeavors. Together, we can change the channel on this outdated demon!

You sign up for the newsletter.

Wow, this was... A lot... who the hell did Alastor piss off this badly? Flipping through you still don't find an image but on the welcome page is a stick figure depiction with some interesting commentary.

Well, this was all insightful but not entirely helpful so you click out of this site.

Scrolling through the results you find a blurry video its dated back eight years ago,You click on it, cranking up the volume on your phone in anticipation.

The footage is shaky, shot by an unseen individual who holds the phone aloft, focused on an old-fashioned cathedral radio resting on a weathered nightstand.

Static crackles through the feed, accompanied by the eerie strains of a jazzy tune emanating from the radio's speakers.

As you strain to catch the faint dialogue, the person behind the camera murmurs something about a broadcast before a blood-curdling scream tears through the audio. The sudden, chilling sound sends a shiver down your spine, nearly causing you to drop your phone in shock.

A crackling voice cuts through the screams it's definitely Alastors, "Ah, welcome to t̷̝̬͈͎̾̇͌̾̾h̷̺̤͙̮̗̊͌ě̵͔̂̔ ̴͎͎̺̻̊̄̓̓͗s̵̨̢͑͛̿h̶̛̫̃̈́̇͝o̵͉̳͙̎̄̕w̶̩̰̔͂͠! Joining us today is a l̷̢͙̖̒̿o̴̖̭͝w̵͓̾̊l̵̛͕͐y̶̝͔̽̈́ ̵̱̣̓̾c̸̼̪͕̄̌̽r̶̦̭̅͛e̷̢͔͐̊̀t̶͍̍̂͊i̷̢̼̼͗̈ǹ̵̨̙̼ who dared to cross me."

An inhuman screech and scream cut through the broadcast. "Want to tell our viewers why you're joining us today hmmmm?"

A sound like nails on a chalkboard amplified a hundredfold, slices through the broadcast, causing your ears to ring in discomfort.

Your heart lurches as the unsettling sound is followed by a sickening wet crunch, echoing through the audio with bone-chilling clarity.

Then, a trembling male voice stammers out, barely audible over the cacophony of chaos. "I-I, stole f-from you... I'm s-"

Before the sentence can be completed, another agonizing scream pierces the airwaves, drowning out the speaker's words. Your hand shakes involuntarily, fingers trembling as they clutch onto your device, the screen casting an eerie glow in the dimly lit room.

"That's all for tonight, Dear listeners! U̵͠ͅn̴̗͂t̵͙͆ȉ̸͙l̵̝͝ ̴̝̈n̴̹͝ę̵̇x̷͔̏t̸̫͆ ̵̻͂t̸̯̃i̷͉͋m̷̫̍e̵̗͐!̴͖͠"

You navigate out of that video and delete your search history, plopping back onto your bed you roll face down into your pillow and muffle a frustrated scream.

Husk's advice rings through your mind, keep your head down and let him get bored.

You could do that, I mean you already tried not to react to his antics. If you just kept that up he'd probably move on soon.

Getting ready for the day went by in a blur, and you made a mental note that you needed to go shopping before practice tomorrow night.

Vlad had not so subtly hinted that you needed to step up fashion-wise so you could fit in with the rest of the band's aesthetics.

Today was a day that Alastor cooked and you contemplated going down but decided against it and sought out Nifty instead.

Come to think of it you never see her at meals really so you wondered if she even needed to eat or what she ate... never mind you didn't want to know that much. You find Nifty under the largest couch in the lobby she seems to be checking for bugs.

Husk is reading the paper behind the bar and Angel is draped across one of the other couches scrolling on his phone. You bid everyone around a good morning before you lay out on your stomach and converse with Nifty.

"No pesky vermin detected Andi! Hehehehe." You tug the smaller girl out from under the couch and she scurries across towards the dining area.

"We should polish the silverware today, it's looking rather dingy," she suggests, disappearing into the kitchen momentarily before reemerging with the entire drawer of silverware in hand. She’s surprisingly strong for her size.

She teaches you how to polish silverware and you both settle in at the dining room table and begin the task at hand.

Music plays from the kitchen, Alastor must be in there then. No sooner than you think that does he open the door.

The music follows him the Radio Demon moniker makes sense you suppose. You watch as he scans the lobby when his gaze meets yours his psychotic grin stretches.

Why was he like this? Did he really have nothing better to do.

He practically glides over to you, his presence exuding an unsettling charm that sends a shiver across your body.

"Cher! You missed breakfast, I was starting to worry!" he purrs, his voice dripping with honeyed concern.

Feeling too drained to deal with his insistent attention, you turn away, hoping to dismiss him with the polite excuse of working. But before you can escape his gaze, his hand darts out, grasping the bottom of your face and tilting it back towards him with a firm grip.

The touch of his fingers against your skin is surprisingly smooth, yet beneath the surface lies a subtle threat, the tips of his clawed nails digging in slightly, a warning of his true nature lurking beneath the façade of civility. A monster pretending to be a gentleman.

"You look tired, bad dreams?" he asks casually, his cold red eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. A sense of unease grips you as the realization dawns. How could he possibly know about your nightmares?

With a sinking feeling, you connect the dots, and he watches your expression with rapt attention. He was the creature from your dreams, of course, it was him haunting you even while sleeping. He strokes his thumb across your cheek idly.

With one quick movement, you muster the strength to tug your face out of his grasp, a defiant glare in your eyes.

"It's nothing I can't handle.”

"Such a determined little thing! I do admire your moxie," he remarks, his tone almost playful. He was enjoying this, ugh this is the opposite of what you needed to do.

"Oh," He says like he forgot something important. "I saved you some breakfast, cher," with a snap of his fingers a plate appears before you with two strips of bacon, an egg, and a helping of hash browns.

The consideration of saving you a plate breakfast takes you by surprise.

"It might be a bit cold..."

When you reach down to grab the strip of bacon it's not only cold but frozen solid.

You let loose a small strained laugh this mother fu-

A loud crash interrupts you as a literal hole is blown in the wall next to the bar.

Something like a cannonball flies by and lodges itself into the wall above you before falling down towards Nifty.

In a flash, you tackle her and roll out of the objects path by the smallest of margins. It crushes the table into splinters and the silverware flies everywhere cleaning loudly as on the floor.

"Not again!" Angel's voice carries a note of exasperation as he makes his way over to assess the damage, a mixture of annoyance and resignation etched on his face.

When you glance down at Nifty, you find her wide-eyed with shock, her gratitude evident in her gaze.

"My hero!" she exclaims, planting a wet kiss on your cheek and squeezing herself tightly against your neck in a gesture of appreciation.

As the chaos unfolds around you, you can't help but feel a sense of incredulity at the absurdity of the situation. Charlie and Vaggie have arrived in the lobby, the latter wielding a large spear with practiced ease, ready to defend against whatever threat may come their way.

Alastor strides over to you, effortlessly lifting you up by the back of your sweater and hauling you to your feet. With a quick once-over, Alastor assesses both you and Nifty before setting his sights on the source of the commotion.

"ALASTOR SHOW YOURSELF!" Booms a voice loudly.

Following everyone else you set Nifty down and head outside where you're met with an odd sight.

Some sort of weird steampunk zeppelin with a cannon on the front. Is hovering right in front of the hotel. You'd be scared if it wasn't all so surprising.

A snake-like man with a top hat looms from an open window inside, "FACE MY WRATH!"

Alastor co*cks his head at an unnatural ninety-degree angle, "Who are you, again?"

The snake-man simply gasps, "DON"T PLAY COY I"M YOUR MORTAL ENEMY SIR PENTIOUS!" he speaks the next part more normally, "We've done battle like twenty times."

Alastor just shrugs, his demeanor surprisingly casual given the chaos unfolding around him.

"Doesn't ring a bell! But you did interrupt my pleasant morning..."

Suddenly, his expression sharpens, and shadowy tendrils shoot out from around him, wrapping around the flying machine.

With a swift motion, he starts shaking it violently, causing giant eggs and machinery pieces to rain down in a wild frenzy.

Laughter, both hysterical and chilling, fills the air as Alastor revels in the chaos he's created. You can't help but feel a mix of awe and horror at his display of power, watching in stunned silence as he effortlessly tears apart the contraption.

Meanwhile, Vaggie lets out an exasperated sigh, already sizing up the damage to the hotel with a resigned air.

In the midst of the madness, the snake-like figure falls out of the wreckage and lands with a thud in front of you. You instinctively recoil as he reaches out with a menacing hiss.

But before he can make contact, a shadowy tendril grabs him, dragging him away with ruthless efficiency.

Alastor steps forward with pure malice dancing in his eyes, "What do you think you're doing?"

Quick as a flash, Vaggie steps in front of you, while Husk guides you hastily indoors. Glancing back, you catch sight of Alastor flinging the snake-like figure across the city with a casual flick of his wrist.

Inside everyone regroups, Alastor summons a group of shadowy workers to fix the wall while he heads off to the tailors as his jacket was apparently damaged slightly in the attack.

You supposed normal days don't exist in hell, and while Alastor is out and about you decide to ask Angel about where to find decent clothing.

Chapter 10: Fantastic Color!

Chapter Text

As you walk through the literal hole in the wall you try to build the courage to talk to Angel. You typically took rejection on the chin and let it roll off of you.

You had been rejected from tons of roles you auditioned for, and all it did was drive you to try again. Practice more, study harder, and shoot even higher the next time.

It didn't even bother you if some random person didn't like you.

What was difficult for you was when someone you wanted to like you didn't.

If it was someone whose approval you crave, the sting of that kind of rejection cuts deeper than any failed audition ever could.

You wanted to be Angel's friend, maybe it was because you'd spent over half a decade in the same neighborhood he’d once lived in.

Or maybe it was that co*cky attitude that reminded you so much of Jade.

It'd only been a little over a week since you arrived in hell and you were craving that familiar companionship that only a friend could bring.

The individuals you were closest to were probably Husk or Nifty, though neither of them seemed like the type you could have idle chatter with.

So you steel yourself and approach Angel, he seems to be flirting with one of Alastor's shadow people.

The one he was talking to was rather muscular and seemed to be reciprocating the flirting to some degree as his cheeks darkened with a gray flush.

There was something kind of uncanny about them. Like they were approximations of people but not actually people they were unsettling to say the least.

Alastor was honestly terrifying, and you were making a mental list of each new ability he demonstrated. Know your enemy and whatnot.

"Hey, Angel!" you put on a casual and chipper tone.

He drags his eyes from the muscular shadow man over toward you he looks kind of tired, if the bags under his eyes were any indication.

"What?" he responds, his voice carrying a hint of that exhaustion.

Smooth like butter, Andi, you think to yourself, trying to maintain your composure.

"I was wondering if you knew any decent places to shop for clothes?" you ask, hoping to strike up a conversation.

He gives you a once-over, his gaze assessing.

"Why?" he queries, his tone guarded.

Surprised by his response, you hesitate for a moment before answering, "Uh, I-I need to get some shopping done."

"You got money?"

You nod, feeling a bit put on the spot. "A little, I can spend maybe four hundredish. I got the job at the Oasis, and I really need to spruce up my wardrobe before my first shift tomorrow night," you explain, deciding to keep certain details to yourself.

It's better to play it safe and not reveal too much about your circ*mstances. Let him think you are waitressing.

"That's enough to get you started, nothing designer though, so you'll need to go to the artisan shopping district."

He pauses checking his nails, "I could use some new fishnet stockings, buy'em and I'll take you there it's a good thirty-minute walk from here and you gotta pass through Carmine territory."

"Deal," this was going better than expected he was even going to take you there.

"Let's get a move on then, I got sh*t to do tonight." He saunters off down the hill away from the hotel without a singular glance back and you struggle a bit to keep up with his long strides.

As you and Angel make your way down the bustling streets, the lewd catcalls and whistles from demons around you are impossible to ignore.

A grotesque wolf demon practically drools from his terrace at the sight of Angel, but he keeps his eyes forward, ignoring them completely.

Following his lead, you adopt a similar poise and shoot the hecklers a defiant glare, though you know deep down there's little you could do to confront them.

Sometimes, amidst the chaotic bubble of the Hazbin, it's easy to forget the harsh reality of being in hell.

A purple-horned demon missing a bloody arm stumbling out of an alley nearby serves as a stark reminder. Gunshots ring out repeatedly in the distance.

The depravity of this place is undeniable, with litter lining the streets and unholy spells lingering in the air, threatening to overwhelm your senses.

The scene before you brings to mind memories of the Grand Theft Auto video games, a comparison that doesn't sit well with you.

Everyone here seems to be more raw and violent, though Alastor at least puts on a mask of manners.

Angel doesn't need to tell you when you've entered the Carmine territory; you can immediately feel the difference in the atmosphere.

The streets are cleaner, the architecture more modern and minimalistic, and the people are more business-oriented. It’s also quieter over here though that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily safer.

A group of mobster-looking shark men exits one of the stores, openly carrying various guns. Your heart races at the sight, but before you can react, Angel grips your wrist and yanks you faster.

"Yer fine, just keep walking, okay?" he says urgently, his voice low and urgent as he urges you to move forward, away from the dangerous presence of the armed demons.

He practically drags you into the next district which appears to be the shopping district. Vendors line the street selling various items and colorful storefronts catch your eyes.

"Alright, I have some business to take care of so you are on your own toots. The clothes stores are in the blue building. Get my tights sized extra tall."

Before you can even process what's being said he's gone. A small feeling of nausea fills your stomach, this is your first time outside of the hotel on your own since Husk found you, and you can’t help but feel anxious.

Giving both your cheeks a gentle slap you pull yourself together. You see a slight movement from your left side but when you turn to look nothings there. Probably just your nerves.

You were a fully grown woman, you couldn't rely on other people for everything. You had to stand on your own two feet.

Heading into the first store, you straighten your back and try to exude a casual air.

The whimsigoth theme immediately captures your attention, with celestial decorations and burning candles interspersed among the clothing displays. It smells like cardamom and smoke in here it’s rather unique.

A cheerful lady, who resembles a snowy owl, greets you from behind the counter.

"Welcome to Celestia's Adornments, I'm Celestia. Let me know if I can help you," she chirps, her nose buried in an old-looking book.

You nod politely as you browse around the store, drawn to several dresses made of crushed velvet. A dusty pink one and a deep blue one catch your eye, and when you check the price tags, you're pleasantly surprised.

Only fifteen dollars each? You do a double take, amazed at the affordability. Hell has a better cost of living than New York City. That's ironic...

With a newfound sense of glee, you load your arms full of skirts, blouses, dresses, and other items, reveling in the fact that things are finally going your way, despite the chaotic morning you've had.

After trying everything on you find you like the pink velvet dress best. It fits you like a glove. You end up walking out with four bags over flowing with clothes. It’s quite the haul honestly.

You feel like you're being watched again but when you turn around you don't find anyone else in the store. Maybe hell is making you paranoid.

Well, whatever you think.

You were excited because that dress accented your body and hair color well, you couldn't wait to wear it, especially with the fringe denim jacket you bought.

This style of clothing was nothing you'd ever wore in life, just the kind of stuff you'd of saved on a Pinterest board.

But you were dead now might as well wear what you actually wanted to wear.

The owner even gave you a discount and a business card, leaving you feeling grateful for the unexpected kindness. You’d definitely try to come back.

Your next stop is Damned Desires, an obvious rip-off of Victoria's Secret. The store is divided into three sections: vanilla, spicy, and depraved.

Opting for the vanilla section, you pick up some necessities and a pair of fishnet stockings for Angel, hoping he'll like the pair you picked.

Feeling satisfied with your purchases, you look around for a shoe store. You’d been shopping for a couple of hours now and were worn out from your Alastor induced nightmare and just existing.

With hands full you see the familiar figure of Angel standing next to a vending machine he's wiping something at his nose, and you notice the wording on the machine.

It simply says DRUGS! In big glittery pink font. It takes you a second to realize what's going on.

Angel was snorting drugs, you feel like this is something you're not supposed to be seeing right now so you turn to walk away.

"Gonna snitch on me to Charlie?"

Of course, he caught you, you weren't exactly quiet with your bags full of things clanking around.

You shake your head... this truly wasn't your business. Angel from everything you had seen so far was, going through a hell of a lot.

"What you do is your business, Angel. I'm not here to judge... I-I just wanted to give you this," you pull out the scarlet-colored package of hosiery and hand it to him. He squeezes it tightly in his grip.

He looks dazed and confused, he just laughs as he runs his hand through his fluffy hair tugging on the ends. His movements are unsteady and erratic.

"What the f*ck is wrong with you, what do you want from me?" His voice raises, taking on a sharp edge.

Your face falls and you feel stricken, "Nothing?"

"Don't bullsh*t me! Everybody wants something from me! I’m f*cking Angel Dust!"

He's yelling at you now and you feel hot tears welling up in your eyes. Nope, you were not gonna cry, you hated when people yelled at you.

He was out of it right now this wasn’t necessarily about you. But that didn’t mean you deserved this so you turn to leave but he grabs your shoulder and spins you around and you practically growl.

"I don't care who you are! I-I just thought we could be friends or something!"

"Friends... hahahahaha.... what kind of naïve sh*t is that. There’s no such thing as friendship down here. There’s only people you can have fun with and those you hate.” He’s spiraling and a bit unsteady on his feet.

“Let’s get you home….” You say trying help hold him up.

”You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He mumbles as you steady him. With your arms full of bags it’s going to be a difficult trip home.

As you turn the corner your met with an unfortunately familiar red suit.

“My, my our two lovely patrons out and about. How fortunate that we’ve bumped into each other! I was just heading back from the tailors.” He gestures towards a nearby building adjoining where you had been shopping earlier.

You don’t have time to deal with him, Angel needs to get back.

“Great! Glad we bumped into you Alastor! Could you be a dear and carry my bags?”

You plaster on your sweetest smile and don’t wait for his answer instead you shove your stuff in his hands. If he wanted to be nosey he could be useful.

“Thank you so much!” You practically gush to Alastor as you maneuver around Angels side attempting to shoulder some of his weight.

“I don’t need yer help or ya pity. I-“

“Just shut up.” You clip cutting him off entirely, “I’m helping you and if you want to struggle I’ll drag you.” You absolutely mean every word of it.

At this point you were hungry, tired, and wanted to go home. In good conscience you couldn’t leave Angel here alone in his condition so he was coming with you wherever he liked it or not.

Having Alastor now in tow was simply the sugar on the cream of this crap day.

Angel does shut up, aside from the occasional mumbling about how you’re not his mother.

A snazzy tune emits from Alastor while the three of you walk home and thankfully Alastor has scary dog privileges because demons actively avoid the three of you now. People literally walk into oncoming traffic to get to the other side of the road and away from him.

When you glance backwards to check to see if Alastor threw away your stuff you find him actively looking through your bags without remorse.

He holds your new lacey black bra out with one clawed finger, “Fantastic color choice cher!”

Alastor’s eyes widened with absolute delight,”Not yet but I’ll find them.”

Sure enough he digs around until he’s able to display them to the general public as well along with several other of your purchases.

He talks incessantly and you just let him prattle only adding in when required to. Did he just like to hear the sound of his own voice ?

The Hotel has finally come into view and you’re almost there.

“Cher, pray tell how did you get the funding for this little impromptu shopping spree?”

You can’t see him but you feel his gaze from behind you. He’d been asking about all your purchases so he could corner you with this one question.

You feel a pang of gratitude towards Angel and thankfully you’re in the lobby before the conversation can continue.

Seems like the hole got patched. Vaggie notices the three of you and zeros in on Angels state of being immediately.

“What did get yourself into this t-”

“He’s just feeling sick, something we ate while we were out I think. I’ll get him to his room.”

Vaggie blinks then nods accepting your answer, “Let me know if you guys need anything.”

Before leaving you reclaim your bags from Alastor.

He’s wearing his usual chipper unreadable mask and you give him one last, required “Thank you” before you finish helping Angel to his room.

You don’t have anything to say to him so you leave him at his door,

As you start to leave, he catches you off guard again with a quick, “I’m sorry,” before closing his door.

Maybe there’s hope for you two yet.

Chapter 11: Practice Makes Perfect

Chapter Text

No nightmares haunted you last night and for that your thankful.

Yesterday had been a hard day and you hoped today would be better. Hope was the only constant in your life right now. It’s what kept you going down here.

Tonight was your first practice and official performance and you needed to really make a good impression on the rest of the band.

While it was true making it to heaven was your goal you’d need to participate in capitalism until then. Luckily the gig you landed coincided with your interests.

You just needed to avoid the eldritch horror that was Alastor and slip in and out without him knowing. The map Charlie gave you showed several alternative exits.

From what you’d gathered so far was that Alastor lived on the fourth floor in the penthouse suite. He had an office on the second, and spent a lot of time in the kitchen.

He had every advantage over you, he knew hell, and had power and influence.

But you at least knew his intentions now you knew it was all a game to him. Though you weren’t exactly sure how to play.

If what Husk said was true you simply needed to endure and loose your entertainment value.

After yesterday you knew better than to skip breakfast so you right yourself and head down stairs.

You hear noises almost animalistic coming from Angels room so you speed up as to not bump into him.

After yesterday you felt like you needed to give him plenty of space.

The maroon light of early morning drifts in rather calmly. It’s almost beautiful you muse.

The rich aroma of whatever Alastor is cooking wafts throughout the lobby. It’s kind of unfair that someone as dastardly as he was had so many talents.

You sit down in your usual spot at the dining room table while Husk reads his paper beside you.

He slides over the crossword section for you, as you’d mentioned it to him in passing earlier in the week.

Husk was always surprisingly thoughtful. You hop over to the bar and grab a pen then start reading through the first clue.

Charlie and Vaggie come in and the former seems a bit lost in thought.

Charlie was such a genuinely good person, how had she ended up in hell or was she a hell born? Your pamphlet didn’t cover much on that particular topic.

Angel lumbers down the stairs looking considerably more put together today. He’s fully dressed and the bags are gone from underneath his eyes.

As he’s heading for the table Alastor exits the kitchen with some kind of breakfast quiche. He sets it down before moving towards his usual spot beside you.

When he pulls out the chair though Angel slips into it with a, “Thanks, Freaky Face.”

A slight buzz of static and you see Alastor’s grin tighten but he moves to sit beside Vaggie in Angels old seat.

Angel shoots you a wink and you realize he’s keeping Alastor away from you. But why though?

He’s an odd one for sure you’d of assumed after yesterday Angel would have totally avoided you.

But here he was acting as a buffer against Alastor.

Was it because you covered for him yesterday?

You feel your lips pulling up into one of your goofy grins and Angel rolls his eyes.

He definitely didn’t hate you and that was a start.

It felt as though some silent agreement had settled between the two of you and you’d have each others backs.

Alastor seems completely un phased by the turn of events and he’s talking to Charlie about something rather animatedly. That’s good maybe he was already growing tired of you.

Angel and you strike up a conversation about Bushwick and the trouble he got into back when he was alive in the 1940’s. His stories are so over the top you nearly shoot coffee out your nose.

“Toots, your a transplant right? Cuz you don’t seem like a native New Yorker.” He rolls his shoulders, “No offense.”

You nod finishing up your quiche, and sipping your coffee.

“None taken, I only lived there for six years. Moved there for school and stayed for the city.” You really had loved your life there.

“Where’d ya grow up? Wait… wait don’t tell me gotta be somewhere dull like Kansas or Ohio or something…”

You shake your head, “Not even close.”

He names off a few other midwestern states and you just laugh.

“Fine, I give,” he says twirling his fork.

“Born and raised right outside of Nashville, Tennessee.” His eyes bulge and he laughs.

“Oh sh*t! Are ya some kind of hillbilly or something?” You flush and shove his arm off the table next to you.

Before you can retort, a voice interrupts, “Ah cher, I should have known you were a sweet southern belle.” So he was paying attention to you still.

Alastor leans across the table, his presence unsettling as he closes the distance between the two of you.

“Nashville! What a swell town overflowing with music and merriment. It’s so much like my own dear New Orleans!” There's a hint of nostalgia in his voice, and for once, he seems a touch less menacing than usual.

New Orleans makes sense for him, you think, given his French. “I went to New Orleans once,” you reply, choosing not to mention your father's band playing. “I was attending a concert at the French Quarter.”

His crimson eyes light up, and a jazzy tune starts playing in the background. “A woman of taste, as it was no doubt. Jazz music, right cher?”

“It was a blues concert, actually,” you correct him gently. He looks pensive for a moment before the song he plays changes to a blues tune.

“Hmm, still a fantastic choice. Did you know that Blues is often considered the mother of Jazz?” His smile looks different more real.

You’d never thought of it that way and you two talk a bit about the genre's similarities.

Angel cuts you off bluntly and when you glance over he’s giving the you a "WTF are you doing?" look. Husk wears a similar one as well.

What were you doing? Alastor could be a charming conversationalist and he’d genuinely sucked you in.

A memory of the screams that you'd heard in that video recording plays in your head rent-free.

He was a monster, you remind yourself sternly. You couldn't afford to lose sight of that, even for a moment.

With that realization weighing heavily on your mind, you make a conscious effort to ignore Alastor for the rest of the morning, despite his persistent efforts to rope you back into conversation. He dismisses himself from the table soon after you feel his eyes lingering on you as he leaves.

Finishing up breakfast you spend the rest of the day helping Nifty dust the curtains and then you relax in your room.

As day gives way to night you ready yourself for tonight. You wear the dusty pink dress with a pair of semi-opaque black tights and your boots.

You still needed more shoes... you missed the opportunity with all of yesterday's happenings.

Say "la vie." Well sorta...

With the slight chill, the evenings here seem to have, you decide to throw on your denim fringe jacket and leave your hair down and parted to the side. You looked good... like really good.

You wished you had some makeup to complete the look but it'd be ok your lashes were white now and really stood out against your gray skin. Now for operation Quiet as a Mouse.

You'd simply walk down the hallway to the observatory, it had an exit that led to the gardens in the back. You give yourself one last look and grab a bit of your cash stuffing it into your pocket just in case you need to buy something and shut your door as softly as possible.

Shuffling down the haul you gently open the door to the observatory, you'd been there already while cleaning and scoped out the layout.

The room had black and white marble floors and a high stained glass ceiling with a huge telescope in the center.

There weren't any stars in hell so you didn't know what the telescope was even used for maybe you could ask Charlie.

Tiptoeing you make your way outside to the terrace and take the spiral staircase down and shuffle through the garden path.

The air was nippy you were glad you wore your jacket.

The old iron gate of the garden creaks in an almost exaggerated way as you exit and you wince.

You pause and listen for just a moment and when you don't hear anyone coming take off down the road and towards your destination.

It felt kind of exhilarating honestly. You were heading out for the very first time all by yourself. You needed to be smart, the areas you were heading to were a lot safer than most but it was still hell.

The trek to the bar probably only took ten minutes flat, and you shove the swinging doors wide open and straighten your posture as you head in.

It was busy again tonight, and you spy Billie behind the bar but the stage is empty.

When you pull up to the bar Billie simply points to a curtained door behind the stage and you give him a nod and thanks.

You can hear voices and when you pull back the curtain you find the rest of the band sitting around talking backstage. The room is surprisingly large with a wide assortment of instruments and books strewn here and there.

In the center of the room are some leather couches one of which Vlad is plopped on reading through some sheet music.

"Wow, someone cleans up nice!" He croons, he even stands up and circles you. It feels like you’re getting sized up by a shark or something.

He’s wearing a loose black top with a deep v neck and very tight burgundy pants. He was an attractive man but his personality was off putting.

"Yep, you'll do nicely Dot! Alright, tonight's theme is the 1990's and we are currently looking through the requests from last week." Clara waves some pieces of paper and you go take a seat next to her.

"We are going to pick our set tonight from these," She explains and you start looking through the choices with her.

"Better not pick any boy bands!" Vlad chirps and Jester growls out an agreement, you weren't sure if the latter could even talk he was oddly twitchy too. His sharp teeth glistening when he smiles at you. He has a spindly build with pitch black eyes and ash blonde hair. He wears a black suit and maroon tie.

Clara and you sort out nearly a dozen songs and she's surprisingly easy company and is dressed so cutely. Wearing low-rise denim and a red halter top with strappy black sandals.

She immediately makes you feel like a part of the group and you are grateful.

The two of you settle on this list,

1. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana
2. "Wonderwall" by Oasis
3. "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston
4. "Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia
5. "Zombie" by The Cranberries
6. "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba
7. "Linger" by The Cranberries
8. "Fields of Gold" by Sting
9. "Don't Speak" by No Doubt
10. "Kiss From a Rose" by Seal

Vlad, who you've gleaned is clearly the leader in every capacity, axes numbers 2 and 6 and substitutes them for "Black" by Pearl Jam and "No Rain" by Blind Melon.

He hands you a guitar, and the four of you start practicing. Vlad is a very talented musician, and he absolutely demands perfection. It reminds you a bit of your father in that capacity.

While it's clear that Vlad loves music, he's also too demanding, and you can see why three vocalists have walked out on him in the past year alone.

Still, you know you need to make this work, so you try to rise to his standards and meet his vision.

The practice session goes by way too fast, and before you know it, you're out on stage again. As you look out at the crowd, you're surprised to see not only Husk but also Angel here.

Husk seems a bit miffed about something, but you don't have time to read into it.

Because you're on stage, and you're here to put on a show, and you do just that.

The bar quiets down as you all perform, and you let yourself slip into that new feeling again.

You harmonize with Clara on a few of the songs, barely noticing your captive audience because you're singing, and you're home, and it feels like you're floating, and nothing in all of Hell can touch you.

As the performance reaches its climax, you're swept up in the energy of the music, your fingers dancing effortlessly across the guitar strings.

The thumping bass lines laid down by Vlad add depth and intensity to the performance, anchoring the rhythm and driving the song forward.

As you finish up, "A Kiss From a Rose," the crowd erupts into applause, and your snapped from your reverie.

Clara gives you a squeeze on the shoulder and you smile back at her and hand Vlad his guitar back before hopping off the stage and heading towards the bar.

Billie slides a lemon water towards you and you appreciate the thoughtfulness your voice is a bit weary.

Clara and Vlad saddle up to your left and Angel grabs your arm as you drink down most of your water.

“f*ck me, that was… that was… amazing Andi.” You crack a grin at him, “I’m a woman of many talents.”

”I’ll say,” Clara adds in, “You’ve got one of the most unique voices I’ve ever heard. Were you a pro up top?”

”Uh, almost…” A pang of heartache twinges in your chest. You don’t school your expressions quick enough either.

She blinks, “Oh gosh sorry, that was insensitive of me! None of that matters, we are lucky to have you Andi. ”

”She’s still here on a trial basis,” Vald interjects.

”Oh can it Vlad, she’s the best vocalist we’ve ever had and you know it. Don’t chase her off.” She shoves him playfully and he huffs.

“Yeah, yeah don’t let it go to your head Dot.” He slips you your pay and you pocket it.

You chat a bit more but it’s like eleven thirty now so you head back to the hotel with Angel and Husk.

”I just want you to know he followed me here kid.”

”You were acting all suspicious! Also shame on you two for keeping secrets from me.”

Angel says with an almost pout before side eyeing you, “I’ve already called dibs on him by the way.”

Husks chokes and you snort. “Uh, I could never compete with someone like you. He’s all yours.”

He nods approvingly, “Glad you’re aware. So, we are keeping this from Smiles yeah? It’s kinda obvious you’re try’n to avoid him. He’s creepy as f*ck so I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, please.”

“Secrets safe with me toots.” And he truly meant it.

Thus a pact of silence was formed between the three of you.

Chapter 12: What I Want

Chapter Text

He's trying to provoke you is what you think as you slowly blink at the state of your room.

Honestly, the rest of your week had been going well, you were building some rapport with Angel and he'd even given you some makeup he didn't like.

You'd snuck out successfully on two more occasions and were getting to know your new band better and exchanged numbers. Vlad still insisted you were only there on a trial basis but you think you were winning him over little by little.

Clara was also another friend prospect, she had an obsession with current human pop culture and you happily indulged her on topics ranging from the Kardashians to what Mother meant. You recall your conversation from Friday night.

"Can you use it in a sentence?" Clara asks, her hands busy tuning an old guitar.

You stretch and flip through a book on musical theory, "Lana Del Rey is Mother. It's kinda like a state of being, you'll just know if someone is Mother or not."

All in all, it was a decent week given you were literally living in hell. Well, it would have been decent if it wasn't for a certain redhead psychopath.

You'd spent the entire week doing your best to ignore Alastor.

During meals, you engaged in conversation with anyone but him, and whenever you spotted him in the hotel, you busied yourself with your phone, determined not to acknowledge him.

But instead of taking the hint, Alastor seemed to double down on bothering you, and his pranks were becoming increasingly outrageous.

Case in point every piece of furniture in your room was now on the ceiling. How... how did he do this.... you jump up and touch your desk chair and it falls to the ground with a crash. You stare at the rest of the furniture and take a few calming breaths.

Yup, this was our breaking point, ignoring him without reacting was not working.

So you compose yourself and head down to the kitchen calmly you take one beat to listen for music and when you don't hear anything head in. Walking over to the right side you start opening cabinets until you find your intended target.

"Soulfire Coffee Co." Ah, there it is only one can too. You quickly take the coffee can and walk it over to the corner trash can and empty it out completely and head out the patio door into the garden with the bright blue can in tow.

Looking around you find a nice patch of fine dirt and you kneel down and start scooping it into the can. You are careful to not get any stones or debris just the soil.

It's nearly the same in appearance and you snap the lid back on top and slip it back into place in the kitchen cabinet.

Hope you like dirt water.

As you passed by Husk, who eyed you wearily, you couldn't resist flashing him a knowing smile. After all, if anyone was going to appreciate your act of retaliation against Alastor, it was him.

With a spring in your step, you gently sing a song by The Smiths to yourself.

So please, please, please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

Please let him drink that dirt water...

Haven't had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad

You spend the next few hours righting your room.

Angel stops by to see why you were as he said, "Being so f*cking loud."

He takes one look at your bed on the ceiling and has the audacity to laugh at you.

"Aw sh*t, honestly it's kinda funny toots. Smiles got you good this time."

You shove him back out of your room and decide to head to the library for the first time. It's on the second floor and it is right next to Alastor's office because, of course, it is.

As you quietly enter the room, you're struck by the sheer size and grandeur of the library.

It's much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, with towering shelves stretching up to the ceiling, lined with rows upon rows of books. The scent of aged paper and leather fills the air, adding to the atmosphere.

The shelves are made of polished mahogany, their rich brown tones gleaming softly in the dim light filtering through stained glass windows.

Each shelf is meticulously organized, with books arranged by genre, author, or perhaps some arcane system unknown to you.

In the center of the room stands a long wooden table, its surface polished to a mirror-like shine. A few leather chairs are placed around it.

Against one wall, you spot a classic sliding ladder, its metal rails gleaming with use. It stands ready to assist in reaching the highest shelves, you'd never seen one in real life before and can't help but to hop on it and slide yourself around a bit.

Overall, the library exudes an aura of quiet reverence, it's peaceful here and you start scanning the shelves for books. A lot of books are Earth titles but a few of them seem to be Hell releases.

Jane Austen's pride and prejudice jumps out at you and you quickly pull the worn book from the shelf.

Wow, this book brings back quite a few memories. You remember your first leading role in high school, where you portrayed the spirited Elizabeth Bennet.

It was a role that Grandma had been immensely proud of you for, and she always made sure your hair was styled in a fancy updo bun before every rehearsal.

While you prefer musicals that combined your love of music with story telling it was still a very enjoyable role.

You recall the itchy sage green dress the director put you in and the worn stage props that someone's older relative had kindly loaned the school.

Though you played the part you had never taken the time to actually read the source material so you tucked that book underneath your arm.

Another title stands out to you as well and you pull out a small red book.

Sun Tzu's "The Art of War."

Huh, you think taking a seat in one of the leather chairs and casually browsing through the book.

"If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant," you read aloud, mulling over the implications of the passage.

The idea of pretending to be weak to manipulate an adversary intrigues you. It's a tactic you hadn't considered before, but one that seems oddly applicable to your current situation with Alastor.

Closing the book, you're lost in thought, pondering the potential applications of Sun Tzu's teachings.

However, your musings are abruptly interrupted when you notice a pair of red eyes staring back at you from across the table.

Startled, you nearly drop the book as you lock eyes with Alastor, who co*cks his head to the side inquisitively. You notice a door on the side of the room ajar. His office was connected to the library, great.

"Doing some light reading?" he remarks, his tone tinged with something resembling amusem*nt.

Ignoring him hadn't worked so you don't even bother, "Just expanding my literary horizons."

With a casual flick of his hand, he gestures towards the book in your grasp.

"Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War,' an interesting choice. Planning any battles, cher?" he teases, his smile widening into a grin that unnerves you completely.

He then snaps his fingers and a whole arrangement of snacks appears along with a fine silver pot and cups. There's a cheese board with brie and strawberries.

There's a plate with different pastel-colored macrons and finger sandwiches. You can't help but blink in astonishment.

How did he do that? Did he make this stuff already did he will it into existence?

Don't look impressed Andie.

You quickly adjust into a neutral expression.

"Won't you join me for a light refreshment?"

As you try to slide your chair back, you find it's stuck in place. Panic threatens to bubble up, but you force yourself to remain composed, glaring at Alastor.

He chuckles at your predicament, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "Oh, come now, don't be shy. I insist," he insists, gesturing towards the snacks with a flourish.

"Seems like I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

He hums in agreement and fills your cup up with a brown liquid and sets it in front of you.

It looks like coffee, wait was this?! You look up at him panicked and you notice his absolute sneer.

Oh, he definitely drank dirt water, if his expression was any indication.

"Worry not, cher. It's not soiled," Alastor says, his voice tinged with a hint of static, his irritation palpable.

You fight back a grin as you stir your coffee carefully inspecting the consistency. It's normal coffee for sure. You really shouldn't drink it but you refuse to back down from him.

You take your coffee a little sweet so you reach for a bowl full of perfectly blocked sugar cubes.

"Are you sure ? Those are a bit too much honesty, for me." He quips eying the cubes and sipping his drink.

They have a slight yellow tint but seem normal enough so you drop two cubes into your cup and mix.

He watches you take a drink his expression relaxed as a light tune begins playing from his cane.

It tastes like normal coffee if not a touch floral and you feel a slight tingle across your tongue and it feels almost lighter.

He glances at the books on the table, "A fan of Jane Austen are we?"

You reach across the table and take a cookie and set it on your plate, "Not particularly, but I feel a connection to Pride and Prejudice."

Alastor leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest. "Ah, yes the trials and tribulations of love and high society. Such a timeless and frivolous tale," he muses.

"What possible connection would a wily dame such as yourself have with such a superfluous work?" Alastor's grin widens as he leans forward, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

Your cheeks grow warmer, but you meet his gaze with confidence.

"I'll have you know that I played Elizabeth Bennet in my high school's production of Pride and Prejudice, and I even got a standing ovation," you confess proudly.

"While her works might be a bit dated, they were an excellent critique on the expectations of women during her time."

Chapter 13: The Man in Red

Chapter Text

Alastor watched with a mix of vexation and curiosity as you hastily wiped away the tears from your red-rimmed blue eyes and darted off through the garden.

He felt something akin to discomfort at the sight, but he couldn't quite bring himself to feel any real remorse for his actions.

After all, you had dared to ignore him for days on end and then you retaliated by replacing his coffee with soil.

You were lucky not to have been present or nearby when he took that fateful sip, though.

For a fleeting moment, he had entertained the idea of finding you and sinking his teeth into you.

That soft-looking junction between your shoulder and neck seemed like a tempting spot, promising the taste of your sweet blood and it would cleanse his palate of the swill he unwittingly drank.

He dismissed the thought with a dark chuckle that would for sure get him in trouble with the princess.

Not that he particularly cared about that, but angering her didn't align with his current ambitions.

Nevertheless, he couldn't deny the thrill of excitement that coursed through him at your unexpected defiance.

You had surprised him!

The first night Alastor saw you, he’d simply thought of you as easy prey for a deal a wounded, filthy little thing looking desperate and confused—a potential soul to add to his collection, with no real value beyond that.

Then you turned out to be new, and he expected you to break apart right in front of him how entertaining!

Instead, you laughed, and it sounded pleasantly like the chiming of bells.

You fell over right after that and he’d been a gentleman and caught you before you hit the ground and got your delectable-smelling blood on the floor.

It would have been both a mess and a waste.

Charlie and Vaggie had swept you away and you’d stayed gone for several days.

He’d nearly forgotten about you entirely.

But then you showed back up and he barely recognized you.

Alastor never particularly cared about appearances other than his own but he had eyes and recognized a dish when he saw one.

With pouty lips, soft blue eyes, and a shapely figure you were the type of woman to turn the heads of most men.

Only the dusting of opalescent freckles gave you away as the mangey thing Husker brought in.

You greeted him with a soft smile and a gentle handshake, an attempt to conceal your exhaustion behind a façade of civility.

He could see through the thinly veiled attempt, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. One is never fully dressed without a smile after all.

Despite the weight of your circ*mstances, you maintained a semblance of optimism, facing your eternal damnation with a futile sense of hope.

Alastor found it curious, if somewhat foolish, to witness your resolve in the face of such grim prospects.

As you mentally navigated the reality of Hell with a determination that bordered on naivety, Alastor couldn't help but view the entire situation a foolish farce.

He did not believe in redemption, why would heaven extend sinners in Hell such a mercy when they took enjoyment in slaughtering them annually?

He was merely biding his time here until the constraints that bound him were released, yet your presence promised to make the experience more entertaining than he had initially anticipated.

As you graciously offered to clean up after breakfast, Alastor sent his shadow to watch you closely.

He half-expected you to be a charlatan, but as you diligently went about your task, it became apparent that you were simply as you appeared—a curious soul navigating the depths of Hell.

So he decided to strum up a little entertainment. He found your reactions rather amusing.

He even got to pocket a bit of your blood, silly little thing didn't you realize what power it possessed?

He was able to use those small drops as a sort of homing beckon for his shadow so he could bind it to you while you traversed around the hotel.

It was temporary but what amusem*nt he was able to get into with those few drops. The very next day you had volunteered to help Nifty in her duties.

He slowly watched through his shadows as you busied yourself with mundane tasks and he simply undid a few of them.

Frustration was what he expected or perhaps you’d throw in the towel but instead, you persevered so he upped his tactics.

By the late afternoon, he was growing impatient and decided to confront you head-on, relishing the opportunity to witness your reaction as you realized he had been the source of the mayhem.

He pondered whether you would figure it out quickly or not, but to his satisfaction, you proved to be quite perceptive.

Clever girl.

He expected you to shout or whine but instead, you played his game. Oh how marvelous that was!

You put on such a lovely smile and what a convincing actor you could be. Fluttering your lashes at him with that demure persona all the while coating him in dust how unexpected.

Alastor was use to fear or submission when he toyed with others but this was new and he felt a small rush of excitement at the prospect.

Then you had the audacity to nearly threaten him! How laughable you had moxie but not the claws to back it up.

Why you were about as threatening as a kitten in a rain storm.

Unperturbed he continued about his day and even had tea with Rosie.

When he stepped into his room for a small reprieve he kicked something up, dust?

He blinked once... twice an entire pile of dirt was swept into his room now his shoes were dirty.

"Malhereux! The absolute nerve of that wiley dame.

Well if she wanted to play then they'd play. So he spends the next hour using his shadow to scoop all the dust he could find in the entire hotel into her room.

The rest of the place was much cleaner now though!

It was intricate work and he couldn't resist spying on you through his shadow when you arrived back.

Your reaction was surprisingly lacking luster as you just sort of gaped for a moment before you resigned yourself to your fate of cleaning.

Ah well, he'd pull more reactions out of you soon enough. When he brings it up the next day you appear totally un-phased.

He even tried to ruffle you while watching that vulgar film the spider put on but you just brushed him off.

Shifting your attention to anyone else, which was something you seemed intent on doing constantly.

Usually the crude picture show star and Husker.

With Husker there was something different going on there. The two of you clearly were up to something, but he couldn't figure out just what.

He hoped by slipping his shadow self into your dream he might glean some answers but instead found you wandering in a forest.

He was surprised to see that you appeared as your human self, your freckles gave you away. A shame you lost your fiery red hair it had suited you.

He was feeling a bit frustrated by the events of the past few days, so he decided to have a little fun. Adding some of his essence into your dream, he transformed the serene woods into the murky swamps of his childhood.

The look of fear that crossed your face for the first time was a delicious sight, and he couldn't resist the urge to indulge in the chase.

As you ran, he pursued relentlessly. What else was there to do but indulge in the thrill of the chase?

You proved to be a delightful prey, using the natural terrain to your advantage, which only made the pursuit all the more exhilarating.

Alastor didn't even know what he would have done if he had caught you.

Perhaps he might have torn into you for a bit, or maybe he would have let you go to prolong the entertainment.

After all, it wasn't like it would have actually harmed you; this was only a dream, darling.

But you never gave him the chance. When you leaped into the raging river, he felt his heart palpitate with anticipation.

How bold of you to choose the treacherous waters over him, and you emerged from the river, dripping with water like a mythical river nymph from a poem.

Then, to his surprise, you flipped a vulgar gesture at him, which seemed oddly out of place for someone who appeared so ethereal in that moment. The dichotomy of the situation was jarring.

It was all too much and he can't help but laugh at the amusing display.

What an absolutely delightful display!

He left your dream not long after that and slept quite soundly.

Honestly, it was perplexing why you'd take an interest in the others instead of a well-to-do individual such as himself.

But you treated the spider, Nifty, and even Husker the drunkard like the most interesting demons alive.

What ever did you see in them?

Not that it bothered him, but it was curious.

It definitely did not bother him in the slightest, he thinks, tightening his bow tie.

The others even seemed to reciprocate, especially Nifty, who appeared absolutely enamored with you, particularly after you saved her from being flattened by that annoying serpent.

That pest of a serpent even had the nerve to try to attack you, as if you weren't Alastor's prey already. The audacity! Alastor wasn’t one to share.

Alastor had also caught the tail end of your shopping trip with the spider and overheard your little friendship bit.

What an out-of-place sentiment for hell. It was also the first time he saw you truly bare your fangs as you snapped at the clearly doped-up spider.

It almost reminded him of his mother's scoldings when he was a child but you had whipped the spider into shape.

After that incident, Angel seemed drawn to your side, an unexpected shift considering how Alastor had interpreted your interactions during the outing. The spider even interrupted his riveting conversation with you the next day.

It appeared that the two of you had more in common than he initially thought. You shared a mutual appreciation for good music, and being from the south like himself, he had been looking forward to delving deeper into conversation with you, but then you began to ignore him for the next week, which proved to be quite annoying.

So he decided to pry at you hoping to get a reaction from you and it had worked eventually he supposes.

He had gotten you to talk and Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at having finally broken through your wall of silence.

It may have been a bit underhanded, he admitted even to himself, but he considered it fair play after you tampered with his drink. Besides, the conversations he had managed to extract from you were interesting.

He imagined you on a grand stage, basking in the spotlight as the audience applauded your performance. The image brought a faint true smile to his lips, amused by the thought of you as an actor, captivating the attention of those around you.

Alastor's mood soured again though as he glanced down at the coffee stains on his suit, realizing he'd need to send it off for dry cleaning. It was an inconvenience he could have done without, especially considering the evening had taken an unexpected turn.

Alastor should have anticipated your dramatic escape—it was entirely in character for someone as unpredictable as you. As he surveyed the scene in the library, he couldn't help but feel a begrudging admiration for your tenacity.

With a sigh, he conceded that you had won this round. He watched as you disappeared into the night.

Enjoy your respite, he thought to himself, knowing that this was far from the end of your interactions.

With a swift movement, he stood up and closed the window, shutting out the night air.

Despite the setback, he found himself hoping that you would continue to provide entertainment, at least for a while longer…

After all, he could always use a bit of diversion in the monotony of hell.

Chapter 14: Merry Go Round of Life

Chapter Text

The angry tears continued to fall as you made your way towards The Oasis. The streets are blessedly empty and the strange maroon light of night bathes you in its color.

Staring up at the glowing gates of heaven, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nausea. What had you done to deserve this fate? Why were you in hell?

With a shaky breath, you scrubbed the tears off your face with the sleeves of your gray sweater, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Pushing through the swinging wood doors of The Oasis, you were met with a slightly less bustling atmosphere than usual, perhaps because it wasn't a performance night.

You made a beeline for the backstage area, avoiding making eye contact with any rowdy patrons along the way. As you reached the practice room, a sense of relief washed over you to find it empty.

The old upright piano beckoned to you from the corner, its weathered keys inviting yet worn with age.

Sitting down on the creaky wooden bench you place your books beside you and, rest your hands on the keys, feeling the familiar weight beneath your fingertips.

With a heavy sigh, you pressed down on a few keys, the notes echoing in the quiet room, offering a fleeting sense of solace amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

Music always brought you peace, it felt like a way to express the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Your fingers moved gently across the worn keys of the piano, playing the haunting melody of "Le Gibet" from Gaspard de la Nuit. The somber notes filled the room, echoing your inner turmoil.

As you lost yourself in the music, it felt like a temporary escape from the overwhelming uncertainty of your situation.

Yet, beneath the calming veneer of the melody, a sense of unease lingered, a reminder of the challenges you faced in hell, especially with Alastor

Each encounter with the demon left you feeling more perplexed and vulnerable as if you were navigating a maze with no clear way out.

It was obvious to you that you couldn't ignore him any longer, he'd only escalate his antics. Like he had tonight, you’d need to placate him at the very least.

Should you talk to Charlie about it?

A voice nags in your mind but he was the esteemed Host of the hotel.

Honestly what proof did you even have? He hadn't hurt you technically, he’d just bothered you up until tonight.

Tonight had been too much and you hated that you showed him weakness.

What would you even tell Charlie?

Alastor had a place there a purpose, he was needed and you though helpful were not.

But you could be.

You could be more valuable to the hotel and still work through the redemption program at the same time.

It was quite obvious Charlie was still working on the ground floor so to speak.

So what if you got in on it, what if you became one of the staff too?

What if you become a more valuable asset than Alastor to Charlie?

While you couldn't summon a team of workers or materialize things out of thin air you had a great work ethic and dedication.

And unlike Alastor, whose motives seemed murky at best, you genuinely believed in the hotel's mission.

You saw its potential to provide a haven for lost souls seeking redemption, and you were willing to dedicate yourself to that vision.

Moreover, while you might not possess those supernatural abilities of demons like Alastor, you had other strengths.

Your interpersonal skills and ability to connect with people could prove invaluable in fostering a sense of community within the hotel.

After all, Alastor seemed to repel rather than attract others you'd seen that quite literally just the other day. He was a fox in the hen house.

He had fixed that hole in the hotel, but wait didn't that snake man only blow up the wall because of him? You hadn't thought of it like that, but that incident was his own fault in a way.

Your tune changes to the "Merry Go Round of Life" from Howls Moving Castle.

With these thoughts swirling in your mind, you resolved to approach Charlie and offer your assistance in any way possible.

Perhaps by becoming an integral part of the hotel's staff, you could not only contribute to its success but also carve out a meaningful role for yourself.

“Begin by seizing something which your opponent holds dear; then he will be amenable to your will.”

Recalling those words from Sun Tzu, you think about the importance of taking hold of something that Alastor held dear—his influence and status within the Hazbin Hotel.

If you could find a way to undermine his position while ingratiating yourself with Charlie and the rest of the staff, you might just gain the leverage needed to shift the balance of power in your favor.

It was a risky game, to be sure, but you were willing to play it. After all, you had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

With cunning and tact, you would outmaneuver Alastor and assert your place within the hotel, ensuring that your voice was heard and your contributions recognized. If you were valuable could Alastor touch you?

As you consider your next move, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. if Alastor wanted to play, well, you were more than ready to meet him head-on. You were never one to quit even when the deck was stacked against you.

If Alastor grew bored and decided to leave you alone, that would be a welcome and preferred outcome.

But if he continued to engage in his twisted games, you would be prepared to meet him at every turn.

This was your afterlife and you'd not let any ruin it for you, especially some self-important arrogant man.

Your fingers strike the keys with precision and determination.

You’d keep your head down as much as possible while quietly chipping away at his place at the hotel.

A movement at your side startles to you and you accidentally miss a note and you pull back from playing. It's Vlad he sets a glass of amber-colored liquid on the top of the piano.

"Looked like you could use a drink."

You take the glass and down it in one quick gulp and it burns pleasantly.

"Do want to talk about it?"

The honesty potion or whatever it was must still be working because you speak a bit more rudely than you normally would, "Not particularly."

He swipes your Art of War book and plops down on the couch, "Good because I didn't really want to listen." He thumbs through the pages, "Don't stop playing on my account."

Hell was a weird place, but you just chuckle and keep playing through the rotation of songs you have memorized.

Vlad interrupts here and there asking about a particular song and its origins or adding in a tidbit of history about a composer he recognized.

He was quite the aficionado when it came to music and the next few hours go by quickly and you have another drink or three. It provides a much needed distraction and it’s rather cathartic getting to play like this.

Eventually, you realize that you don't particularly feel like going back to the hotel, and Vlad graciously offers you permission to crash on the couch for the night, with the caveat that it doesn't become a regular occurrence.

It's not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but the buzz from the drinks quickly lulls you into a peaceful slumber.

As you drift off, foggy visions and a strange smell fill your senses, pulling you into a restless dream. In the dream, you see a shadowy figure holding a sharp knife, its movements fluid like smoke.

Just as the figure turns towards you, you're jolted awake by someone tapping your face, bringing you back to reality with a start.

The clawed finger tapping your face belongs to none other than Husk, his expression a mix of concern and grogginess. "Billie called, let me know you were holed up here," he mumbles.

You sigh, feeling a pang of guilt for causing worry, and reorient yourself before checking your phone. It's barely 5 am, far too early for Husk to be awake. Maybe he just never went to sleep?

"Thought something might have happened to you or ...." He trails off, his words trailing into silence as he struggles to find the right thing to say. "You weren't in your f*cking room... either... and..."

His concern touches you more deeply than you anticipated, and before you can stop yourself, you hop up and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He tenses immediately at the unexpected gesture, but after a moment's hesitation, he brings up one hand and gives your back a couple of awkward pats.

You pull away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, and clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Sorry, I-I just... thanks for checking up on me Husk, I'm fine, just needed to be away from..." you mumble, not meeting his gaze.

He nods in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between you. Standing, you stretch your limbs, feeling the stiffness from sleeping on the couch.

Collecting your books, you follow behind Husk as he leads the way. Morning is slowly peeking up through the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the landscape of Hell. Despite the chaotic nature of this realm, there's a strange sense of tranquility in the air.

As you walk, a fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, warming you from within. Even in Hell, amidst all the darkness and despair, there is kindness to be found. It's a strange realization, yet undeniably human.

In your heart of hearts, you hold onto the belief that people can be redeemed, that even in the depths of damnation, there was good here.

Arriving back at the hotel, you're greeted by the quiet emptiness of the lobby. It seems that Alastor wasn't going to cook today, so the usual hustle and bustle of the kitchen is absent.

A thought sparks in your mind as you glance towards the closed kitchen door. Just because today wasn't one of Alastor's cooking days didn't mean the kitchen had to remain unused. In fact, you're quite capable of whipping up a meal yourself and you'd be more than happy to take over cooking in Alastors stead today.

Looking through the kitchen you take stock of what's available and you decide to make pancakes and a fresh strawberry syrup. While you were no chef you could cook well, Grandma had you in the kitchen from the time you could walk helping in some capacity.

With a determined expression, you gather the ingredients, the clatter of utensils echoing in the empty kitchen. The scent of butter melting on the griddle mingles with the sweet aroma of strawberries as you prepare the syrup. Each measured pour and careful stir is a deliberate act, a silent declaration of your intent.

As the first pancake hits the hot surface, it sizzles and begins to bubble, golden-brown edges forming as it cooks. You deftly flip it, the satisfying sound of the spatula meeting the pan echoing in the room. The process repeats, each pancake joining the growing stack as you work with practiced efficiency.

Meanwhile, on a separate burner, the strawberries simmer in a small saucepan, their juices mingling with sugar to create a fragrant syrup. The scent fills the kitchen, adding to the comforting atmosphere.

Finally, with a flourish, you plate the flapjacks, drizzling them generously with the homemade strawberry syrup. The vibrant red contrasts beautifully with the golden pancakes, a visual feast that promises a delicious treat for anyone who partakes.

As you survey your handiwork, a sense of satisfaction washes over you. It's been a little bit, and you can hear people stirring, so you put on a pot of coffee and head out to set the table. When the door swings open, you spy Charlie and Vaggie, who seem surprised to see you awake and in the kitchen. Alastor is coming down the stairs, and you can feel the buzz of static.

"Good Morning, I decided to make breakfast today!" You put on your cheeriest smile, "Hope you like pancakes."

Charlie practically beams, "I love pancakes! Andi, you are so thoughtful!"

Vaggie nods appreciatively, her eyes softening. "Thank you, Andi. This is nice."

You feel Alastors gaze sizing up the situation, "My my what a surprise."

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and respond to the ladies, "Aw, of course!"

You turn towards Alastor, "You're not the only one who can work a stove you know! I'd be more than happy to lend a hand on days you're too busy to cook." His eyebrow co*cks at the subtle jab, and the ears on the top of his head twitch.

"Let me serve you guys up. I'll be right back."

You quickly bring everything out even the steaming pot of coffee. Angel wandered down at some point but Husk seems to have gone to sleep. You'll save him a plate.

As you pour Alastor a cup of coffee, you notice a subtle flicker of surprise in his eyes. He seems momentarily caught off guard by your composed demeanor, especially after the events of last night.

That's right let him think he didn't frazzle you.

Everyone digs in and seems to like your food, as Alastor takes his first bite of the pancake, his expression remains unchanged, a mask of indifference. However, a subtle twitch of his lips betrays a hint of possible satisfaction but he says nothing.

It was good you knew it and so did he the prick.

Occasionally, you catch Alastor stealing glances in your direction, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. There's a subtle intensity in his scrutiny as if he's trying to discern your motives behind the gesture.

Why keep the man waiting, "Charlie, I've really appreciated you letting me stay here at the Hazbin. I think what your doing here is frankly incredible and I know this might be forward of me but I'd like to be a part of it."

Go big or go home right?

Charlie's eyes widen with surprise, but her expression quickly shifts to one of warmth and encouragement. "Oh Andi, that's w-wonderful to hear."

Her bottom lip trembles and her voice cracks, "We could use all the help we can get honestly. We will find something for you to do! "

Is she about to cry? Your cheeks flush with a mixture of excitement and gratitude at Charlie's heartfelt response.

Vaggie, who has been quietly observing the exchange, offers a supportive nod, her expression softening with a hint of appreciation. "I think it's a great idea," she chimes in, her voice steady and reassuring. "We could use some new perspective around here."

Alastor reclines in his chair, his gaze flickering with intrigue. "Well, well, it seems we have a new addition to our little ensemble, how quaint," he muses, his voice smooth as silk.

You grit your teeth, irritated by his effortless charm.

His smirk widens into a predatory grin as he continues, "Such initiative, cher! I'm certain we'll uncover a suitable role for someone as enthusiastic as yourself." Despite the playful tone, there's an underlying menace in his words that sends a chill down your spine.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you reply to Alastor with forced civility. "Thank you, Alastor," you say, mustering a polite smile. "I'm eager to contribute in any way I can to the hotel's success."

Alastor's smirk deepens, his eyes glinting with concealed amusem*nt, and his ears twitch slightly. "How gracious of you, darling," he purrs, his voice dripping with honeyed charisma, "I’ll be sure to keep you busy."

Chapter 15: Flowers

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Charlie calls a meeting with Vaggie and Alastor to discuss the matters concerning the hotel's operations and how you'd fit into all that. You were just appreciative that she even wanted your assistance.

Considering the fact that you'd stayed out all night you were still wearing the same clothes as yesterday and really needed a shower.

Today was Sunday so you were still off of work until tomorrow night so maybe you could start helping Charlie today if they decided something.

Hurrying to your room, you quickly strip off the wrinkled garments and step into the warm spray of the shower. The hot water cascades over you, washing away the remnants of fatigue and uncertainty from the previous day. With each soothing droplet, you feel a sense of renewal wash over you.

Once cleansed, you wrap yourself in a plush towel and rummage through your belongings for a fresh change of clothes.

Opting for something comfortable yet presentable, you slip into a black turtle neck with a small cut-out on your chest and a mid-length tattersall plaid skirt and you add in your black tights and boots.

You pull your hair up into a high ponytail and add some clear lip gloss. If you were dressed in a way that made you feel good it'd boost your confidence.

You steady yourself as you head back downstairs, sliding into Husk's empty bar, and start in on reading the daily paper. You'd watched a few news broadcasts on your phone with Katie Killjoy but she frankly frightened you so you preferred to read the news. The first article is about a recent fashion show.

Infernal Elegance Reigns: Velvettes Fashion Show Sets V Corporation Ablaze

Velvette, renowned for her boundary-pushing creations, stole the spotlight with her "Infernal Majesty" collection. From opulent velvet robes to intricate lace detailing, each look captured the essence of Hellish glamour.

There are pictures of elegant models wearing lacey couture fashion and powerful looking woman with pigtails and large sunglasses watches on.

That must be the designer you think she has a very Devil Wears Prada vibe, which is ironic.

You see an article about panic in the doomsday district and something about an extermination.

Wait, a what now?

Before you have a chance to read further you hear Vaggie calling your name so you fold the paper down and head back upstairs. They seem to have met in Alastor's office and Vaggie ushers you in.

Alastor sits poised behind his imposingly large wooden desk, its surface polished to a high shine. The chair he occupies is opulent and overly lavish, its intricate carvings and plush upholstery practically transforming it into a throne befitting someone of his self-importance.

The room itself is spacious, with high ceilings that amplify the grandeur of its decor.

Several chairs, adorned with rich fabrics and intricate patterns, are strategically placed around the desk, while a matching couch sits against one wall, reminiscent of the furniture found in the lobby below.

Behind Alastor's desk, a large window allows light to spill into the room, casting warm red rays across the polished floorboards.

On either side of the window, shelves lined with books stretch from floor to ceiling, their spines varying in color and thickness.

A cathedral radio sits prominently on one of the shelves, its antique design adding a touch of nostalgia to the room, while various baubles and trinkets adorn the remaining space, hinting at Alastor's eclectic tastes and interests.

Charlie's enthusiasm is palpable as she guides you to a chair beside hers, and you offer her a gentle smile in return.

"So, after a lot of discussion, we've found the perfect position for you. In fact, Alastor even came up with it!" she enthuses, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

You can't help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you glance at Alastor, who appears positively elated by the prospect.

Oh, this was not going to be good.

"As the host, Alastor often has more things to do than he has time for, so you can be his assistant!" Charlie announces, her words brimming with optimism.

Suppressing the urge to frown, you glance over at Vaggie, who emits a resigned sigh from her position in the corner.

"I was not for this idea," she remarks, her tone tinged with skepticism.

Charlie clears her throat, trying to maintain a sense of positivity.

"Well, it's up to Andi to decide, but Alastor did offer to foot the bill for your salary for this position. It's only part-time, but it's all we could come up with so far."

The weight of the decision hangs heavily on your shoulders. You could back down, avoid the potential clash with Alastor, and maintain the status quo.

Or you could seize this opportunity to prove your worth and make a meaningful contribution to Charlie's vision for the hotel regardless of Alastors presence.

“Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer.”

"I'll do it."

Charlie hops out of her chair and gives you a crushing hug. "This will be great I just know it!"

Alastor's yellowed grin widens as he observes the exchange, his red eyes hooded.

"Ah, splendid! It seems we have a deal," he remarks, his words laced with thinly veiled satisfaction.

You feel a chill run down your spine at the word deal, but you steel yourself, determined not to let his presence deter you from your decision.

You'd not shaken his hand or signed anything he just used the word to scare you.

Charlie's enthusiasm seems undeterred by Alastor's ominous aura as she beams at you.

"I can't wait to see what you two accomplish together!" she exclaims, her optimism shining through despite the tension in the room.

"If it doesn't work out, that's okay too," Vaggie adds, as she gives you a meaningful stare.

"Yes, well, if you ladies will excuse us," Alastor interjects smoothly, rising from his chair.

"I'd like to get my new darling assistant started."

As Vaggie and Charlie exit the office, the air seems to thicken with static, leaving you alone with Alastor in the room. It feels so much smaller in this room now.

The crackle of his radio fills the silence, the vintage tune lending an eerie ambiance to the space.

Alastor settles back into his chair with a certain elegance, his gaze fixed firmly on you. There's a calculated intensity in his eyes that makes your neck hairs stand on end making you acutely aware of his presence.

"Now then, my dear assistant," Alastor begins, his voice smooth and composed.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

The two of you were moving right past the events of last night.

He pulls a paper from his red suit pocket and unfolds it. It's a list of some kind and he hands it to you.

"Now cher, this is a list of things I need you to get done for me today before this evening."

You glance through the list and it's ridiculous and tedious and has absolutely nothing to do with bettering the hotel. There are addresses by each task and the list goes on and on.

1. "Ensure my dry cleaning is delivered and retrieved promptly. Stress the urgency to the cleaner; time is of the essence."
2. "Fetch a fresh batch of my preferred coffee blend from the café "Eclair"
3. "Acquire a tin of the finest shoe polish available. My shoes must maintain their immaculate shine without compromise."
4. "Purchase additional supplies of letter paper and ink. Ensure we have an ample stock to meet our correspondence needs.
5. "Deliver his mail to the post office, in cannibals town as it is the most reliable."

He wants you to buy ink and paper from two separate stores. Wait did that say cannibal town?

Your eyes widen and when meet his gaze he's got that self-satisfied smile.

Alastor leans back in his chair, his grin widening at your reaction.

"Ah, I see you've noticed the peculiar destination for the mail," he remarks, his voice dripping with amusem*nt.

"Yes, Cannibal Town can be quite the... unique experience, but fear not, my dear assistant. I have every confidence in your ability to handle the task with utmost care."

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of mischief.

"Consider it an opportunity to acquaint yourself with the... colorful characters that inhabit our humble city here in Hell. Who knows, you might even find it rather... enlightening."

He pulls out an envelope with money for the purchases and gestures toward the mail and his dry cleaning.

He's trying to get to you and you know it this is a challenge that is nearly incompletable.

You rise out of your chair, "Is this all you need Alastor?"

You level his stare, "Are you sure you don't need me to pick up anything else like toothpaste or something?"

The static ripples through the music, momentarily disrupting the tune, but you remain composed, your smile unwavering. He definitely picked up on your subtle jab.

"You best get to it before you bite off more than you can chew, cher." His voice is tinged with mild annoyance and his head is co*cked a bit unnaturally.

You couldn't agree more, so you scoop up the cash and his other items such as the dry cleaning, and head out.

Oh, you had no idea how you were going to get this done it was noon and he wanted this all done by 5 pm.

He was such an ass.

You flip through your phone and pull up the address for his dry cleaner It is in cannibal town as well. Two birds with one stone you supposed.

Husk must still be asleep but Angel eyes you curiously as you head out the door.

Luckily it is rather cool weather because it's a twenty-minute walk to cannibal town. You feel your heart rate increase as you spy the sign welcoming you.

Did they really eat people? It was a question that you did not want answered.

Entering the town feels eerie but it's surprisingly nice here.

By nice you mean the town, not the people, they are really creepy. But the city itself is clean and well kept.

The people all watch you with an eerie intensity and familiar black void eyes.

As you stare at your phone trying to find the post office you feel a hand grab your shoulder and you nearly scream.

When you whip around you're met with a friendly and familiar face.

It's Jester, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

He tilts his head down questioningly, "Are you lost Andi?" His voice is so soft you nearly have to lean in to hear it.

"Actually I kinda am, I need to drop off this mail and find the dry cleaners."

He digs his foot onto the sidewalk a bit. Is he nervous?

"I'm doing m-my deliveries right now I can give you a ride to those spots."

His pale face gets a sudden gray hue dusting his cheeks as he points to an old white van with flowers painted on the side.

"I-I mean if you want." He scratches the back of his neck before tugging on the black tie of his blue dress shirt.

This is perfect you think!

You reach out and clasp his hands in yours, "Yes! Please I honestly can't thank you enough."

He just nods turning his face and entire head around one hundred and eighty degrees with a creak.

Yup, that was a bit creepy but hey beggars can't be choosers and he offered you a ride.

When you hop into the van, the rich scent of flowers envelops you, filling the space with a comforting aroma. Glancing into the back, you notice that it's filled to the brim with various bouquets and assortments of flowers.

"Are you a florist?" you inquire, intrigued by the abundance of blooms.

Jester nods nervously, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Y-yes, my shop is just down the road," he replies, pointing it out as he drives by.

The sight of the cute brick storefront with its big glass window display, filled with beautiful arrangements, paints Jester in a completely different light, adding a touch of domesticity to his eerie demeanor.

As he drops you off at the post office, he heads next door to deliver some flowers to the bank. You put on your biggest smile as you approach the lady behind the counter, though her unnerving black eyes send a shiver down your spine. She takes the letter from you with a grunt before disappearing into the back to handle the delivery.

You check off the task at the post office and hop back into the van, grateful for Jester's assistance.

As you continue on your errand run, you strike up a conversation with him, explaining that you're running errands for your "boss".

Jester surprises you by volunteering to drive you to all of your destinations in between his flower deliveries.

In return for his help, you assist him in carrying the arrangements into each of his stops. Despite his unsettling demeanor, you find him strangely sweet, in a Tim Burton kind of way.

Throughout the day, you manage to tick off each task on your list one by one, all the while getting to know your enigmatic colleague a bit better.

It dawns on you just how important having friends can be; you never would have been able to get everything done without Jester's assistance.

However, you can't help but feel a pang of annoyance when you realize that Alastor had shorted you on the money, forcing you to pay out of pocket for the last purchase of shoe polish. You make a mental note to keep the receipt for reimbursem*nt.

By the time you pull back into Jester's floral shop, it's barely four o'clock he offers to show you around.

With Alastor's dry cleaning nearly ready for pickup it’ll be your final stop on the way back to the hotel after this.

Inside the shop, Jester offers you a refreshment, and you accept graciously, taking in the sight of the beautiful arrangements around you. As you sip your lemonade, you turn and are met with a face full of flowers.

"S-sorry, these are for you!" Jester blurts out, his voice louder than usual as he thrusts a bouquet into your hands.

You're taken aback by the unexpected gesture. "I appreciate your help today," he continues, his face now entirely gray, and he nervously scratches his ash blonde hair.

Feeling a bit awkward, you accept the bouquet with a grateful smile. "I mean, I feel like I owe you thanks, but I appreciate the gesture," you reply, unsure of how to respond to Jester's kindness.

As he offers to drive you back to the hotel, you hesitate. Despite his offer, you decide it's better to keep Jester a secret for now and politely decline, opting to walk back instead.

You grab the dry cleaning and balance your bag of purchases in one hand, while the bouquet of flowers is tucked into the other. The arrangement is rather pretty and has a pleasant smell. You think your room could use some color.

Marching into the hotel, you wave at Husk as you make your way up to Alastor's office. You don't bother knocking, bursting in to find him nose-deep in a leather-bound book.

The lazy louse...

His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, and you watch as he glances at the clock.

Ha... you've caught him off guard.

As you plop the items on Alastor's desk, the wooden surface creaks slightly under their weight.

The air in the room seems to thicken with anticipation as you await Alastor's reaction.

His sharp gaze locks onto the flowers, and for a moment, you detect a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

His mouth opens and closes wordlessly, and you notice a subtle tenseness in his posture.

Is it fear, or perhaps shock? You can't quite decipher the expression that crosses his face but he pales slightly.

The room feels charged with static, a faint buzzing filling the air as Alastor blinks, his fingers delicately tracing the petals of the flowers. The fragrance of the blooms mingles with the faint scent of old books and leather.

"White Gardenias and Gloxinia?" he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

"You brought me flowers, cher?"

You sense a shift in the energy of the room, a subtle tension that coils around you like a snake. The radio behind him flips through several stations rapidly.

Swiftly, you reclaim the flowers from his hands, cradling them protectively against your chest as if guarding a precious treasure.

You had no idea what the names of those flowers had been. "Nope, these are for me."

Alastor's response is measured, his tone betraying no emotions. "Ah, I see," he remarks, his voice smooth and composed. "How thoughtful of you to treat yourself."

You dig through your pockets for the receipt, "Actually these were a gift from a friend, and you owe me 13.23 for the shoe polish." You hand him the receipt.

Alastor's demeanor shifts slightly, a hint of something dancing in his eyes. He folds the receipt with a touch less precision, a subtle tension underlying his movements.

"A friend, you say?" he echoes, his tone smooth yet tinged with a faint edge. "Well, isn't that interesting?"

"Not really." Your life outside of this place was not his business and you wanted to keep it that way.

Alastor studies you for a moment, his gaze penetrating but inscrutable. Then, with a subtle nod, he sets the folded receipt down on his desk.

"Very well," he says, his tone returning to its usual smoothness. "I'll see to it that your expenses are reimbursed."

You nod, relieved that the conversation seems to be coming to an end. As you turn to leave, Alastor's voice and hand clasping your wrist stops you.

"Oh, and Andi," you fight a shiver when he says your name.

You glance back at him, a mixture of curiosity and caution in your expression.

"Just remember," he continues, his voice taking on a subtle edge. "Gifts from friends can sometimes carry unexpected implications." He releases his grip slowly.

"I'll see you in the morning darling."

Chapter 16: West Side Story

Chapter Text

At this rate, you might as well go back to helping Nifty with the cleaning. It'd be more beneficial to the hotel than the menial, useless tasks Alastor has been assigning you for the past few days.

One day, he had you compiling a detailed inventory of his wardrobe, right down to descriptions of each garment and its condition.

1. Red Jacket looks tacky.
2. Cheap looking white dress shirt.

The next day, he had you reorganize the kitchen— the entire kitchen—alphabetically. That meant every spice, pan, dish, and utensil had to be arranged in alphabetical order.

Right now you’re sitting on the other side of his desk clicking on an old-fashioned sage green typewriter. He insists that this afternoon would be best spent typing out all of his 'good ideas' as he dictates them and prattles on endlessly.

His Trans Atlantic accent coupled with the low his of his radio static are grating on your nerves.

Thankfully he's got decent music playing in the background today as Big Joe Williams – "Baby Please Don’t Go" buzzes through the room and your foot taps ideally as you work your dad had been partial to this song.

You were decently fast at typing thanks Mavis Beacon and now that you’ve gotten down how to feed the paper into the typewriter it is relatively easy but it’s still a waste of your time. Even if you only work for him a few hours a day.

If he was going to make you do useless things you were going to add in some unique flavor to your note-taking.

"We should replace the elevator music with a continuous loop of my radio broadcasts," Alastor adds with a constipated expression.

"Perhaps we could hire a full-time juggler to entertain guests," Alastor says with food in his teeth and foul breath.

You can't help but smirk a bit as you jot down Alastor's suggestions with your modifications.

As you navigate the intricate dance with Alastor, you find yourself treading carefully, like a performer on a tightrope. His unpredictable nature keeps you on edge, and you've learned to read the subtle cues that betray his shifting emotions.

You've noticed that when he's annoyed, his ears flick back and his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

If he's surprised, you might catch a burst of static and a few blinks. When he's entertained his eyes become slightly hooded and his smile becomes relaxed, he might even play a pleasant tune.

Anger is the emotion you're most keen on avoiding. You vividly recall the night in the library when his horns lengthened, his body grew lankier, sharper, less human, and the air became oppressively full of static and electricity.

If the knock hadn't interrupted who knows what might have happened you didn't want to dwell on it.

You won't let him steamroll you, but you also can't afford to provoke him too much – after all, he's fully capable of ending your afterlife.

It's a delicate balance, you learned as a performer how to read a crowd and those same skills are helping you survive this waltz you've been forced into with him.

You try to maintain your composure, but the discomfort becomes too much to bear. With a surge of irritation, you sit up abruptly, swatting Alastor's hand away from your back. He withdraws his hand with a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Ah, cher, no need to be so touchy," he quips, and you could strangle him.

Alastor's smirk widens, clearly amused by your reaction.

But instead of pushing further, he leans back, seemingly content to watch the rest of the movie in silence he was finally sated you supposed.

You glance his direction for a moment and Alastor's expression was one of feigned interest, his eyes half-lidded as if he were indulging in the experience for the sake of appearance rather than genuine enjoyment.

Angel, engrossed in the movie, seems oblivious to the tension in the room. His eyes are glued to the screen, captivated by the unfolding drama.

He leans forward slightly, his expression reflecting genuine interest and some other emotion you don't recognize.

The movie ends with its dramatic climax as Tony dies in Maria's arms it's beautiful and tragic an ode to Romeo and Juliette.

Angel Dust sighs as he stands, "Damn, you sure know how to pick'em." He reaches down and pulls you to your feet.

"Well, well, well, what an exhilarating tale," Alastor drawls, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

"Though I must say, I prefer a bit less melodrama in my entertainment."

With a flick of his wrist, he rises from the floor, his smile unnervingly wide as he gazes at you.

"But I suppose it was a delightful diversion for an evening. Thank you, my dear, for the... touching experience," he says as he saunters out of the room.

"Not like we even wanted ya opinion, Freaky f*ck" Angel says with an eye roll.

"But yeah, it was a good movie, Toots. f*cking reminded me a bit too much of home."

He stretches his back, the motion is fluid and casual. "My family ran in similar circles as theirs did," he explains, his voice tinged with a touch of bitterness.

"sh*t was really like that too, you mess with the wrong gang, and it was lights out."

You blink, surprised by Angel's revelation. "I had no idea," you respond softly, a mix of sympathy and curiosity in your tone.

"That must have been really hard. I'm sorry if I accidentally brought up any bad memories or something."

"Hey, calm your tit*," he says, his voice casual but with a hint of depth beneath the surface.

"It's all ancient history now. Besides, watching movies like this kinda helps me remember the good stuff too, you know?"

You nod, understanding Angel's perspective a bit more and in turn him a bit better.
"I get it," you reply, offering him a small, genuine smile.

"And anytime you want to watch another movie, just let me know. I'm always up for good company and a good film."

"Let's just watch something in my room on my laptop next time huh? I could do without Freaks."

The ghostly sensation of claws linger on your skin, "I couldn't agree more."

Chapter 17: Unbothered

Chapter Text

Alastor straightened his bowtie in the mirror, the black fabric contrasting sharply against his crimson pinstriped suit.

With a flick of his wrist, he adjusted the angle of his monocle, ensuring it caught the light just right.

Examining himself in the mirror, he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him.

Despite the chaos that often surrounded him, Alastor prided himself on always looking his best. His wide smile completed his look after all one was never fully dressed without it.

He noticed the off-white tone of his teeth, and he felt his eye twitch. He never really cared before and he didn't now....

If he spent a few extra moments brushing them this morning that was purely coincidental. It had absolutely nothing to do with his little assistant and her petty comments.

He scoffed at the thought, dismissing it with a shake of his head.

Alastor was not one to be swayed by the opinions of others, especially not when it came to something so insignificant.

He was not bothered.

He had a lot of business to attend to today and needed to go see his good chum Rosie regarding some territorial business.

She had looked after the majority of his property while he was occupied for seven years, the areas that bordered her own at least. But quite a bit of the rest was lost during his absence, it was expected but unfortunate.

It would take some time to regain all that had been borrowed from him, but Alastor was determined to reclaim what was rightfully his.

Rosie, with her keen eye for detail and vast network of contacts, was the perfect ally in this endeavor.

She had information on some of the local riffraff that had moved in like vermin in the absence of a predator, and Alastor intended to deal with them swiftly and efficiently. It would be quite a bit of fun too.

He flips through his stations and lands on "One O'Clock Jump" from Benny Goodman as he makes his way downstairs it emits from his cane into the space around him.

It would be a splendid day he was sure of it! Especially because he'd be taking his assistant along, he had kept you busy and himself entertained all week.

Honestly, this was a new record for him the last soul to keep him entertained for any length of time had only managed three days.

Dear Andi had kept him thoroughly amused for nearly a month now wow, what a dame!

Alastor's interest in the hotel, combined with his enjoyment of observing everyone's struggles had made his afterlife quite enjoyable the past few weeks. Oh, and the extermination was coming up in just five months it was causing quite the uproar in certain parts of town.

What a time to be dead!

It was off to Cannibal Town today for the two of you, he'd sent you there earlier in the week and hadn't sent you back out on your own since.

That had been a surprising day... Firstly the tasks he'd given her should have led to her failure they were impossible to complete within her given time frame.

He had intentionally chosen shops that were inconveniently far apart yet he had been generous and placed them in places where it was on the safer side, he wasn't going to get his darling assistant maimed by anyone other than himself.

Still, you should have been out late into the evening, he even short-changed you to see if you did have cash on hand. Where have you been getting money from?

So when you walked in with half an hour to spare he truly had been surprised you were quite good at doing that.

You somehow made it happen you always rose to the occasion. Truly you were a worthy opponent in this game of wits you both played. You with your snide comments and sugary sweet smiles always managing to fire back at him in unexpected ways.

Oh, you'd not win this war but he ever so enjoyed watching you try, he'd play it until you broke.

He knew you were plotting something after that night in the library, and you never willingly spent time with him, so he made you his assistant. What a creative solution to his problems he gave himself a pat on the back for that idea.

He also knew you’d accept being the bold little thing that you were.

Speaking of bold, that bouquet you plopped on his desk had rattled him more than he'd ever admit.

Floriography was an art his mother had been quite fond of, and he had learned enough from her to recognize the subtle meanings behind each bloom.

The bouquet spoke of secret admiration and proclamations of love at first sight. It was a sentiment that caught him wholly off guard, and for a moment, he found himself at a loss for words.

Why had you brought this to him?

Was it some kind of ploy?

Alastor found himself searching your eyes for any hint of deceit, but all he found was an expectant gaze, waiting for his response. There was no malice there, no ulterior motive that he could discern.

When did this development occur, he wracked his brain over all your interactions trying to pinpoint when this might have started.

You were in love with him?

His brain struggled with the word, with the concept even.

He'd only ever felt love for his mother, sure foolish dames had fawned over him from time to time in both life and death he was rather dashing but he'd never entertained them for more than a fleeting dance or a shared drink.

He never found them particularly interesting and he had little desire to be on the receiving end of their lascivious advances he had better things to do with his time.

You had never paid him any of that kind of attention he would have grown bored long ago if you had, and yet here you were, laying out your feelings before him in a way that left him utterly perplexed.

For the first time in many decades, Alastor found himself at a loss for what to do next.

As he takes the bouquet into his hands, he notices your expression shift to one of concern.

You were waiting for his reaction, unsure of what it would be.

How did he feel about you?

He did enjoy your presence.

There was something about your wit, your tenacity, and the way you always managed to keep him on his toes that he found amusing.

You were different from most people in hell he had encountered, and he found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Surely it was just because you were so entertaining.

Yes, that was it... he was fond of amusing things…

Before he could formulate a response, you suddenly snatched the flowers away from him. He blinks in surprise, caught off guard by your swift action, but he doesn't protest.

Claiming they were yours, ah that made more sense the flowers were for you.

Wait.

A cold feeling like ice prickles sharply in his chest, someone had given those to you.

You'd never answer him directly so he just made an incorrect assumption, that you had purchased them for yourself. He knew you'd correct him you enjoyed doing that.

So these were flowers from a friend yet you clutched tightly to your chest like something precious.

A friend, huh? How laughable how naïve.

These were from an admirer, and judging by your nonchalance, you had no idea what meaning those flowers held.

Who could it possibly have been? No one at the hotel, surely.

The spider preferred men, Husk was married to the bottle, Nifty only had eyes for loathsome men, and Charlie and Vaggie were a committed item.

When did you possibly find the time to charm someone so thoroughly?

Was he not keeping you occupied, was his company not enough?

He dismissed you soon after and sat perfectly still at his desk for a moment or two he may have also advised Nifty that you had some rotting flora in your room.

Alastor kept you busy during your working hours after that, he also didn't send you outside of the hotel again.

Though the tasks he gave you were simply meant to bother you he admired your diligence in completing them even if you add in your own underhanded quips.

Your passionate display only yesterday had been quite interesting. The idea of throwing a celebration was enticing it’d surely be a spectacle.

Alastor had always been a fan of speakeasies and parties. Fond memories of Mardi Gras celebrations from his living days lingered in his mind, filled with laughter, music, and a sense of thrilling chaos.

Those celebrations had been more than just festivities; they were opportunities to rid the city of filth, to assert control with bloody hands and sharp grins laughing into the night.

In hell, Halloween was a night of debauchery, a time when darkness and revelry intertwined. Wouldn’t it be delightful to bring such festivities into the hotel?

The thought amused him, imagining the chaos and excitement that would ensue.

Alastor strolled into the hotel's bar area, his presence commanding attention as always. He spotted you seated with Husker, your attention focused intently on a word search puzzle. Your hair was pulled up neatly into a bun, accentuating the curve of your neck, while you were dressed in a peach-colored sweater and sleek pants.

As Alastor approached, Husker shot him a glare, but Alastor paid it little mind. Leaning over you to get a better look at the puzzle, he noticed you jump slightly at his sudden proximity, though you quickly masked it with a façade of disinterest.

"It's time for work, cher, and we're going out today! So please do try to keep up," Alastor announced, not bothering to wait for your response as he turned and began to walk away. He heard you sigh and hurried footsteps behind him as you scrambled to catch up.

As you walked together, Alastor switched the tune to a song he had seen you humming along to the other day, a small attempt to lighten the mood. You didn't say much, and he noticed you seemed to be favoring one of your legs today, a detail he had observed before.

The closer you got to Rosie's territory, the more tense you became, understandable given the circ*mstances.

However, you didn't need to worry about that with him here, or probably ever again after today. The town would remember the dame following the Radio Demon.

The whole place seems too quiet down when Alastor enters, he simply commands respect.

He notices that you're a bit closer than you were just moments ago seeking safety, are we? Didn’t you realize he was the biggest predator around?

The two of you waltz right into Rosie's Emporium and Rosie immediately senses his arrival.

Her stores are a bit emptier than usual and she waves off one of her customers and quickly makes her way over.

"Alastor, it's so good to see you again! I didn’t know you’d be visiting so soon!" She clasps her hands together.

Rosie greets him warmly, enveloping Alastor in a hug, a gesture he reserved for few.

Her attention then turned to you, and Alastor couldn't help but smirk at your discomfort as Rosie circled around you, examining you with interest.

"Why Alastor, who’s the peach? Rosie's tone was playful as she sized you up.

“Rosie, this is my assistant Andi. Andi this is my good pal Rosie overlord of Cannibal Town.”

You introduced yourself politely, and Rosie's grin widened. "Such a polite and pretty girl.” She wraps an arm around you,” Whatcha doing hanging around a guy like Al?” She says hitching her thumb towards him.

You mumble something he misses and Rosielaughs and pats your back, Alastor watches your eyes widen and you return Rosie’s smile.

Rosie was always a charmer he supposed, “Well, what a wonderful surprise! Let’s take this conversation to the café next door, shall we? I'm starving Al!"

With Rosie leading the way, the three of you made your way across the street and settled onto the patio of the nearby cafe.

Alastor observed as you paled slightly while perusing the menu. Taking pity on you, he handed over a list of items to purchase from the emporium, allowing you to escape the awkward situation with your excuse of having already eaten. As you hurried off to fulfill your task, Alastor couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at your swift exit.

He and Rosie quickly dive into the specifics of the territory issues and he steals a glance or two at you just to make sure you are doing your job.

They discuss the recent encroachments by the Loan Shark gang, noting the increased tensions in the area. Rosie shares her concerns about their aggressive expansion and how it's affecting the local businesses. The gang is probably being backed by the Vees of course that tacky box is involved.

Alastor nods thoughtfully, absorbing the information as he formulates his plan to address the situation. If he was up to his usual self he'd of just wiped them out in one fell swoop.

When Alastor glances inside the store, he notices one of Rosie’s citizens approach you. The man's posture doesn't seem aggressive, but rather nervous.

He appears to be on the younger side, lanky with dull blonde hair, dressed plainly in a blue dress shirt and black pants with suspenders. If Alastor were to describe him, it would be unremarkable.

Alastor wonders why the man is so close to you. He watches as you turn around and notice him, lighting up in recognition and offering him a warm smile.

The two of you start talking, but Alastor can't make out what you're saying. However, the man seems very familiar with you and even takes your shopping basket to hold.

Rosie says something to him, but Alastor doesn't hear it. Who is that man? Why are you so comfortable with him?

A throat clearing brings him back to his dining partner. Rosie wears a quizzical expression and follows his line of sight, grinning.

"Ah, I knew the name Andi sounded familiar!" She takes a sip of her tea. "Jester over there came to me for advice last week about an Andi."

Alastor finds the name Jester laughable. "And what did this Jester fellow need with my assistant?"

Rosie intertwines her fingers and leans forward, wearing a mischievous grin. "Alastor, you know being an overlord pays the bills, but my true passion lies in matchmaking."

Alastor arches an eyebrow, he feels that icy feeling again like needles in his chest, "Matchmaking, you say? And how does this involve my assistant?"

Rosie's grin widens, and she leans back in her chair, swirling the tea in her cup thoughtfully.

"Well, it seems Jester has taken quite a liking to your Andi. He's been asking for advice on how to win her over. He's a real sweet guy who owns the cutest florist shop down the road."

Alastor's smile tightens imperceptibly at the mention of Jester's interest in Andi. So, he's the one who gave her the flowers.

"So what do you think? They look kinda sweet to me."

As Rosie continues to talk about Jester's attempts to woo Andi, Alastor feels a twinge of discomfort gnawing at him.

"I think my assistant is far too busy to entertain such distractions."

Rosie blinks at him once or twice, confusion knitting her brow as she processes his response.

Rosie lets out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "Oh, Alastor, everyone deserves a little romance in their life, don't you think?"

Alastor's eyes narrow, a flicker of concern crossing his features, "Romance is a frivolous endeavor, Rosie. It tends to cloud judgment and derail focus."

This was hell one needed to remain focused to stay in power.

Alastor enjoyed entertaining himself but that never caused him to lose sight of his goals.

Rosie tilts her head, considering his words. "True enough, but those frivolous endeavors have a funny way of sneaking up on even the most hardened souls."

Whatever was she talking about? He deeply cared for Rosie but she could be too sentimental for his tastes sometimes.

He was not about to let some dour flower-toting simpleton get in the way of his entertainment.

He glances back towards the store and spots you heading back, carrying a bag of purchases. However, your friend is conspicuously absent from sight.

"Well Rosie my dear, I must bid you adieu."

Rosie simply sips her tea, as she watches the two of you walk away. Alastor snags a bag from you to carry himself.

Her black eyes twinkle with mirth, "Looks like things are about to get interesting around here."

Chapter 18: Then There Were Three

Chapter Text

You awaken to a burning sensation on your ankle, a discomfort that had troubled you the day before.

All your other injuries had healed fully but this one persisted. It’s been weeks and it hasn’t changed.

Frowning, you pull your leg up and out from under the covers and examine it in the dim, crimson light of early dawn.

The area around your ankle is a dark gray against your silvery skin, resembling a bruise, but the shape is peculiar.

As you roll your leg to get a better look, the shape becomes eerily familiar—it's almost like a handprint.

Goosebumps prickle across your flesh as you tentatively reach down and place your hand on the mark.

Suddenly, your vision blurs, and you're transported back to that haunting alley, reliving the night your life was snatched away.

The ground is cold and hard the air reeks with that familiar putrid scent.

Before you stands a shadowy figure, cloaked in smoke, their features obscured.

All you can discern is the outline of a caped man, with eyes like burning yellow flames, he has a tall hat upon his head.

In his hand gleams a long, serrated knife dripping with something dark you blink, and your back in the safety of your bed.

As you pull the covers tightly around you, your mind races with unsettling thoughts. Was that shadowy figure the one who murdered you?

The memory sends a chill down your spine, and you try to push it aside, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an attempt to banish the haunting image.

They didn't seem human—that much was clear. You've spent enough time in hell to recognize a demon when you see one. A demon killed you. The realization sends a wave of fear coursing through you.

But then another disturbing question emerges: could demons travel back to the mortal world?

The mere thought sends your mind spinning with terrifying possibilities that thing had been going for Jade was she ok?

Suddenly, something pokes your back pulling you out of your spiral, and you flinch, knowing exactly what it is.

Another one of those damn feathers. This is the third one you've found.

With a frustrated sigh, you hop out of bed and toss it onto the desk, where it joins the others—a growing collection.

You glance towards the empty vase on your desk, the flowers were strangely gone.

A knock at your door startles you, and you hastily make your way over to open it. You're dressed in an oversized baby blue sweater that Charlie had given you, paired with comfortable cotton shorts.

Expecting to see Angel, you're taken aback when you find Alastor standing on the other side of the door, his presence an unwelcome surprise this early in the morning.

Alastor's eyes flicker down momentarily and widen, a subtle sign of his surprise.

However, he quickly regains his composure, his expression returning to its usual composed demeanor.

"Apologies if I caught you at an inconvenient time, " he says smoothly, his tone betraying nothing.

"But breakfast is the most important meal of the day, wouldn't you agree?"

Was this his way of telling you that you're late for breakfast?

Time had slipped away from you.

"Yup very important."

You walk over to your nightstand stand grab your phone then pocket it and scoot out the door past Alastor pulling it shut behind you.

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing else and offers you his signature smile, his monocle glinting in the dim light of the hall.

You did not feel like getting dressed yet, it was the weekend and you'd had a long week of putting up with Alastor and working at the Oasis.

While you enjoyed singing and getting out of the Hotel for a bit it was still taxing.

You quickly make your way down to the lobby walking quickly in front of Alastor just to get away from him.

Yesterday had been a close call in Cannibal Town. Not only were your fears about the dietary choices of the denizens of that area confirmed, but Jester had appeared as well.

He was very sweet and all, but you had to politely send him on his way. Lest Alastor catches sight of him and Jester accidentally blows your cover.

You couldn't risk Alastor getting wind of your connections outside the hotel. It was already challenging enough to navigate his suspicions currently.

As you walk, a thought pops into your mind from earlier: Alastor was a powerful demon; surely he'd know something. So, you stop walking.

"Hey, Alastor?" You turn to face him, and you find him immediately behind you, his presence looming over you. You have to crane your neck a bit to meet his gaze.

"Yes, cher?" he responds, his voice curious and echoey in the cramped hall.

"Can demons, travel back to earth?"

A staticky, buzz-like feedback screeches from his cane, causing you to flinch slightly, and his grin widens, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth.

"What an interesting question," he muses, "Why, Andi darling, do you have some unfinished business, perhaps?"

"There are a few Hellborns who possess that kind of power in other rings of Hell," he continues, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "But few sinners can manage that feat."

He leans down a bit closer, his breath ghosting across your face, "Luckily for you, I'm not like most sinners," he whispers, "I've managed the feat on several occasions, and for the right price, I'd be willing to arrange something for you."

The air thickens with static and a shadowy form rises behind Alastor its eyes leer at you.

He was trying to make a deal with you.

Whatever his price was you didn’t want to pay it.

"T-Thanks, but I'll pass, I was just curious." You say with as much nonchalance as you can and stand up straighter.

He regards you for a moment his eyes narrowing.

"Suit yourself darling, but should you ever change your mind, do let me know."

He continues ahead of you this time like nothing even happened and you follow him downstairs into the dining area.

Your heart beats quickly in your chest and you try to steady it.

Everyone is already seated and eating, so you take a seat and plate up a waffle, adding a generous drizzle of syrup.

As you dig in, enjoying the sweetness, Charlie's voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Alastor told me about his new idea!" she exclaims, her eyes bright with excitement.

You tilt your head in confusion, pausing mid-bite. "His what now?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

"About the Halloween party!" Your blood runs cold, and you snap your head over towards Alastor.

His idea! The absolute nerve of course he stole your idea. Your jaw clenches in frustration as you shoot Alastor a glare across the table.

He meets your gaze with a smug smile his eyes dancing with mirth he was always one step ahead of you.

Charlie's eyes narrow slightly, but she chooses not to press further. "Yeah, he's full of surprises, isn't he?" she responds with a chuckle.

"Well, since it's your brilliant idea, Alastor," Vaggie interjects, her tone laced with subtle skepticism, "I'm sure you'll handle all the finer details including the finances."

Alastor's grin remains firmly in place, "Ah, indeed," he replies smoothly. "Consider it my gift to the hotel."

Vaggie didn't buy his crap either you surmise. Heh at least he has to pay for everything.

"But, I will be utilizing my darling little assistant's help of course! "

"Aw, you two are the best!" Charlie exclaims, her smile radiant.

You sigh inwardly, torn between your disdain for Alastor and your desire to support Charlie. With a forced smile, you nod in agreement, your conflicting emotions warring within you but ultimately the latter wins out.

Before you can say anything else you hear a quiet knock on the hotel's door.

Vaggie strides towards the door, you watch with curiosity, wondering who could be visiting the hotel at this hour.

The quiet knock is barely audible over the chatter in the room, but Vaggie's reaction is unmistakable.

With a swift, fluid motion, Vaggie yanks open the door, her posture tense.

From your vantage point at the table, you can't see who's on the other side, but you catch a glimpse of Vaggie winding her hand back, her expression fierce and determined.

Before you can process what's happening, Vaggie's fist connects with a solid thud, and a muffled groan echoes through the room.

"Well, sh*t," Angel mutters as he was watching the door as well.

Charlie darts up nearly knocking her plate off the table, "Vaggie wait, please wait!"

Charlie helps a familiar-looking snake in through the door.

"Excuse me, Sssorry for intruding!" He hisses rubbing his eye which was a bit red from Vaggies left hook.

Huh, it was that Zepplin guy who almost squished you the other day with a cannonball.

"What the hell do you want?" Vaggie seethes summoning a literal spear from somewhere, Charlie puts her hands on the other woman's shoulders and lowers it gently.

"Let's hear him out Vaggie."

Vaggie huffs but does lower her spear clenching it tightly.

"W-well, I was wondering if I could join thisss establishments redemption program."

"You want to join us?" Charlie says as she clasps her hands together her eyes sparkling and smile widening.

"Y-yess," the visitor stammers, visibly flustered. "I'm ready to uh- turn over a new leaf."

Angel lets out a scoffing noise from beside you, his skepticism evident.

Before Vaggie can voice her objections, Charlie interjects with a reassuring smile. "Well, we do have the room, and you're welcome to stay here with us!" she says warmly.

"We're actually going to be starting up our program's redemption sessions soon, so it's perfect timing."

Alastor stands and makes his way over twirling his cane, the man stands straighter as he approaches.

"Hello all, I am Sssir Pentious!"

Alastor waltzes right up to him encroaching in on his space, "Ah yes, you’re the one who nearly flattened my assistant and ruined my coat!" His tone is dry and surprisingly free from its usual echo.

"I definitely remember you..."

You blink slowly, observing Alastor's immediate interest in the new arrival.

Perhaps this would divert his attention away from you for a while maybe he’d shift his attentions to Sir Pentious.

Glancing at Husk, you notice his concerned expression, which strikes you as odd considering.

Despite not wishing that kind of attention on anyone, you can't forget that Sir Pentious had nearly injured you and Nifty. With a sigh, you decide to approach him and introduce yourself politely.

He takes your hand in his scaly grip and you hope for better days.

Maybe you could finally catch a break for once.

Chapter 19: Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

Chapter Text

Sir Pentious had only arrived at the hotel yesterday morning, yet his presence had already caused a palpable shift in the hotel's atmosphere.

There was an air of suspicion and animosity especially from Vaggie and Angel. Angel had spent most of yesterday in his room after Pentious's arrival.

Sir Pentious was indeed an odd character, resembling an eccentric old-timey mad scientist straight out of a cartoon.

He arrived with a group of egg-like minions, adding to the spectacle of his presence. His large zeppelin, parked conspicuously beside the hotel, seemed oddly fitting amidst the hotel's eclectic exterior décor.

As for Pentious himself, awkwardness seemed to emanate from him like a cloud. From his haphazardly arranged attire to his slightly jittery movements, he gave off an aura of discomfort, as if he were perpetually out of place.

He wasn't particularly unfriendly but there was something a bit off about him you think.

His egg minions were another beast entirely and were constantly waddling after him in their little suits. It was a bit cute honestly.

Among them was a particularly chatty one named Frank, who you found yourself conversing with during one of Pentious's brief absences.

Frank possessed an impressive vocabulary and an eagerness to talk about his favorite topic: the flat earth theory.

Oh, boy.

With remarkable enthusiasm, he delves into intricate explanations, complete with crayon-drawn diagrams, and you tried really hard to get out of that conversation but it lasted for over an hour.

That was a doozy.

You'd texted your definitely-not-a-friend Angel last night and invited him out for brunch today which he surprisingly accepted providing you pay and he pick the place.

Ah, at least you were making decent money speaking of money you needed to ask Alastor about what he'd be paying you and when you were not putting up with the man for free.

Dressed in a black window pane checked skirt and a cozy gray sweater, you opted for a slightly casual yet chic look for the outing.

Forgoing tights, you slipped on tall socks to accompany your boots, adding a touch of warmth and style to your ensemble. You got used to how fashionable NYC was and missed fashion week and dressing up.

When you head downstairs, the empty hotel lobby confirms your suspicion that everyone is still asleep. It's not surprising given the early hours on a Sunday morning.

Angel didn't respond to your knock when you went by, so you decided to send him a text instead. His reply comes quickly, explaining that he's in the middle of fixing his hair and was just showering.

Stepping outside to pass the time, you spot the morning paper lying on the driveway. As you bend down to retrieve it, a mechanical buzzing sound catches your attention.

Glancing up, you're met with the sight of something whirling overhead, a peculiar and unexpected interruption to the tranquility of the morning. Intrigued, you squint to get a better look at whatever it is.

It appears to be some kind of drone or something mechanical. Which you guessed was normal enough but it appeared to be hovering around the hotel from the outside it's a bit suspicious. It hovers over you for a brief second and you blink in surprise as it draws closer.

As the flying object nears, a sudden crackle of energy fills the air, followed by a shadowy tendril snatching the thing and crushing it instantly.

Startled, you jump out of the way as plastic and electronic debris rain down from the carnage.

In a flash of shadows and static, Alastor materializes beside you, his posture stiff and his expression tinged with irritation. He regards the wreckage for a moment before leaning down to inspect it.

"Good morning, cher," he says, his voice chipper but filled with a hint of annoyance. "It seems we have a visitor of some kind this fine day."

You nod in agreement, then kneel down to pick up a piece of debris—a camera lens. Handing it to Alastor, you remark, "Seems like a drone or something."

Alastor examines the lens thoughtfully, his monocle glinting in the morning light. "Care to elaborate, darling? I'm afraid I haven't kept up with all the new technological gizmos coming out each year."

Just how old was Alastor?

"Well a drone is like a remote-controlled flying device. People use them for all sorts of things—photography, surveillance, even delivery services."

Alastor straightens up instantly, "So it was a little spying contraption then?"

You shrug a bit, "It definitely could be used for that, yeah."

Alastor's expression darkens slightly, a shadow passing over his features for a moment.

Before he reaches over and not so gently ruffles your hair, you find his attempt at comfort annoying. "Worry not, cher," he reassures you, "I will get to the bottom of this meddling."

You weren't particularly bothered and ducked your head away from his hand as he didn't pull back right away and fix the hair he fluffed up.

Your hair was always on the frizzy side and he was making it worse with his staticky self.

He seems less amused and more contemplative. The drone was bothering him.

"There ya are, we going to be late for the show!" Angels says practically running out the door and snagging your arm what surprises you even more is that Husk is trailing behind him looking very hung over.

"Show?" You were under the impression you were just going out for brunch food.

He simply grins his gold tooth glimmering, "Hope you brought some one-dollar bills!"

Alastor eyes the three of you but doesn't say anything instead he pockets the lens and vanishes in a shadowy buzz.

"Where the f*ck are you taking us Legs?" Husk grumbles as the three of you make your way down the road.

"Nuh uh not telling, don't wanna spoil the surprise," Angel replies with a mischievous grin and shoots a wink at Husk.

You walk past The Oasis on the way and start going towards a familiar area, ah this is around where you were when you first landed in hell it was the entertainment district.

In the light of day it's a lot less intimating than when you first saw it a month ago it was still very grimy though.

Angel leads your wayward party into a purple building and down into a basem*nt where you do find a restaurant.

There is a club vibe to this place and the lighting is a bit dim. You take your seat at a marble countered booth with black leather seats.

The place is called Stilettos & Scones.

A tiger-like waitress gives you a menu and you order a mimosa and an omelet. Husk settles into the seat and glances around suspiciously and Angel wears a knowing smile.

The prices are pretty reasonable and you're not sure what the catch is here until the upbeat music starts playing and a Dolly Pardon impersonator comes out singing 9-5.

Oh, so this is a drag show brunch.

The food arrives, and honestly, it's really good. The performers are very entertaining, and even Husk, who seemed a bit on edge, is having a good time. There are breaks in between performances, and you make conversation with your companions.

"So, how's everyone doing lately?" You say, a bit awkwardly.

Angel snorts, "We're in hell, toots. What do ya think?"

He had a valid point.

He takes a sip of his drink, "I was definitely doing better before that snake showed up, though."

Husk hums in agreement, and you speak up. "So, I get the attacking the hotel bit, but is there something else about him?"

"He's suspicious as f*ck. I'd be willing to make a bet that he's up to something." Husk adds, swirling his liquor.

Angel nods in agreement. "And I saw him hanging around the V tower a few months ago. Something ain't adding up."

He levels you with a look. "And don't you go trusting him and trying to be all buddy-buddy and sh*t."

"I wasn't planning on it and while I'm not going to be rude to the guy or anything I agree he's a bit off, plus I already have enough on my plate as it is."

Angel tsks, "I'll say Freaky Face is on your ass constantly, do ya think becoming his darling little assistant was a great idea? He's the f*cking Radio Demon."

You drain the entirety of your mimosa and gesture to the waitress for another.

"Look, I'm just trying to help out Charlie and he was going to bother me anyway. Might as well get paid for it."

Husk's voice carries a weight of concern as he speaks up. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid. I speak from personal experience when I say you don't wanna lose to that psychopath, don't play anymore than you have to."

"Souls are just bargaining chips to most overlords, toots. Husky and I have learned that the hard way," Angel says, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

They had both made deals of some kind.

Alastor had hinted at you making a deal with him just yesterday. This was all too much to deal with.

Your stomach churns, "Do you think I want to be a part of this? That I want to play his stupid game?" Your voice cracks a bit at the end, and you clench your fists. Your eyes wet and you blink back the sensation.

Husk's clawed hand lands on your shoulder, his quiet reassurance is appreciated and you relax.

Despite the bubbling anxious frustration in your gut, you muster resolve. "He isn't giving me much of a choice but I'll deal with it my way. I'm not backing down or taking his sh*t."

Grandma would have scolded you for all the cursing you've been doing lately. But she’d support your course of action.

Angel laughs and holds his drink to toast, "Aye now that's the spirit Andi, f*ck those overlord douchebags! May Alastor and Valentio get what's coming to them."

Was Valentino the one Angel made a deal with?

The three of you raise your glasses and clink them together and enjoy the rest of the show.

A few days earlier...

Screens flicker to life with a crackle, casting an eerie glow across the dimly lit room as Vox, reclines in his leather throne. Wires snake and coil around him like serpents, connecting him to a myriad of devices.

With a calculated flick of his fingers, he summons holographic displays, each showing a different video feed from various sources across the city.

The room hums with the sound of machinery as Vox clicks through his channels, his eyes glinting with a cold, calculated intelligence.

He observes the scenes unfolding on the screens before him, analyzing every detail with keen interest.

Each flicker of movement is scrutinized every whisper of conversation captured by his sensitive microphones.

The one who controls the media holds the power, after all, they hold the narrative. Vox understands this truth better than anyone in else in Hell. With each click of his remote and each manipulation of his screens, he shapes not only the information that flows to the masses but also their perception of reality itself.

In his domain of wires and screens, Vox is the puppeteer pulling the strings of public opinion. He knows that with the right image, and the right story, he can sway the minds of demons.

And as he surveys the scenes unfolding before him, he relishes in the knowledge that he holds the keys to influence and control. He and his partners own this domain, they have it patented even.

Hell had been good to Vox, especially in the seven years since the disappearance of that Tacky Mother f*cker Alastor. Most had assumed him dead, but Vox knew better. And, as usual, he had been right. Because lo and behold, Alastor showed back up six odd weeks ago, much to Vox's dismay.

For years, Vox had enjoyed unparalleled influence and control over the media landscape of Hell. With Alastor out of the picture, there had been no one to challenge his dominance in this domain.

But now, with the return of the Radio Demon, Vox's carefully constructed empire faced a new threat, a pathetic outdated threat but still a threat.

Vox isn't afraid though, nope, not at all. In fact, he sees Alastor's return as a stroke of luck, a golden opportunity to settle the score once and for all. This unexpected turn of events presents Vox with the perfect chance to enact his revenge on the Radio Demon.

He should have stayed away.

That bastard was shacking up at the princess's hotel, along with Val's little star Angel Dust.

He despised that lanky twink too.

So Vox needed to gather some visuals and intel from there. With a sly grin spreading across his pixelated face, Vox taps into his network of informants, instructing them to keep a close eye on the goings-on at the hotel.

He even had a desperate bastard willing to go check in a keep tabs on them from the inside this would be too easy.

After he prepares the news stories for channel 666 he starts his daily overview of trending videos on Voxtigram.

The video quality is subpar, grainy, and pixelated, but the voice that fills his speakers is anything but.

It's crystal clear, carrying a hauntingly beautiful melody that cuts through the noise of the mundane content surrounding it.

His pixelated eyes dilate as he throws the video up on the surrounding screens, the singer is a young woman. Despite the technical limitations of the recording, her talent shines through brilliantly.

Vox observes every detail; she's young, attractive, and possesses a captivating stage presence that demands attention.

Vox has an eye for talent and she's got it, he notices a band with her but they aren't as remarkable.

She seems marketable but he needs to consult the others. He screenshots her image and texts it to his partners and waits for their replies.

Vox: "What do we think of this one visually?"

Valentio: "Hot body, nice tit*. More human-looking, which is definitely a kink as are the horns."

He reviews the video and takes a mark of the location of The Oasis.

He'll send a talent scout to the area to try to get a better-quality video and more information.

Another talented soul would be useful for his brand and collection.

With his plan in motion, Vox stands up and prepares to go about his busy day.

As they say, "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Chapter 20: Knock Once

Chapter Text

After an enjoyable Sunday, you finally feel like you're ready to start the week right. The day out had been exactly what you needed to boost your morale.

Following yesterday's brunch, you managed to convince the boys to join you on a stroll to the shopping district.

There, you indulged in the guilty pleasure of purchasing some new shoes finally!

But the shopping spree didn't end there. You also made a stop at Celestia's Adornments, again and bought a few more things.

You were starting completely fresh you couldn't fault yourself for buying some more clothes.

You even found a dress for the Halloween party. It was very Morticia Addams core with bell sleeves and a deep raven color.

Husk grumbled the entire time but Angel bought a few things of his own and you both made Husk carry the bags. You had paid for brunch so it was only fair.

Shopping with them had brought back memories of your living life and shopping with your friends, especially Jade.

You remember the times spent trying to stretch your meager budgets and trying on dresses you'd never be able to afford just for the fun of it.

The two of you strolled through the busy streets with the sunshine beating down on you carrying plastic bags and cold coffee.

You'd taken such simple things for granted.

As you walk through the familiar corridors of the hotel, a sense of anticipation bubbles within you.

Today marks the start of something new – your first-ever redemption session. The idea both excites and slightly unnerves you, what did redemption really mean?

You didn't even understand what you had done to end up in hell. You just died and woke up here, there was no cosmic entity explaining your sins and weighing them on a scale or even a heavanly tribunal it just sort of happened.

The first session is being held in the lounge next to the conservatory, when you enter it appears like you are the last to join.

You spy Angel sprawled out on a couch looking completely bored scrolling his phone, Vaggie and Charlie are talking animatedly in the corner.

Alastor is sitting on a loveseat by himself just observing and Pentious is curled nervously in a chair near Angel.

Opting to sit with Angel versus the other available spot you scoot his long legs over to his side and he throws them over across your lap instead.

You shoot him a blank look but he rolls his eyes, "I was here first so deal with it, toots."

Charlie interrupts by clapping her hands together, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Alright, everyone! Let's kick things off with a classic icebreaker!" she announces, beaming at the group.

Vaggie rolls her eyes playfully, muttering something about "forced bonding activities," but Charlie ignores her and continues.

"Okay, here's the deal," Charlie says, trying to contain her excitement. "We're going to go around the room and share our weirdest, most bizarre talents!"

Angel raises an eyebrow skeptically, while Alastor's grin widens. Sir Pentious adjusts his goggles with interest, and Vaggie looks mildly amused.

Charlie nods eagerly, clearly pleased with her idea. "I'll start. Did you know I can mimic the sound of a Great Horned Owl?" She proceeds to demonstrate, with a crazy level of accuracy.

Angel, still reluctant, nonetheless puts on a show of his own. With a resigned sigh, he demonstrates his incredible contortionist-level flexibility, twisting his body into impossible shapes with ease.

Despite being staff, and not a participant in the hotel's program, Alastor insists on joining in as the host.

"I couldn't possibly resist the opportunity to entertain such esteemed guests," he quips.

Alastor with a sly grin, conjures a vintage saxophone out of thin air, much to everyone's surprise.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor brings the saxophone to life with a single breath, its dulcet tones filling the room with smooth jazz melodies.

His posture straightens, and his expression becomes one of focused concentration. It's clear that despite his casual demeanor, he takes his playing seriously.

As he effortlessly weaves intricate notes and melodies, his fingers dance across the instrument with finesse and flair.

He was unfortunately not bad at playing the saxophone so you reluctantly offer a couple of claps.

It's infuriating to witness Alastor excel at something as deeply personal to you as music.

Alastor preens at the acknowledgment, his confidence evident in the way he holds himself.

A smug grin plays on his lips as he basks in the attention his impromptu performance has garnered.

"Thank you, thank you," he says with a hint of arrogance in his voice, his eyes are directed solely at you. "It's just a little taste of my talents, darling."

You ignore him entirely and for your hidden talent resort to juggling some fake fruit décor from a basket in the room a skill you learned to avoid writing a paper.

Your professor had told the class that anyone who could juggle six items would get an automatic A on the final, and you'd rather do that than write a fifteen-page essay on musical theory.

Time well spent you think.

Sir Pentious solves equations on a sheet of paper for his talent.

You clap for him too though you have no idea what those equations even mean.
He seems very pleased with himself.

Charlie straightens in her seat, her voice carrying a note of gentle authority. "Alright, everyone," she begins, "now that we've been treated to some incredible talents, let's delve into something a bit more personal. I'm curious to hear about your lives before Hell—your human stories. We'll keep it casual, but I'll throw in a few questions along the way to help us understand how you found yourselves here."

You feel your pulse quickening a bit with that one, you don't really want to talk about something so personal but you suppose it makes sense.

No one speaks up and Charlie gives you a pleading look, so you decide to bite the bullet for her.

You could glaze over the specifics.

'Uh well, I was born in Tennessee near Nashville. I was raised by my grandmother mostly I-I.."

Charlie interrupts gently, "Where were your parents if you don't mind sharing?"

"Ah, well my dad traveled for work and my mom well she passed when I was a toddler."

You hated bringing up that fact when alive you hated the pity. You missed her or more the idea of her but honestly can't remember her, you just recall that she made you feel safe and smelled like an ocean breeze.

Charlie nods her face soft and you continue, "Anyway, my paternal grandmother stepped up. She was an Irish immigrant who embraced her new life in Tennessee with open arms despite how difficult the adjustment was for her."

As a child, you always viewed your Grandma as superhuman. She seemed capable of anything—sewing a dress for your part in a play, cooking like a five-star chef, and even repairing the roof when needed.

"She was a remarkable woman. Despite our modest means, she always found a way to make life feel rich and fulfilling," you reflect, a fondness in your voice as you reminisce about your grandmother.

Charlie looks a bit puzzled. "What kind of child were you if you were to describe yourself? Were you troubled?"

"I mean I was a bit of an airhead and stubborn but I stayed out of trouble. My childhood was fairly average—I went to school, had a few friends, and enjoyed typical hobbies like theater and dance. I spent the summers and breaks traveling with my dad and his band."

You had let that last part slip accidentally and wince a bit.

Alastor was here keep your cards closer.

"Anyway, I moved to New York for college," you recount, "and that's where I met my best friend. I juggled part-time work at my school, went on a few dates, splurged on a car, and attended some memorable parties."

You continue, "I made sure to maintain good grades to keep my scholarships, and after graduation, I settled in Bushwick with my friend I worked as a waitress while I pursued my dream job."

Charlie furrows her brow slightly, a look of concern crossing her features. "Andi, I hope you don't mind me asking, but your story sounds rather normal. What brought you here to Hell? It doesn't seem like there's anything particularly damning in your past."

That's exactly the problem!

Charlie clicks her pen a few times, her expression pensive. "Did you have any addictions or commit any crimes?"

You swallow dryly, "I mean, I got really drunk a few times. And I... I vandalized my friend's ex's car after he hit her. I lied sometimes. I-think I stole makeup once in middle school. "

She stops you, her expression shifting with a mix of concern and empathy. "Andi, forgive me if this feels invasive," Charlie begins gently, her voice soft yet insistent, "but do you remember how you died? You really don't have to answer if you don't want to."

The weight of everyone's eyes on you feels suffocating, and you can sense Alastor's intense gaze fixed upon you. The last thing you want is to appear vulnerable, especially in front of him. His silence is deafening, yet his piercing stare speaks volumes, stirring a sense of unease within you.

But the memories claw at the edges of your mind, demanding acknowledgment.

You swallow hard again, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I... I'm not sure," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It's all a blur mostly but I was walking home from work, and something.. someone was there moving towards my friend and I pushed her and then I-I was uh, attacked…. I guess I was murdered."

You pause, the weight of the memories heavy upon your shoulders.

Instinctively, you put on a nonchalant smile, but it wavers, revealing the tremble in your lips. "Then I woke up here, guess I just didn't make the cut for heaven."

As Charlie begins to speak, her words become distant echoes drowned out by the rapid thumping of your heart in your ears.

The weight of the memories you've unearthed feels suffocating, and you realize you can't bear to stay in the room a moment longer. You don't even want to look at them anymore.

You feel Angel's hand reaching out towards you, a gesture of comfort, but you shrug it off without a second thought. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, you rise from your seat, your movements brisk and unsteady.

"Well, I-I'm pretty tired now," you stammer, "Think I'll head back to my room."

You barely make it through your door before the tears start flowing.

The rest of your day is a quiet affair spent holed up in your room. You find yourself sinking into the comforting embrace of your bed, seeking refuge from the literal hell outside.

Despite the lingering obligation to join Alastor for work, you can't muster the energy to leave the sanctuary of your room.

Today, the desire for solitude outweighs any sense of duty or obligation you feel especially to someone you don't like.

Charlie texts you several times apologizing and you reply to her. You'd only been dead a month everything was still raw and fresh. You were just not ready to go over all of that.

Vaggie brings you up some food, apparently, Alastor made Jambalaya for dinner and you clean your bowl.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a man of many talents.

You decided to go to The Oasis still tonight, singing would bring you some comfort.

So you get dressed in a black long-sleeve sweater and throw your blue velvet dress over it, and add tights, and your boots.

Sneaking out is second nature to you at this point so you do it with practiced ease.

It seems to be getting colder, maybe hell actually experienced seasons.

The place is packed again, it seemed to be getting busier every night.

You're a lot less talkative than usual and Vlad scolds you a few times during practice for fumbling a note or missing the pitch. You take it in stride though and get your head in the game.

Halloween is next Thursday and the band will be having a themed set the Friday following. The theme that was chosen was haunting songs.

It promises to be a busy week after this, especially with the event Alastor is planning. If he wants to take credit for the idea, he can handle the lion's share of the work then.

The rest of the night goes smoothly, and you find yourself taking a seat at the bar afterward.

While you hadn't planned on getting drunk, you decide to indulge in a beverage, opting to sip on something cold and biting.

Husk and Angel aren't here tonight but it's just as well you could use some time to yourself.

Just as you're lost in thought about the weeks ahead, you notice someone slipping into the seat next to you.

It's a man clad in a posh gray business suit, his appearance strikingly put together

With a long reptilian tail and patches of scales, he resembles some kind of lizard-like creature. Oddly thick black-framed glasses adorn his face, and a metallic earpiece gleams in his ear.

Turning to face you with a toothy smile, he extends a hand in greeting, revealing sharp claws at the ends.

His eyes remind you of Angels one black and one red.

"Hello there, doll," he purrs, his voice smooth but with an unmistakable edge. "The name's Viktor. I couldn't help but notice your singing tonight; you're quite good."

You take his scaly hand and "It's Andi and thanks, I'm with a great band."

You catch a faint buzzing sound, like a whisper in the background, your hearing has been a bit more sensitive since you died.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asks warmly.

Was he flirting with you?

"All my drinks are free here," you respond with a casual smile, taking a sip of your drink.

There is a slight delay, and another buzz before he speaks, "You know Andi, a girl like you should really shoot higher than singing in a place like this."

You liked it here.

Raising an eyebrow, "Oh, really? And what exactly do you suggest I aim for, Viktor?"

Viktor leans in closer, his eyes gleaming behind his odd glasses. "The stars doll face, with your talent you could be a star," he croons, his tone dripping with charm.

You blink for a second, surprised by his proposition, and he continues, "I happen to work for some very powerful people who could make all your dreams come true. We could have your face on every billboard in this city, singing in all the best venues. We could get you out of that shabby hotel and into a penthouse apartment."

Your breath catches, how did he know where you were staying?

This is weird and you don't want to tell him no outright that could be dangerous if he reacts badly.

"This all sounds great, but I'll need to think about it, do you have a card or something, I have plans tonight," you reply cautiously, masking your surprise with a composed demeanor.

Another buzz interrupts your conversation, and Viktor pauses, listening intently.

It dawns on you that he was not alone in this conversation; someone else was feeding him information through his earpiece.

A sense of unease washes over you as you realize you might be getting entangled in something more complex than you initially thought.

Viktor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a metallic business card. The Vox Tech logo gleams under the dim lights of the bar, immediately catching your eye.

With a smooth motion, he slides the card over to you, and it feels cold in your hands.

After passing you the card, Viktor leans back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Take your time, Andi," he says coolly, "But remember, opportunities like this don't knock twice." He gives you a suggestive wink and salacious grin.

You stand up and straighten your dress, "I'll keep that in mind, you both have a good night,” you say sweetly.

Better to let them know you're on to them.

His eyes widen a fraction and you hear another buzz almost like laughing.

Chapter 21: Extermination

Chapter Text

Mindlessly, you flip over the cold metallic blue business card given to you last night. The Vox Tech logo gleams in the faint light filtering through the curtains, casting an otherworldly sheen across your bed.

Tracing the embossed letters with your fingertips, a sense of unease settles in the pit of your stomach. The card feels heavier than it should, as if carrying a weight of its own.

With a sigh, you set the card down on the nightstand, but its presence continues to linger in your mind, casting a shadow over your thoughts.

In life, you'd wanted fame, the kind that would illuminate the marquee of a Broadway theater. It wasn't just about the glitz and glamour, although that certainly had its allure.

Your ambitions ran deeper, fueled by a longing to provide for yourself and your loved ones. You had wanted to give a life of ease to your grandmother.

If only she hadn't gotten sick...

But beyond the material comforts fame could afford, there was a deeper passion fueling your aspirations.

You were drawn to the spotlight, not for the attention it promised, but for the joy of entertaining others.

Singing and storytelling weren't just skills to master; they were forms of expression, avenues through which you could weave tales, and evoke the emotions of your audience.

It was the very act of performance that you loved, that ability to touch the hearts and minds, that truly ignited your spirit.

That's why you have been enjoying your job at The Oasis so much. It was such a lively place and your bandmates were all passionate about music too, you felt a certain synergy when performing with them.

You were already content and didn't see the need to reach for more.

Besides, Angel's experiences with the Vees didn't seem all that glamorous. Plus, your ultimate goal was Heaven.

What was the point of striving for celebrity status in Hell if you weren't planning on making it your permanent home?

Not to mention the vibes were very much off last night when you were talking to Viktor.

You sigh and do a few stretches before reading more of Sun Tzu's wisdom.

“What is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy’s strategy.”

As you pondered Alastor's strategy, you couldn't help but notice the duality in his behavior.

On the one hand, he appeared to offer protection to the hotel and acted as a charismatic annoying host, but on the other hand, he often made light of the establishment and didn't seem to take its goals particularly seriously.

Could you really trust him to plan next week's event without ruining it for Charlie?

Without bothering to knock, you push open the door and step inside, finding Alastor hunched over his desk, engrossed in scribbling on some papers.

The room is dimly lit, with shadows dancing across the walls, his radio is playing a fast-paced song.

"Why if it isn't my darling assistant! How delightful of you to grace me with your presence today!" He says looking up at you, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You fight the eye roll you so desperately want to make and put on a sweet smile and match his tone, "Of course, I just couldn't stay away from my demanding boss a moment longer!"

Was he going to bring up yesterday’s little meltdown?

His grin widens, "Well let's waste no more time cher, we have much to do before my party next week."

Guess not, he was still a prick for stealing your idea.

You take your seat across from him, and he slides the paper he's been working on in front of you. It's a crude drawing depicting ghosts and bats surrounding what you guess is the hotel. The sketches are simplistic, almost childlike, and there's a certain charm to them, but it's clear that Alastor isn't taking the task too seriously.

As you examine the drawing, you can't help but notice the snide remarks scrawled around the edges.

"Why so tacky?" reads one comment beside a cartoonish zeppelin, while another questions the presence of a ship.

It's evident that Alastor is injecting his signature brand of taunting humor into the design, but it's veering dangerously close to being outright mockery.

It's kind of funny though.

"So, what do you think?" Alastor asks clearly pleased with his work.

"It's crap."

His radio flairs in its volume, and he co*cks his head with a menacing creak, "Come again?"

Too far.

"I said, It could be better. This is your event and this isn't going to bring anyone in the doors," you assert, sliding the paper back over to him.

"I mean, it's your reputation, not mine on the line if this thing bombs."

He hums thoughtfully, his sharp fingers tapping rhythmically across his desk. "Hmm, well, what would you suggest then?"

"I'm sure there are some computer software programs I could use to design professional flyers," you propose, leaning forward.

"Unfortunately, I don't have access to a computer here, but if I did, I could whip up something much more eye-catching."

He eyes suspiciously you before snapping his fingers, and a sleek red laptop appears in front of you.

Where did this stuff even come from?

You open the computer and connect to the hotel's wifi.

"Give me just a few minutes."

You browse around for a Canva or PhotoShop equivalent and find Inferno Imaging.

As you open Inferno Imaging and begin crafting the flyer, the interface feels familiar, reminiscent of the graphic design tools you used back in your human life. Despite the eerie name, it's essentially Canva.

You start by selecting a background, opting for a fiery orange and red gradient to set the tone for the Halloween event.

Next, you add spooky graphics like bats, ghosts, and jack-o'-lanterns, arranging them strategically around the central image of the hotel you found on Fire Vox.

With a few clicks, you insert bold text announcing the event details: "Halloween Spooktacular at The Hazbin Hotel - Live Music, Costume Contest, Open Bar, and More!"

After some fine-tuning and adjustments, you're satisfied with the result.

It's far more professional-looking than Alastor's crude drawing, and you hope it will attract a decent crowd to the event. With a sense of accomplishment, you save the flyer and turn the screen to show Alastor.

Alastor leans back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral as he examines the flyer you've created. His gaze lingers on the screen, absorbing the details of your design.

After a moment of silence, he nods slowly, a faint flicker of approval crossing his features. "Hmm, not bad," he concedes reluctantly.

"Certainly more polished than I expected. Could you adjust the print?"

The print ?

"Oh, you mean the font?"

You switch over to his side of the desk and rotate through a few different fonts until you find one he approves of and he has you add in a bit about a friend of his Mimzy who will be singing.

How this man has actual friends you’ll never know.

"Great now I will just set up a social media page for the hotel and I'll put out the flyer, We should probably print a few to pass out to local businesses too."

He's watching you closely, "Darling it seems like we have this settled then. So I was thinking about making a quick announcement over my radio broadcast."

He stands to his full height and straightens his tie, "Care to join me?"

It's posed like a question but it's said like a command.

A memory of screams and static run through your head.

He ushers you out the door before you can protest and he leads you to an elevator that creaks and groans as it slowly lifts you higher and lurches to a stop

As you step out of the elevator, Alastor leads you through a maze of corridors and staircases until you reach a heavy metal door marked with a faded "Restricted Access" sign.

With a deft twist of the handle, Alastor pushes it open, revealing a narrow staircase that spirals upwards towards the rooftop.

You follow Alastor up the winding staircase, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the cold, stone walls. The air grows colder with each step, and a sense of anticipation builds within you as you ascend higher and higher.

Finally, you emerge onto the rooftop, where a tall metal tower stands silhouetted against the darkening sky. Alastor strides towards it with purpose, and you follow close behind, the wind whipping at your hair and clothes.

The only way up is by climbing an old metal ladder, and you're not fantastic with heights. You glance down, oh you're up pretty high.

"After you, my dear," Alastor says with a smirk, gesturing for you to ascend the ladder first.

As you pause at the first rung, your hands grip the rails tightly, the cold metal sending a chill through your body. You can feel Alastor's presence directly behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

"Problems ?" he asks, his voice dripping with amusem*nt.

You force a smile and shake your head, "Nope!" Hastily, you start climbing, the metal rungs clinking beneath your feet until you reach a wooden hatch. With a quick snap, Alastor opens it, allowing you to clamber inside.

The space beyond is small and round, with windows on all sides offering a panoramic view of the city below.

Wooden paneling lines the walls, giving the room a cozy, rustic feel. A coat rack stands in the corner, fashioned from what looks like antlers, while pots of cattail plants add a touch of greenery.

The only furniture in the room is a small couch situated in front of some older-looking soundboards and microphones.

Alastor saunters in behind you, his movements fluid and confident, and takes a seat behind the mic. With a casual gesture, he pats the spot next to him, and you reluctantly sit beside him, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

You watch intently as he flips switches and clicks on different devices, the lights blinking to life and a low buzzing filling the air.

"Darling why don't you sit back and enjoy the show."

You didn't have much of a choice so you do.

He slides the odd-looking microphone in front of himself and speaks, "Why hello, sinners, rejoice!" Alastor's voice rings out with his Trans-Atlantic accent.

"Today, I bring you news of an event like no other, hosted at the one and only Hazbin Hotel! Get ready to celebrate Halloween in style with our spooktacular festivities, featuring live music from the talented Mimzy, devilish delights, and more surprises than you can shake a pitchfork at!"

He's really good at this, it makes sense being the Radio Demon and all you suppose.

He pauses for dramatic effect, "As the angels gear up for their new bi-annual extermination spree, why not see what we're all about? Our open bar will be flowing with libations to tempt even the most wicked of souls."

Wait.... what....you feel your stomach drop.

"So mark your calendars, my dear sinners, for a night of frightful fun and the opportunity to escape the wrath of the heavens, or at least to drown your sorrows in booze and bad decisions. Don't miss out on the most devilishly delightful event of the year, or do, it's all the same to me!"

The buzzing cuts as he finishes his broadcast, and you glance over at him wearily.

He's wearing his usual chipper grin, you take a shaking breath, "A-angels come down to hell to kill us?"

The sound of an audience oohing fills the air, and Alastor leans back in his chair, clearly relishing the opportunity to enlighten you. "Why cher, were you not educated on this?"

You shake your head, feeling a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, but Alastor's expression only brightens.

He tsks lightly and shakes his head but there's a glint in his eyes that suggests he's enjoying this exchange.

"Yes, heaven feels as though hell's population was out of control, and that we were growing too powerful, so they decided to throw an annual extermination!" Alastor explains, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.

"Actually they enjoyed it so much that they decided just recently to make it bi-annually!"

He looks at you expectantly, and you're overwhelmed by this revelation, realizing it explains so much about the urgency behind Charlie's efforts to get the hotel up and running.

A mix of shock, disbelief, and indignation swirls within you.

Alastor, ever the provocateur, is still waiting for your response.

So you gather your thoughts and all you can say is, "Well, that's not very angelic of them."

He stares at you for a moment and then his shoulders shake and you worry for a second until he lets out a hearty serious of laughs and slaps his knee his amusem*nt evident.

"Oh, cher you never fail to delight!" He says, voice strangely absent of its usual acoustics.

You sigh and stare at the ceiling for a moment, "Glad you're entertained."

Chapter 22: Second Chances

Chapter Text

The next few days drag by as you work with Alastor to prepare for the party, and it quickly becomes apparent that collaborating with him is no easy task.

His ideas are outlandish, to say the least, and you find yourself constantly trying to reign in his more eccentric tendencies.

Just yesterday, you found yourself engaged in a near-heated debate with Alastor over the party decorations.

He insisted on adorning the ballroom with actual human skeletons, graves, and live bats claiming it will lend an authentic atmosphere to the event.

You, on the other hand, argue vehemently against such a morbid display, suggesting more tasteful alternatives like faux decorations and eerie lighting effects.

Where was he going to get the human skeletons?

Despite your best efforts to sway him, Alastor remains stubbornly set on his original vision.

Eventually, you compromise on a few key elements, incorporating some of his more macabre ideas while toning down the overall morbidity of the décor. There would be live bats.

He was so exhausting.

You left the entertainment to him completely wanting to avoid that and any association with it.

He seemed pretty confident in his friend Mimzy and her abilities so you left it at that.

No need to kick a hornet's nest if you don't have to.

You were getting frustrated with Alastor's games.

With Sir Pentious's presence around the hotel, you had assumed that Alastor would start bothering you less.

However, to your dismay, nothing has changed. Alastor continues to be just as persistent in his interactions with you, he barely even pays attention to Pentious.

You couldn't shake the nagging thought of how to get Alastor off your back.

Seeking solace, you struck up a conversation with Husk during a lull in your performance at The Oasis the other night.

As you poured out your frustrations, he simply sighed heavily, his expression a mix of weariness and resignation, before downing half a bottle of liquor in one swift gulp. It was a clear sign of his exasperation with the situation.

“He’ll get bored, kid, he has to,” Husk muttered, his words bitter.

You wish you could find more comfort in his words.

The shock of learning about the extermination weighed on you as well, it was so disturbing. You spiraled and let yourself do some research on the topic and watched several videos from past exterminations.

Hell hadn't been what you expected so it shouldn't have been such as surprise that heaven wasn't either.

The stark reality of both realms left you feeling disillusioned and unsettled, questioning everything you thought you knew.

It was shocking, and you had less than five months until the next one.

These thoughts plague your mind as you turn restlessly in your bed tonight unable to find sleep. You throw your arm across your eyes and try to empty your mind of the turbulent thoughts.

As you finally start to settle, you hear the unmistakable sound of a raised voice followed by the sharp crack of something breaking. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you're up and out of bed in an instant, propelled by a sense of urgency toward the source of the disturbance.

The noise seems to be emanating from the lounge room, adjacent to the conservatory, drawing you closer with each hurried step.

When you round the corner and enter the room, the scene that unfolds before you sends a jolt of shock through your system. Angel Dust and Sir Pentious are locked in a heated altercation, their voices raised in a cacophony of angry shouts.

Angel's slender frame is a blur of motion as he maneuvers around Sir Pentious, deftly avoiding his grasp. With a swift push, Angel manages to send Pentious crashing to the floor, his eyes flashing with defiance.

"Get your extremely average body off of me!" Sir Pentious hisses, his voice laced with venom as he struggles beneath Angel's weight shoving against him.

Your mouth opens and closes, stunned by the sudden fight. Shattered glass and white feathers litter the room.

Angel notices your presence and yells for assistance, "Don't just stand there! Help me hold this f*cker down!"

Shaken from your daze, you step over the debris and move to assist Angel.

Despite the chaos, you trust that he must have a reason for this confrontation.

As you lunge down to grab his shoulders, Sir Pentious’s eyes take on an inexplicable red glow, vibrating with otherworldly energy. His hair opens up like a hood on a cobra revealing even more eyes.

A strange sensation washes over you, like a trance, Angel collapses limply to the ground beside you.

You blink, snapping out of the momentary daze, and Sir Pentious looks confused.

With Angel incapacitated, you're left feeling vulnerable and uncertain. The snake demon is much larger than you and while your stubborn you were not a fighter.

Sensing the opportunity he stands up to his full height and reaches out to grab you and you instinctively scoot backwards on the carpet, your heart racing with fear.

Why was he doing this?

In your haste, your hand brushes against a shard of glass, and you feel a sharp pain shoot through your palm as it gets sliced open. Clutching your hand to your chest, you hiss in pain, feeling the warm blood seep onto your t-shirt.

Pentious pauses, his expression conflicted, as if torn between his aggression and concern. He retracts his hand away from you and starts to say something.

"I-I didn't mean for this to ha-"

But before he can finish, the air in the room turns heavy, and the shadows in the corner behind Pentious seem to come to life, stretching menacingly upward.

Alastor steps out from the darkness, his appearance far more monstrous than usual. His horns seem sharper, casting dark shadows on the walls, and his body appears unnaturally elongated and spindly.

His eyes, glowing with an eerie red intensity, sweep around the room, taking in the chaos with a calculated interest.

His head snaps in your direction, and you freeze up when you meet his penetrating gaze.

Your heart races, and you swallow dryly, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread wash over you. Alastor's eyes lock onto your bloodied hand, and his head co*cks to the left slightly, his eyes dilating with interest.

Desperately, you try to look anywhere but at him, unable to handle his scrutiny. Your gaze flits around the room, searching for any distraction from the intensity of his presence. But no matter where you look, you can feel his eyes boring into you, his gaze like a weight pressing down on your soul.

He's terrifying.

As he lumbers forward, a screech-like sound, reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard, fills the room, causing you to instinctively clutch your fists to your ears in discomfort.

Angel, now recovered from his daze, moves away from Alastor almost instinctively, his eyes wide with fear.

Vaggie and Charlie enter the scene, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion, as they take in the chaotic scene before them.

Before anyone can react, Alastor strides forward with an unsettling grace and grabs Pentious by his collar, lifting and slamming him forcefully into the nearby bookcase. The impact sends a cascade of books tumbling to the ground.

Charlie, her eyes wide with shock, steps closer, her hands trembling slightly as she surveys the unfolding events.

"What's happening? Why is Alastor attacking Pentious!?" she demands her tone a mixture of confusion and alarm.

Alastor, with his grip firm on Pentious's collar, glances up at Charlie, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"This wretched serpent," Alastor begins, his voice dripping with disdain, "was attempting to undermine the sanctity of our hotel by accosting my darling assistant."

Angel, stumbling to his feet in front of you, blurts out, "Yea and I caught the f*cking snake planting cameras and sh*t, he's working for the Vees!" His words are laced with anger and frustration, his eyes darting nervously between Alastor and the others in the room.

Charlie gasps, her eyes widening in shock, while Vaggie wastes no time in springing into action.

She rushes to Alastor's side and presses her spear against the base of Pentious’s throat, her expression steely with determination.

"Care to explain yourself?" she demands, her voice firm and unwavering.

As Pentious receives the cruel words through his watch, his expression twists with despair and humiliation. You watch as a tear slips down his face.

He fumbles with the device, trying to respond, but before he can say anything, Alastor strides forward and snatches it from his hand.

With a smirk, Alastor peers into the screen for a moment sneering, before he drops and crushes the device under his foot, the sound of shattering plastic echoing in the room.

"Looks like someone won't be calling for help anymore," he says, his tone dripping with twisted amusem*nt.

Pentious's voice wavers with a mix of resignation as he lies on the ground, his body trembling.

"I know I don't deserve it, but please... make it quick," he pleads, his words barely audible over the heavy silence that fills the room.

Alastor, Vaggie, and Angel circle his form more than willing to oblige, violence dancing in their eyes.

You were about to witness someone die...

Charlie sighs, her expression a mix of concern and disappointment as she steps forward to intervene.

“Revenge isn't what the hotel is about," she asserts, her voice carrying a note of authority despite her unease.

"It's about second chances and forgiveness."

Angel scoffs and Vaggie looks conflicted, but she lowers her spear. Alastor remains unmoved, his stance still tense and ready for action.

Your trust in Pentious may be shattered, but when you look at him now, all you see is a broken man. The weight of his past actions hangs heavy in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of empathy for him.

With a clearing of your throat, you speak up, your voice unsteady. "Charlie's right, and it's not just about giving second chances to those who deserve it, it's about offering them to those who need it."

Sir Pentious peers up at you and bursts out in tears, "I really am sssorry, I just wanted to be a part of the Vees. I-I wanted to be recognized and respected. I'm such a fool."

He wanted to be famous.

You could relate to that, many good people lose themselves chasing notoriety by any means possible.

What a mess.

Chancing a glance at Alastor you find the man a bit more composed but still rather agitated his clawed hands digging impressions into a nearby wall.

Charlie comes over and helps you to your feet and wraps an arm around your shoulder before speaking, "Well sorry is a start, if you choose to stay here at the hotel it's not going to be easy, but I'm willing to give you one more chance."

Angel clenches his fist and storms out of the room, his frustration palpable in every tense muscle, you quickly follow suit, leaving Charlie to handle the remainder of the situation with Pentious.

"Hey, slow down, not all of us are eight feet tall!" you call out, injecting a touch of humor into the tense atmosphere, hoping to lighten the mood even just a little and it doesn't.

"Can't f*cking believe you were defending that bastard!"

You grit your teeth at his loud voice, "I wasn't defending him, I just don't think we should kill him. He was clearly being used."

Angel's steps falter, "And what? We just let him off the hook? After all the trouble he's caused? f*cking spying on us reporting sh*t to Val!" He whirls around to face you, his expression incredulous.

You shake your head, meeting his intense gaze. "Look, I'm not saying we let him off without consequences. I'm not saying we even have to like him. But killing him won't solve anything!"

"Your so f*cking naïve Andi!"

You feel a pang of hurt at his words, but you stand your ground, "Quit yelling at me! You fluffy bastard!"

You clench your fist and irritate the cut on your hand and hiss in pain the bleeding hasn't stopped.

He glances down at your hand and groans, then quickly grabs your wrist.

"Come on, let's get that patched up. I've got a med kit in my room."

You grumble a response but allow him to lead you towards his room. As he throws open the door, he adds, "Don't get your f*cking blood all over everything."

His room is a chaotic mix of clutter and personal touches. Fluffy pink blankets adorn his bed, and posters of bands and dancers cover the walls, creating a colorful yet disorganized atmosphere.

He yells at you but offers to treat your injury.

A faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the sweet scent of perfume from an open bottle on his dresser.

As Angel rummages through a drawer for the first aid kit, you take in the eclectic assortment of items scattered around the room.

Something bumps your foot and you nearly scream, until you spy the cutest creature to ever exist. It looks like a little piglet with horns and pink spots.

"Wait, Angel, you have a pet?!" you exclaim in delight, crouching down to get a closer look at the charming creature.

"That's Fat Nuggets, my precious baby boy," he practically coos, "Now sit your ass back down and hold out your hand."

The whiplash in tone has you sitting down on the edge of the bed obediently. He dabs your hand with antiseptic and it stings a bit.

He's quiet for a few moments before he speaks, "I can't believe Val was spying on me even here that creepy mother f*cker."

"Are you ok?"

He laughs and it's a painful choked sound, "I haven't been ok in a long time Andi."

"Val is a part of the Vees right?"

He nods, "Yeah, he runs the sex industry. Biggest pimp in town, he uh also owns half my soul."

You do not know what to say as his words hang in the air.

"That's how the Vees get you, they... they trap you with a deal," Angel explains with a bitter edge to his voice, his words weighed down by the burden of his experiences.

"Val likes to get us all hooked on his blend of sh*t first though. It keeps us nice and f*cked up."

As he speaks, you can sense the resentment simmering beneath his calm exterior, the pain of his past etched into every syllable as he bandages your hand.

Bile rises in your throat, "The other night... a guy named Viktor came to see me after the show," you interject, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to find the courage to voice your concerns.

Angel's reaction is immediate.

He stands abruptly, "Viktor... that name sounds familiar," he murmurs, his brows furrowed in deep thought. "He's one of Vox's goonies."

The mention of Vox sends a chill down your spine, a reminder of the dangerous underworld that Angel navigates on a daily basis. You can sense the gravity of his warning as he turns to face you, his eyes hardened.

"Andi, I want you to stay the f*ck away from them, okay? You do not want to get involved with the Vees."

As he speaks, Angel scoops up Fat Nuggets, holding the little creature close to his chest as if seeking solace in his presence.

Fat Nuggets emits a soft squeal of contentment, nuzzling into Angel's embrace, a stark contrast to the grim reality of their surroundings.

"You think Smiles is a trip?" Angel continues, "Well, Valentino likes to gather his lowest earners at the end of every month and shoot them in front of the rest of us. Just to remind us of where we stand. How f*cking disposable we all are."

The words hang in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the room.

You feel sick, "I'll stay away from them. I-I'm so sorry Angel."

"Me too toots, me too."

Chapter 23: The Meeting

Chapter Text

As you gingerly peel off the bandage from your cut this morning, you're taken aback by the sight that greets you. What was once a fresh wound from last night's encounter now appears to be almost completely healed.

Only an angry pink line remains across your palm, a stark reminder of the injury that had seemed so raw and painful just hours ago.

Running a finger along the smooth surface of your skin, you marvel at the miraculous speed of your body's new healing process. You just feel a faint itchiness, hell did have a few perks you supposed.

Last night's events left you reeling, the weight of Sir Pentious's betrayal, Alastor's violent display, and Angel's confessions lingering heavy on your mind.

The decision to heed Angel's warning and stay far away from the Vees weighed heavily on your mind, especially after learning about the gruesome practices within their organization.

The revelation that Valentino, their leader, callously executed some of his own employees every month was nothing short of horrifying.

It was a stark reminder of the ruthlessness that defined hell, you were so lucky that Husk found you.

The fact that Valentino owned half of Angel's soul added another layer of complexity to the situation.

It left you wondering why Angel would have made such a deal in the first place.

Was it out of desperation, a last resort to escape a dire situation?

As you mulled over the implications of Angel's predicament, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any way out of such a deal.

Was there a loophole of some kind? Could Angel even go to heaven if half of his soul was owned?

The questions swirled in your mind like a whirlwind, each one more daunting than the last.

But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remained clear:if there was any hope of breaking free from Valentino's grip, you vowed to help Angel find it, no matter the cost.

There wasn't much you wouldn't do for someone you considered a friend…

Dragging yourself down the stairs, the fatigue from your restless night evident in every step, you're greeted by the sight of Nifty in hot pursuit of a wayward roach.

Her energetic antics provide a brief moment of levity, a welcome distraction from the weight of recent events.

As the roach scurries past you, Nifty halts abruptly, her attention shifting from her elusive prey to you. A bright smile lights up her face as she bounds over, her enthusiasm undiminished by the early hour.

"Good Morning, Andi!" Nifty chirps cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hehehe, would you like to come to my roach puppet show tomorrow?"

"Umm, ok sure," you'd humor her and her morbid sense of entertainment.

She nods and twirls her blade as she goes back into pursuit of her creepy crawling prey.

Smiling at the sight, you continue on your way, humming a gentle tune under your breath as you make your way outside to fetch the morning paper.

The crisp morning air feels refreshing against your skin, a welcome contrast to the stuffy atmosphere inside.

Reaching the newspaper stand, you retrieve the daily paper, the headlines catching your attention as you scan the front page.

You see the article about the Halloween event as you make to open the front door again.

The door swings open before you can grab the handle, revealing Alastor standing in the doorway with his characteristic grin. "Ah, there you are, cher!" he exclaims.

Though caught off guard by his sudden appearance, you quickly slip on a fake smile, matching his cheerful demeanor.

Behind Alastor, you notice the peculiar sight of Sir Pentious's egg-shaped creations, the mischievous egg boys, trailing behind him in a clumsy procession.

They scuttle along, their waddling movements seemingly synchronized as they follow Alastor like curious ducklings.

"Uh, did you need something?" you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

"Why yes," Alastor replies, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. "I'll be needing your assistance earlier than usual today!"

It's whatever so you shrug, "Alright what did you need me to do?"

Alastor hums thoughtfully, twirling his cane and circling you once, his gaze appraising. "Well firstly, this attire simply won't do..."

Before you can process his words, he snaps his fingers, and a tingling sensation envelops your skin.

A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you glance down in surprise to find your outfit undergoing a dramatic transformation.

You blink in utter amazement as your gray sweater morphs into a crisp, pearly white dress shirt adorned with an exaggeratedly large crimson bow.

Your pants seamlessly transform into a matching shade of red, now a flowing, long skirt that sways with every movement.

Even your boots undergo a magical alteration, transforming into elegant black t-strapped heels that add a touch of sophistication to the ensemble, completing the new look with a sense of unexpected elegance.

The sudden change leaves you momentarily stunned, the luxurious fabric against your skin feeling foreign yet undeniably comfortable.

If it weren't for the high quality of the clothing, you might have been outright offended by Alastor's audacious act.

While the cut of the outfit may be a bit dated, there's no denying the luxurious feel of the material, which clings to you in all the right places.

Alastor beams with satisfaction, clearly pleased with his handiwork, much to your chagrin and annoyance.

He’s like a twisted fairy godmother or something.

"Wow, much better! Can't have my darling assistant underdressed for our meeting today."

"What meeting?" you inquire, shaking off his smugness.

Without offering any further explanation, Alastor simply turns and begins to head down the road, his shelled companions scuttling along behind him.

With a sigh, you follow suit, the clicking of your heels providing a rhythmic accompaniment to the jazzy tune emanating from Alastor's cane.

"Well, if you simply must know," Alastor begins, "it's a business meeting for overlords."

He taps his cane against the ground, causing the jazzy tune to buzz louder, filling the air with an infectious rhythm.

"It's my first in awhile so we simply must make a lasting impression."

A sudden wave of apprehension washes over you as Alastor's words sink in. A meeting with overlords?

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and you can't help but pause for a second, swallowing hard as a knot of anxiety forms in your stomach.

The thought of being in a room surrounded by powerful demons was not how you wanted to spend your day.

"Wait, why are they here?" you ask gesturing to the eggs, a note of confusion and concern creeping into your voice as you glance at Alastor.

He sighs, his usually jovial demeanor momentarily clouded by annoyance. "Ms. Vaggie insisted that they be humanely disposed of, so we shall find them a new residence."

You recall the antics of the egg boys, their constant building and shuffling around the Hazbin Hotel.

While they had been a bit of a nuisance at times, their presence had also become a familiar part of the eccentric tapestry that made up life at the hotel.

The idea of rehoming them so soon after the events of last night seemed harsh, especially considering Sir Pentious's oddly close relationship with the eggs.

As you all walk along, the egg boys chatter amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to their impending fate.

They refer to Alastor as "boss" and brazenly issue threats to several demons on his behalf.

You can't help but notice a slight twitch in Alastor's eye, a clear sign of irritation, and a mischievous smile creeps onto your face.

The fact that the egg boys have managed to ruffle Alastor's usually unflappable demeanor endears them to you instantly.

You decide to join in their conversations and engage the one called Frank in his rambles about the shadow government.

As you chat with Frank and the others, you notice Alastor's ears flattening slightly, a subtle indication of his growing annoyance. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a nearby shop window.

You look like you stepped out of a period drama you just can't place when but, it seems before the 1960s.

A question forms in your mind, "Hey Alastor, how old are you exactly?"

His head snaps toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly before a sly grin spreads across his face.

He brings a hand to his chest, adopting a theatrical pose as he responds, "Darling, don't you know it's rude to ask a man his age?"

You roll your eyes at his mock offense, thinking that if he's going to pry into your business, the least he could do is humor your curiosity in return on occasion.

He taps his cane on the sidewalk again, the jazzy tune resonating softer as he poses the question, "Care to take a guess?"

Taking a moment to observe him, you notice the sharp cut of his suit, the vintage style that seems to echo an era of flappers and speakeasies.

The jazz music emanating from his cane adds to the ambiance, reinforcing your hunch.

"The 1920s?" you venture, meeting his gaze.

His grin widens, and a twinkle of approval lights up his eyes.

"Ah, a good guess, I did love The Roaring Twenties, a time of great change and even greater chaos. But I both made my mark and met my earthly end in the 1930's."

"Wait, so you're over a hundred years old?" you blurt out, the realization dawning on you.

His laughter rings out, rich and vibrant, "In Hell, age becomes a rather fluid notion. Once we've met our end, we remain as we were in that final moment physically. For me, that moment was at thirty-three. Though I have existed several human lifetimes now."

Frank chimes in at this point, "Wow boss you're so old!"

A sound like a record skip plays and his eyes widen, you had to find some way to keep these guys around.

You turn your head away from Alastor, trying to stifle your giggles as you cover your mouth with your hand.

Just then, an eerie sensation crawls up your spine, sending a shiver down your back. The ambient noise of the city seems to fade, replaced by an odd wisping sound that echoes ominously in the distance.

You instinctively move closer to Alastor as a shadowy figure materializes before you. Alastor straightens up beside you, a subtle tension radiating from him that you rarely witness.

The being standing before you is striking—a man adorned with a top hat, his appearance reminiscent of a spider with his multiple sets of shining green eyes.

His presence is palpable, and you can feel the raw power emanating from him. It's distinct from Alastor's oppressive, staticky aura; this feels more refined, and controlled, it feels like it gnaws on the edges of your psyche and you take a steadying breath and push away the feeling.

"Hail, Alastor, 'tis good to see thee again."

"Ah Zestial, how great to see you this fine day!" Alastor responds.

The old English takes a moment for your brain to translate.

Just how old was this guy?

If his way of speaking was any indication then he was practically Shakespearian.

Zestial inclines his head, his gaze falling upon you. "Pray, who might this fair maiden be?"

Your tongue feels like lead, and you default to politeness and stick out your hand in greeting.

Zestial's eyes narrow slightly as he observes your outstretched hand, clearly not a gesture he encounters often.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand with gentle care, lifting it gracefully to his lips and bestowing a soft, respectful kiss upon the back of your hand.

You blush at the unexpected deed.

Alastor quickly steps in between the two of you, "Why this is my darling assistant, Andi."

"Ah, a pleasure to make thine acquaintance, Lady Andi."

"Uh, likewise," you mumble and the spider-like man grins sharply.

Relief washes over you when Alastor takes the lead in conversation, allowing you to hang back and observe. Their exchange is filled with cryptic references and subtle nods, but one detail catches your attention—Alastor's absence for seven years.

You mentally file it away for later pondering.

Eventually, they guide you to an ornate elevator. You and Frank step inside, while the other egg boys remain downstairs.

With a gentle gesture and a finger placed to your lips, you signal Frank to keep quiet. He nods in understanding, his excitement restrained for the moment.

The interior boasts a minimalistic decor, with clean lines, neutral colors, and an absence of unnecessary embellishments.

Polished marble floors reflect the soft glow of strategically placed recessed lighting, creating an atmosphere of understated elegance.

You follow Alastor and Zestial into a spacious meeting room, dominated by a long, polished white table that gleams under the soft overhead lighting.

The room exudes an air of formality, with high-backed leather chairs positioned neatly around the table.

You spy several interesting-looking demons but the one that catches your eye is the literal dinosaur dressed like and 1980s rocker with a leather jacket and everything.

Alastor places his hand on your back and quickly guides you to a designated seat within the room.

As you settle in, you glance to your right and spot Rosie, who greets you with a warm smile. She reaches over and gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

"It's good to see you again, Andi! You're looking well," Rosie exclaims, her voice infused with genuine warmth.

Alastor, noticing your interaction with Rosie, nods and snaps his fingers. In an instant, the vintage typewriter materializes before you on the table, its presence starkly contrasting with the sleek, modern surroundings of the room.

The typewriter emits a loud clatter as Alastor gestures towards it, indicating that you should use it to take notes.

You can't help but give him an incredulous look, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Did he want you to take notes on this loud ass thing?

Alastor’s expression remains unflinchingly amused, as if he's thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.

Whatever you were his assistant so if you were annoying then it would reflect on him.

As you turn your attention forward, scanning the faces across the long, polished table, your eyes lock onto a familiar face.

It takes a moment for your brain to process the sight, but when recognition hits, a wave of shock washes over you.

There, sitting directly across from you, is Clara—your current bandmate. Her eyes widen in mirrored surprise, her expression just as bewildered as yours.

Why was Clara here? Oh no this was bad.

As Clara begins to open her mouth, you subtly shake your head and discreetly place your phone on the table, glancing towards it a couple of times in quick succession.

Understanding your silent message, Clara's eyebrows furrow in confusion and she glances at Alastor but she eventually nods, choosing to remain silent.

You’d text her later.

When you risk another glance towards Alastor, you find his red eyes fixed on you, narrowed slightly with a discerning intensity. It's unclear how much of the unsettling event he witnessed, but there's no doubt he noticed something was amiss.

His attention shifts, however, as he turns to engage in conversation with the woman seated up front. She has distinctive pointy white hair that adds to her formidable appearance.

"I'm sure you've all been wondering where I've been," Alastor declares, a hint of smugness evident in his tone.

Without missing a beat, the woman sifts through some papers on the table before meeting his gaze, her expression cool and composed.

"Not really," she retorts dismissively.

His grin tightens and he looks nearly stunned at her words.

She absolutely gagged him.

You smile genuinely and place your hands on the keys and ready your paper, as the meeting begins, the white haired overlord introduces herself as Carmilla begins speaking about different issues going on.

You clack away at your keyboard trying to ignore any stares the machine might cause. You're more or less just transposing what is said instead of listening.

Suddenly, a dull thud interrupts your concentration. Startled, you look up to find a decapitated head placed directly in front of you on the table.

The severed head's eyes stare blankly ahead, its expression frozen in a grimace of eternal surprise.

Surprised by the gruesome sight, you recoil instinctively. Rosie quickly reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder to steady you, her touch offering a momentary anchor amidst the unsettling turn of events.

Across the table, a young woman captures your attention. She has dark skin that contrasts vividly with her bright red hair, which is styled into two distinctive pigtails.

She steps onto the table and the room descends into chaos.

Apparently, the horned head before you is that of an angel, you spy golden liquid leaking out. No one has ever killed an angel before according to the girl, Velvette.

She calls out Carmilla accusing her of having something to do with the situation and drags half the overlords in the room.

Carmilla is the only person to stand up to her and you honestly think you're about to witness a fight but Velvette laughs and snaps a couple of pictures before storming out.

She locks eyes with you for a split second and she snaps a picture of you too.

Why would she do that?

Before anyone can react Alastor breaks the tension, "Wow, what a productive meeting."

You’d never admit to it but the man could be genuinely funny.

Chapter 24: Calm Before The Storm

Chapter Text

After the intense and unexpected events of the meeting, you decide it's a good opportunity to step away for a moment and speak with Clara.

"I need to powder my nose," you tell Alastor, offering a casual smile with your old timey excuse.

To your relief, he doesn't question your reason, simply nodding in acknowledgment and letting you go without batting an eye.

As you make your way out of the meeting room, you watch as Zestial ushers out a very distressed-looking Carmilla into a back room and see Frank stumble in after.

You consider going after him but Clara grabs your elbow and leads you into the restroom before you can do something.

She closes the door behind you, locking it securely, and then proceeds to check the two stalls.

As she confirms that you're alone, an exasperated sigh escapes her lips, her shoulders slumping slightly. The tension in the room is palpable, and you can't help but wonder what has her so on edge.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Clara finally breaks the silence, her maroon eyes meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Alright, that was intense. Care to explain why you're sticking so close to the Radio Demon?"

"Please tell me, he doesn't own your soul."

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you lean back against the cool surface of the counter, feeling the weight of Clara's questions pressing on you. With a steadying breath, you meet her gaze.

"Nope, my soul's still my own, untouched by any deals," you assure Clara, noticing the relief that washes over her features. "I'm just working as his assistant, no strings attached."

Well not really.

She lets out a sigh of relief, her tension visibly easing. "Thank goodness for that. Honestly, that Radio Demon gives me the creeps. My mom has dealings with him, but she can't stand the guy. Says he's a loose cannon."

Raising an eyebrow, you ask, "Your mom?"

"Wait, you don't you know?" Clara replies, looking slightly surprised, "Oh well, my mom's Carmilla Carmine."

You are floored, Carmilla Carmine the overlord and weapons dealer. The intimidating woman that shut even Alastor up.

You take a moment to really look at Clara, noticing the subtle yet undeniable physical similarities between her and Carmilla.

The same sharp jawline, the identical curve of their lips, and the intensity in their eyes that seems to say they're not to be underestimated.

Clara, the quiet bassist you know from the band, is the daughter of Carmilla Carmine, a powerful weapons dealer in Hell.

The difference between her two worlds is surprising, reminding you that things in Hell aren't always what they appear to be.

Clara seems to sense the direction of your thoughts, her expression softening with a wistful smile. "Most people figure out who I am pretty quickly, given my mom's reputation and all.

But I guess you're still getting acquainted with the intricacies of Hell being as new as you are. I actually work for my mom full-time; the band is more of a passion project for me. I wish I could dedicate more time to it, but there just aren't enough hours in the day."

Her eyes betray a hint of longing, and her hands nervously wring together.

There were definitely things going on in Clara's home life. You had lucked out being born into the supportive family that you had been.

During your college years, you'd witnessed the struggles of many friends and acquaintances whose families were less than thrilled when they discovered their children were pursuing degrees in theater.

The path to a career in entertainment was often met with skepticism and disappointment, making the journey all the more challenging for those who dared to follow their dreams.

Though it wasn't your place to pry into Clara's personal life, you couldn't help but offer some encouragement.

"Well, you've got more than enough talent to make it your full-time gig," you tell her sincerely.

A hint of pink colors Clara's cheeks as she smiles, clearly appreciative of your words. "Thanks, Andi. That really means a lot. I just don't think a full-time career in music is in the cards for me."

You wouldn't press her about it.

Glancing at your phone, you realize you've been away for quite some time. "Hey, can we keep our band connection and friendship on the down low for now? I'd rather not have Alastor poking his nose into my personal life anymore than he already does."

She has an odd look, "Of course, are you ok? I-I could le-."

"I'm just fine, I promise he's just an annoying thorn in my side."

She gives you a knowing smile, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusem*nt and concern. "Well, if you insist. It's a bit surreal hearing someone label one of Hell's most feared overlords as merely a 'nuisance.'"

"If you only knew the half of it," you assure her.

You give her a shoulder squeeze and unlock the door, "I'll see you tonight."

You find Alastor down the hall talking to Frank oddly enough, you guess he figured a way out of whatever situation he found himself in.

Alastor is crouched down listening rather intently to the egg's rambling.

"How very interesting," he says straightening his tie and glancing over at you.

"Well cher, we best shake a leg. We have much to do for the party and only a couple of days to do it."

He seems extra chipper, what was he so happy about?

The two of you even bring the eggs back home, Alastor mumbling something about their usefulness.

The next few days whirl by in a blur of activity, planning, and preparations.

As the day approaches, the tension in the air grows palpable between Angel and Sir Pentious. Angel can barely stand to be in the same vicinity as Pentious.

You try to remain neutral and stay out of the situation. You can tell Charlie is growing stressed though, you really want this event to go well for her she needs a win for the hotel.

Alastor is mostly helpful, but you still do the majority of the work at least he’s paying for everything.

Before you know it, Wednesday rolls around, marking just one day left before the big event.

The entire ballroom has been transformed into a gothic wonderland, adorned with elaborate decorations that capture the spirit of Halloween.

Fake cobwebs drape from the chandeliers, creating an eerie yet enchanting ambiance.

Black lace tablecloths add a touch of elegance to the room.

Rows of candles sit on the tables, waiting to be lit. In the corners of the room, life-sized fake skeletons hang suspended, adding to the spooky vibe.

You really hope that they are fake.

Twinkling fairy lights are intertwined with the cobwebs, casting a soft, ethereal glow throughout the room.

Gothic candelabras stand ready on the tables, their candles yet to be lit but promising to add a dramatic flair once ignited.

Spooky centerpieces featuring pumpkins, skulls, and dark silk roses add the perfect finishing touch to the hauntingly beautiful scene.

The stage is the centerpiece of the ballroom, designed to capture attention and set the tone for the evening's performances.

It's adorned with an elaborate backdrop featuring a grand gothic archway, draped with deep red velvet curtains that cascade to the sides.Wrought iron gates are stood up in the background of the stage to add to the spooky vibe.

Apparently, the hotel has a grand piano as well, and it's been drug up to the stage and placed off to the side.

It was all ready for Ms. Mimzy.

That was earlier though.

Currently, you are at The Oasis arguing with Vlad over the choices for Friday's set, which was going to be a big night as well.

"This is Halloween is a classic!"

Vlad rolls his eyes, his frustration is evident. "It's Disney, Andi! No one in hell wants to hear a f*cking Disney song!" He waves his arms emphatically, emphasizing his point.

You raise an eyebrow, countering his argument, "Come on, Vlad. If we're playing Michael Jackson's Thriller, then a little Disney magic won't hurt."

Vlad sighs, clearly exasperated. "Look, I considered your suggestions, okay? The setlist is finalized. We're not making any more changes, and that's final."

You sigh and concede, Vlad was stubborn but you did respect his authority so you let it go. The Nightmare Before Christmas was both a Halloween and Christmas movie maybe you could work in a song during the Christmas set.

Wait did hell celebrate Christmas?

Not important right now Andi.

The argument was honestly playful but Jester seemed worried and has scooted over right next to you.

The banter between you and Vlad had been more playful than anything, but Jester's concerned expression was unmistakable.

He had moved closer, now sitting right next to you.

He really was an unexpected sweetheart.

After wrapping up practice, you glance at the clock and realize it's almost 1 am. You're usually back by eleven, but today's extra rehearsal had pushed the schedule.

You're absolutely drained, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. When Jester offers to drive you back to the hotel, you don't hesitate to accept.

You buckle up in his quirky flower-adorned van and sink back into the plush seat, the soft hum of the engine lulling you into a drowsy state.

Fighting to keep your eyes open, the rhythmic motion of the van and the gentle sway of the road start to blur together, making it increasingly difficult to stay awake.

"Long day, Andi? Don't worry, I'll get you back to the hotel in no time. Just sit back and relax."

He turns his attention back to the road, humming along to some upbeat tune playing softly from the van's speakers.

You mumble something incoherent, too lost in your drowsiness to form coherent words, and he chuckles softly.

Before you know it, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, signaling your arrival at the hotel. Startled, you sit up quickly, fumbling with the seatbelt to free yourself. With a hasty "Thanks, Jester," you practically bolt out of the van.

Navigating through the dimly lit garden, your footsteps echo louder than intended as you ascend the iron staircase leading to the conservatory.

The doors are a bit ajar that's odd.

You step into the room and your boots kick the door a bit and you try to catch it as you sneak back in.

The room is so dark you can barely see anything but

The doors are slightly ajar, which strikes you as odd.

Carefully pushing the door open with your foot, you step into the room, trying to minimize any noise.

However, your boot nudges the door a bit too forcefully, causing it to swing further open than you intended. You quickly reach out to catch it, hoping the noise didn't alert anyone to your late arrival.

The room is enveloped in darkness, making it difficult to see anything at first. The light of heaven's gate filtering through the glass ceiling casts eerie shadows across the space, revealing the silhouettes of plants and furniture.

You strain your eyes, adjusting to the low light, as you make your way toward your room, hoping not to stumble over anything in the process.

You hear something that sounds like a tap, and when you glance at the sound.

Your heart skips a beat as you spot a figure shrouded in darkness. The air grows palpably tense, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

There, lurking in the shadows, is Alastor, his face obscured but unmistakably present. He twirls something small and indistinct in his hand, the motion almost playful yet undeniably menacing.

The dim light catches the glint of his eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, fixed intently on you.

You straighten your back and head towards the door but a shadowy figure slams it shut before slinking across the wall and back to Alastor.

The sound of footsteps grows closer, signaling Alastor's approach. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear, you keep your gaze fixed firmly on the sealed door, your back tense and posture rigid.

"Leaving so soon, cher?" Alastor's voice is low and devoid of amusem*nt, the subtle undercurrent of threat evident in his tone. "You've been out all night; I'm sure you can spare a few moments for me."

You turn sharply, and he's immediately behind you, leaning down towards you. His crimson eyes glow menacingly in the dim light, his breath chillingly close as it fans across your face. "Did you need something, Alastor?"

He hums softly, the sound sending a static-like sensation crawling across your skin. With a swift motion, he flips something in front of your face, and your eyes focus and you recognize Viktor's business card,”You’ve been keeping secrets.”

"You went into my room?" You nearly hiss, your eyes narrowing.

"Ha, Ha, Ha, is that what has you concerned? Why I was simply going to stop by and review the itinerary for tomorrow with you but you were not there so I let myself in."

Alastor's laughter is low and mocking, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. His horns seem longer than usual, adding to his intimidating presence.

"Cher, I suggest you start talking about why you even have this."

Feeling cornered, you try to push him away, but he remains unmoved, his presence unyielding he feels incredibly warm beneath your palms. Defeated, you let your hands fall to your sides.

"That card was just given to me last week, and I have no intention of ever using it. I was planning on throwing it away."

His eyes scan yours looking for any sign of deceit but doesn't find any.

You're not lying.

"Why would Vox give this to you?"

"Look, I have no idea who Vox actually is, and I haven't met him. One of his associates gave it to me," you assert, holding his gaze.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you narrow the distance between you, your voice low and firm. "But you need to stay out of my business and get a life, Alastor."

His grin tightens, and a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. "Why, d̵̜̃͗ͅa̷̦̳̒r̶͎̂͊l̴͚̭͒̒i̵͕͒n̶̬̑͗g̵̖͘͝ I own thousands of lives."

Exhausted and fed up with his antics, you stand your ground.

"But not mine."

His eyes widen in surprise, and he leans up out of your space and takes a step back.

You watch as he shatters the metallic card into pieces in his hand, they clink against the tiled floor.

He turns away from you and the door creaks open behind you, "Get some rest cher, you'll be needing it."

Chapter 25: Lay Your Curses Down

Chapter Text

As Alastor slices into his morning venison, the ring of the rotary phone jars him from his meal.

Irritation flashes across his face as he sets down his fork with a little more force than necessary.

Alastor was clearly out of sorts today, his mood soured by the events of last night.

Everything had been going so well too the past few weeks.

Alastor had gotten some interesting information about angels from one of the snake's creations. He'd save that tidbit for a later date.

He'd also managed to gather valuable intelligence about who was encroaching on his old turf. With this information in hand, he had a plan of action ready to execute. It was just a matter of timing and precision now.

He'd be able to dispose of the Loan Shark filth with relative ease thanks to his good pal Rosie!

She had cautioned him against being too aggressive that there was something off with the gang recently, but Alastor couldn't see why he shouldn't simply use force to reclaim what was once his.

In fact, he had already scheduled a few key broadcasts for the upcoming week, intending to send a clear message and assert his dominance.

He was back, and he intended for everyone to know it. With a renewed sense of purpose and a plan in motion, Alastor was gearing up to make his presence felt throughout Pentagram City.

He'd fulfill his obligations to the hotel and free himself of his restraints.

Despite his initial reservations, Alastor found himself surprisingly content at the Hazbin Hotel. The eclectic group of residents had proven to be more engaging than he had anticipated.

Especially a certain freckled dame; oh, how entertaining dear Andi had been lately.

Having you as his assistant provided him with endless opportunities for amusem*nt, and he relished in the daily banter you both shared.

It was quite the hoot to exchange quips and jests with you, as you were a witty dame who could dish out as much vinegar as you could sugar.

In one moment you'd be as sweet as honey and the next you'd sting like a bee, it kept him on his toes.

In that regard, you reminded him somewhat of his dear mother. Who would soothe a scraped knee and scold him for his careless behavior all in one breath.

You were quite the dame.

He had fully expected to be done with you by now. From the start, he had thought of you as just another passing fancy, a temporary source of amusem*nt.

A way to pass the time until he was finished with you but you never grew dull to him.

Sometimes after he had his fun he'd even put on a little broadcast for those unlucky individuals that drew his ire.

Not that he'd ever do that to you; as you hadn't done anything to warrant such a fate, and he knew it at this point.

While he did enjoy seeing you flustered scared and hearing your heart race, he doubted he'd ever actually ever have a reason to cause you any lasting harm.

You didn't deserve that kind of treatment, even if he did find you with a token from his sworn enemy...

Well anyway contrary to his original expectations, he found himself increasingly fascinated by you. Every interaction and every challenge you presented only seemed to deepen his interest.

He had to admit, you were unlike anyone he'd ever met in hell, and that made you all the more enticing.

On top of your engaging company, you have proved to be a useful assistant. Your attention to detail, quick thinking, and ability to anticipate problems made you an asset he hadn't anticipated.

It was a rare combination to find someone who could both challenge and complement him, and you did just that.

He had just recently begun to think about keeping you around after his time at the hotel came to an end, and the most logical way to ensure that was through a deal.

Alastor was a masterful deal-maker. He had an uncanny ability to identify what drove people, whether it was their weaknesses, vices, or aspirations.

Once he had that information, he knew just how to manipulate it to his advantage. It was a skill that had served him well over the years, and he had every intention of using it to keep you in his orbit.

He just couldn't find an angle to do so; you had no addictions or vices to exploit. You were a tough nut to crack, you'd never be willing to make a deal outright.

His only real chance would be if an opportunity presented itself, which had a lot less certainty than Alastor preferred.

He wanted to keep you as his assistant in a more permanent way.

He could try to force you into a deal, but with you, that approach seemed wrong. It would strip away the challenge and the thrill, taking the joy out of the intricate dance you shared.

Alastor enjoyed the game too much to cheat by forcing your hand.

No, he'd win fair and square it was the only way.

You were also keeping too many secrets for Alastor's liking, and he wasn't one to let mysteries linger.

While he believed you when you said you had no intention of dealing with Vox, the fact that you were approached by him was aggravating.

Alastor was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery sooner rather than later.

First, Vox had sent that pathetic serpent to spy, and now he was approaching his assistant. That rectangular heel needed to watch his step; Alastor was not in the mood to play games with his old "pal" anymore.

If only he were at full strength and Vox not partnered with two other overlords.

Still Vox was treading on dangerous ground, and if he wasn't careful, he'd find himself facing the full force of the Radio Demon's wrath. He's little spy nearly had when he caused you injury.

He'd smelt the scent of your blood waft into his room and immediately let his shadows loose to find where you were when he saw the fearful look on your face he'd felt genuine anger.

How dare someone else spill your blood or lay a hand on you.

Had the princess not arrived he'd have painted the room a new shade of red.

Vox's meddling, combined with the tense exchange the two of you had the previous night, had left a sour taste in his mouth.

You had boldly thrown in his face the fact that he had no genuine claim over you, leaving an uncomfortable tension between you two.

He didn't like it one bit. The audacity you'd shown, challenging his assumed authority and questioning his intentions, was not something Alastor took lightly.

The discomfort of that moment lingered, casting a shadow over his otherwise confident demeanor.

It was clear that you were not just another pawn in his game, you’d not allow yourself to be and he found that vexing.

So the last thing he needed was an interruption to his breakfast.

He answers the phone briskly, "Alastor speaking."

The background noise was chaotic, filled with loud crashes and indistinct shouting. "Oh hey, Alastor, it's Mimzy. Just wanted to give you a heads up, I've had some things come up, so I'm going to be a little late tonight."

Alastor's grip tightened on the receiver, his patience wearing thin. "Mimzy, wait just a moment, I—"

Before he could finish, the phone line went dead, leaving nothing but silence on the other end.

In his frustration, Alastor crushed the receiver in his hand, his annoyance palpable.

How bothersome.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding loudly in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears. Your sheets cling to you, damp with cold sweat.

The remnants of the nightmares from last night linger, their haunting images still vivid in your mind.

Shadows seem to dance at the edges of your vision, but when you turn your head nothing is there.

When you roll out of bed, you spot several black feathers scattered across the sheets. Irritated, you snatch them up, stomping over to the garbage can to discard them.

Flipping on the bathroom light, you confront your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are still a bit swollen from last night's tears.

Sighing, you run the hot water and vigorously scrub your face, trying to wash away the remnants of a restless night.

Last night was a blur, and you knew you'd made a big mistake. Exhaustion had made you careless, and now you were dealing with the consequences.

You should have discarded that business card from Vox's associate when you had the opportunity. Instead, you hesitated, allowing it to remain in your possession. Now, Alastor, who had been growing increasingly suspicious of you in recent weeks, had tangible proof that something was up.

You didn't want any more of Alastor's attention on you than you already had. His growing interest and involvement in your affairs was unsettling.

You'd been playing this game with him for weeks now. With every step you took, he seemed to be one ahead, anticipating your moves before you even made them.

While still sick of his games, at times you could almost admit that you were enjoying his antics at least in certain moments.

He could be rather charming but in the next breath you could hardly stand him.

Now, with things coming to a head, you had no idea how to proceed with him.

Husk had warned you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. You'd tried to heed his advice, but it seemed like the more you tried to blend into the background, the more attention you drew from the very demon you wanted to avoid.

Sitting there, contemplating your situation, a bitter laugh escapes your lips what had you done to deserve this?

Why did you have to die and end up in hell?

The laughter turns into choked sobs, your shoulders trembling with the weight of your emotions. Sliding down the bathroom wall, you find solace on the cool, tiled floor, letting the tears flow freely in the dim light.

"Let the tears flow when they must Andi, but remember, they can’t stay forever. You have to find your own way forward eventually."

A voice echoes in your mind, so vivid it's as if she's standing right beside you. Her image is clear behind your eyelids: the salt-and-pepper hair neatly pulled back, the eyes as blue as the ocean, and that gentle smile that always knew how to soothe your worries.

Her gentle smile warms your heart as she wipes her hands on her faded pink apron, "Don't let 'em get you down dearie, there plenty more chances for you down the road."

This is a memory, from when you were in freshman year of high school. You'd not gotten a part you really worked hard for the teacher had chosen one of their friend's children.

What hurt you so much was the fact that you knew you'd been the best for the part but that hadn't mattered.

It was all out of your control, and you'd cried for hours. You were convinced you'd never audition for another role and that this was the end of the line for you.

It wasn't and those feelings passed, you stood up shook yourself off, and moved forward.

You could do that again even here, Charlie needed you she needed this event to go well.

Today, Alastor would have to take a backseat; the focus was on Charlie and the Hotel's vision.

Pentagram City had such a negative view of the hotel, and even if no one joined the hotel tonight at the very least a positive seed could be planted.

Tonight would be a success you'd guarantee it, so you lay out your costume for later put on some clothes that were easy to move in, and get ready to go about your day.

You spend the morning juggling phone calls and coordinating the final details for the Halloween event happening later today.

First on your list is Billie, ensuring the quality alcohol order is on track for timely delivery. You go over the specifics, confirming brands and quantities, wanting to ensure the guests have a top-notch experience.

Next, you touch base with the caterers. Menu items, delivery times, and setup details are all reviewed meticulously. You want everything to be perfect, from the hors d'oeuvres to the main courses and desserts.

With each call, you check off another item from your list, feeling a sense of accomplishment as the pieces start falling into place for today's big event.

Walking into the ballroom, you slip on an easy smile. The tables are elegantly decorated with black lace tablecloths, and the centerpiece candles are lit, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. Each table setting is meticulous, with fine china and gleaming silverware.

You glance towards the stage, where the grand piano sits off to the side, ready for Ms. Mimzy's performance later tonight and you check the mics and lighting one last time.

The dance floor is spacious, free from any obstructions, inviting guests to dance the night away. The overhead lights are set to the perfect dimness, creating an intimate atmosphere while still providing ample visibility.

It brings a smile to your face.

The entire hotel staff rallied together to help in some way even with the current tensions.

Husk has been practicing making new drinks for days. Angel, Vaggie, and Charlie helped you string the lights and decorate the tables.

Sir Pentious welded together the iron gates adorning the stage's backdrop and Nifty has cleaned this room from top to bottom three times.

Even though Alastor took the credit for the idea, you took pride in the fact that the event was coming together so well. With his financial support and your vision and organization, the Halloween event promised to be a hit.

Voices disrupt your musing, and you watch as a visibly distraught Charlie enters the room. She's flanked by a less-than-chipper Alastor and an upset Vaggie.

"What's going on?"

Alastor begins to speak, but Charlie interrupts, her pacing growing more frantic, "Mimzy is going to be really late! People are going to arrive in just a couple of hours, and we won't have any entertainment for the first half of the night, everyones just going to leave." She bites her nails, her worry evident in every gesture she's mumbling.

"Mimzy is a good pal of mine, I'm sure she has a good reason for her tardiness," Alastor says flatly he seems rather displeased by the turn of events.

This was a real dilemma. Every flyer boasted live entertainment featuring Mimzy, who, as it turned out, was quite the crowd-puller. The anticipation was high, and the expectations even higher.

With Mimzy running late, the evening's plans were teetering on the edge of disaster. None of you had prepared an alternative act; that part of the night had been entirely in Alastor's hands.

Katie Killjoy had even done a quick news segment this morning about the event.

A thought pops into your brain while Alastor and Charlie go back and forth and you pull out your phone and send a couple of texts.

You wait a few moments and your phone buzzes several times.

You have a solution to several problems and a chance to own your own narrative.

You could do things on your own terms.

Determined, you stride over to Charlie, gently grasping her shoulders to halt her frenetic pacing. Locking eyes with her, you offer a genuine reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about a thing, Charlie. Go get ready for the party; I've got this covered, alright?"

You watch as Charlie's shoulders drop, some of the tension visibly draining away. Her eyes shift back to their usual color, and a hint of relief flickers across her face.

"O-okay, I'll go practice my speech then. Are you sure ?" she asks, still hesitant.

You nod firmly, your smile unwavering. "Absolutely, Charlie. Trust me, everything will be fine."

And it would be.

She and Vaggie head out, leaving you to face Alastor's inquisitive gaze.

He co*cks his head, a sly grin forming on his lips. "So, what's your play, darling?"

You cross your arms defiantly. "I'm planning on salvaging my event."

Alastor leans in closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And just how do you intend to do that?"

"By any means necessary."

With that, you leave him in that empty ballroom and make a call to Vlad.

You head to your room and rummage through your stuff for tonight.

Within a few minutes Angel saunters into your room, a playful smirk on his face. "Toots, let's turn you into the belle of the ball, shall we?" He doesn't take no for an answer and takes a seat behind you, skillfully working his fingers through your hair, and used a hair iron to add soft curls that frame your face beautifully and you give him a hug that he reluctantly returns.

Afterwards, he rummages through his makeup bag and selects a few items, carefully applying them to enhance your features while still keeping the look elegant and understated. Your lips are painted with a deep red and your eye shadow is a dusky silver. He makes your lashes a deep black and curls them longer than they have ever been before.

Once you put on the dress you admire yourself in the mirror. The black dress hugs your figure just right, and the heels add the perfect touch of elegance. The bell-like sleeves of the dress sway with every movement of your hands and the dress it a bit more low-cut in the cleavage than what you'd usually wear but you had the assets to pull it off.

Angel lets loose a wolf whistle and you shove him playfully. He was going as Marilyn Monroe and had his hair sprayed and fixed in her iconic style and wore a wispy white dress.

You feel your phone vibrate and your heart skips a beat as you read the text.

They were here Husk had let them in and the event would be starting in just a few minutes.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and feel a surge of adrenaline. Heels clicking with purpose as you make your way to the ballroom.

It looks like people have already started arriving, you spy multiple demons lounging.

A hand reaches out and grabs you, "What the f*ck are you doing kid?" Husk says looking frazzled.

"I'm doing what I have to do, He's going to find out eventually so I might as well do it my way."

You look at Husk, seeing the weariness in his eyes as he searches yours, "Alright, kid," he finally says, his voice tinged with resignation. "Just remember, you've got people here who've got your back."

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and you struggle to hold back a choked sound of emotion. You take a moment to compose yourself, blinking away the tears that threaten to ruin your carefully applied makeup and you let yourself give him a hug.

He pats your back and just shakes his head as you pull away.

One day he'd call you a friend but you'd take this for now.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your posture and flash a confident smile. You're ready to put on a show they won't forget.

As you step into the ballroom, you spot Vlad, Clara, and Jester backstage, busy unpacking their instruments and making last-minute preparations. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of excitement and urgency.

You approach Vlad with a grateful smile.

"Nothing like a last-minute performance, huh, Dot?" he quips, adjusting his clarinet.

"I really owe you all big time. I'm sure you had better things to do with your night."

Jester shrugs, "N-not really just glad I could help you out tonight."

Vlad snorts and whispers something in your bandmate's ear you can't hear and Jester turns bright red.

Clara clasps your shoulders, "It's all good Andi, honestly it's a nice venue. Glad to be out of the bar for once."

Vlad raises an eyebrow, looking around the grand ballroom with a hint of skepticism. "So, this is that 'redemption' place, right? Planning on making your way to heaven or something?"

You shrug nonchalantly, a playful glint in your eye. "Or something..."

Vlad smirks, tapping his clarinet against his hand. "Well, whenever you plan on taking that heavenly elevator, I expect a two-week notice. Can't have the best vocalist we've ever had leaving us high and dry, now can we?"

Was this Vlad's quirky way of telling you that your probationary period was finally over? The thought brought a small smile to your face as you nodded in acknowledgment.

The first song was "Curses" by The Crane Wives, and it felt incredibly fitting for tonight's occasion. It was time to lay your curses to rest.

The four of you stepped out from behind the curtains, the soft glow of the stage lights illuminating your faces. As you adjusted the height of the microphone, a wave of anticipation swept over you.

Glancing out across the room, you estimated there were fifty odd demons here tonight, each with their own stories, hopes, and fears. Charlie would be making rounds all night, engaging with them as they enjoyed the festivities.

The stage lights were blinding, making it hard to make out faces at a distance. But that was okay; it allowed you to focus solely on the performance.

You caught snippets of murmurs from the crowd, "Where's Mimzy?" and "Who the f*ck are those guys?"

Ah, nothing like opening for a tough crowd.

You step back slightly, allowing Vlad to take center stage. As the band's leader and frontman, he confidently strides up to the microphone.

The room falls silent, every eye now focused on Vlad, effectively setting the tone for the evening's performance.

You open and close your mouth at his forwardness but nod in solidarity.

He pauses, "Oh, and also we are The Ungrateful Dead."

With that, he steps back and you step closer to the microphone and wait for the music to start.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself of the purpose behind this performance. You may be without an instrument tonight, feeling somewhat exposed on stage, but this isn't about that. It's about supporting Charlie, representing the hotel, and proving something to yourself.

This stage is your domain, your sanctuary. You've always felt at home under the spotlight, and tonight is no different. The nerves that had been nagging at you start to fade away.

While Alastor may have taken the credit for the event, the spotlight is now yours, and you're determined to steal the show.

The music begins and you let yourself sway,

There's a fire in my brain, and I'm burning up
Oh my, oh my
Keep running for the sink, but the well is dry
Oh my, oh my

You glance over towards Clara as you harmonize on some of the vocals she looks thrilled to be here, to be singing and you feed off her energy.

Every word I say is kindling
But the smoke clears when you're around
Won't you stay with me, my darling
When my walls start burning down, down, down

This house says my name like an elegy
Oh my, oh my
Echoing where my ghosts all used to be
Oh my, oh my

There's still cobwebs in the corners
And the backyard's full of bones
Won't you stay with me, my darling
When this house don't feel like home?
When this house don't feel like home

Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust
The devil's after both of us
Ooh, lay my curses out to rest
Make a mercy out of me

Despite not being able to spot Alastor among the crowd, you can feel his presence, like a shadow looming over you. The weight of his gaze feels almost tangible, making your skin prickle and you smile widely as you sing.

This tired old machine is a-rumbling
Oh my, oh my
Singing songs to the secrets behind my eye
Oh my, oh my

Tonight, you had him; you'd completely won this round of the game. You can’t wait to see his face.

All my aching bones are trembling
And I may yet fall apart
Won't you stay with me, my darling
When the war starts in my heart?
When the war starts in my heart

Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust
The devil's after both of us
Ooh, lay my curses out to rest
Make a mercy out of me

You spot him on the right side of the stage, closer than you'd expected.

Anticipating a sneer or a look of disdain, you're taken aback when you see his stricken expression.

He meets your gaze and for a fleeting moment, Alastor's confident demeanor wavers, giving way to a rare glimpse of genuine emotion.

His usually inscrutable crimson eyes reveal a flicker of surprise, mingled with something else you can't quite place, leaving you at a loss.

There's a palpable tension between the two of you and your heart beats wildly in your chest.

You snap your head towards someone else, anyone else in the crowd as you finish the song, not daring to look at him again.

Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust
Tell me I am good enough
Ooh, lay my curses out to rest
Make a mercy out of ....

Chapter 26: Let's Misbehave

Chapter Text

Alastor had no idea what you had up your sleeve when you so boldly claimed that you'd salvage the night's festivities.

He hadn't the foggiest, and that uncertainty was undeniably frustrating. He didn't enjoy not being the one at the reins.

His standing with Charlie was paramount for several strategic reasons. As the heir to the throne of Hell, she wielded considerable power and influence.

If this unexpected twist in the evening's events turned sour, Alastor could jeopardize his hard-earned trust and leverage with her.

While he was resilient and could bounce back from setbacks, the fallout would undoubtedly prolong his limitations and stay here.

Though he cared little about the Hotel's mission, you were right when you said his reputation was on the line and that was one thing he wouldn't stand for.

Alastor needed you to pull through, even though the idea of you potentially outshining him irked him to no end.

Lose the battle to win the war.

He dons his more formal suit, the fabric crisply tailored to accentuate his tall and imposing figure. With meticulous care, he adjusts each detail, ensuring every button is fastened correctly and every crease falls just right.

With a snap of his fingers, he summons his cane and makes his way downstairs, sinners were already arriving what a bother.

He checks in with Husk and makes his way to the ballroom.

Charlie is pacing frantically, her heels clicking on the polished floor as she tries to address the rising tension among the guests. The discontented murmurs grow louder, filling the room with an uneasy energy.

Alastor moves towards her, intending to placate her but a voice on stage stops him.

It's a man in a flowing white top that he doesn't recognize, just what is going on?

The man shuts down the crowd and steps back revealing, a woman in a shimmering black dress.

It takes Alastor a moment to recognize you; the striking image before him is a far cry from the Andi he's familiar with.

The painted lips and glamorous attire transform you into a captivating figure, exuding confidence and allure.

He can't help but wonder why you're up there on the stage, but before he can voice his curiosity, you open your mouth and start to sing.

The clarity and power of your voice immediately captivates the room, erasing any doubts or questions lingering in his mind.

The notes float through the air, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful melody. He's too far away to see you clearly from his spot, so he cuts through the crowd with a sense of urgency, approaching the side of the stage.

As he gets closer, he notices your expression—a look of pure bliss and contentment he's never seen on your face before.

It's a glimpse into a side of you he's unfamiliar with, and for a moment, he's struck by the raw emotion of your performance.

Alastor, a seasoned radio host who had encountered countless performers over the years, finds himself utterly entranced.

There's something uniquely captivating about your presence, something he's never quite witnessed before.

Mimzy was a talented singer but this was on an entirely different level.

Your voice carries an ethereal quality, almost angelic in its tone and resonance. He watches as people around him take on expressions similar to the one you're wearing; it's as if your emotions have become their own.

A wave of overwhelming nostalgia washes over him, filling him with a mix of emotions he hadn't felt in years.

He hates that he's captivated by it, but at the same time, he can't get enough. It's a conflicting sensation, drawing him in while also reminding him of memories he'd rather keep buried.

Something was happening.

As if sensing his presence, you turn your head toward him. The moment your eyes meet, there's an undeniable connection—a raw, electric energy that he doesn't understand and his chest tightens.

The odd sensations slips away like a breeze and in that fleeting moment, one thing becomes abundantly clear to Alastor.

You had a voice that was meant for radio.

The next few songs play out with ease, the music setting a captivating tone for the evening. As the hotel steadily fills, the earlier murmurs fade into the background. The atmosphere transforms, becoming vibrant and energetic as guests start to sway to the rhythm.

The initial skepticism seems to have vanished, replaced by genuine enjoyment and appreciation for the performance. You are a little halfway done with your set list and are currently singing Season of the Witch, by Lana Del Rey.

You've got to pick up every stitch (Gonna be)
You've got to pick up every stitch (Gonna be, gonna be)
You've got to pick up every stitch
Oh no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch

Vlad taps your shoulder, directing your attention backstage. When you glance over, you spot Alastor, Charlie, and a short, unknown blonde woman. Ah, that must be Mimzy. She's petite and curvy, her red flapper dress hugging her form stylishly. A mischievous grin plays on her lips, giving her an air of playful confidence and you recognize a fellow entertainer when you see one. You give a quick nod to them and finish up your song.

Vlad steps up to the microphone, exuding his usual air of casual arrogance. "Well, seems like the headliner decided to grace us with her presence. Hope you enjoyed the warm-up act, and if not, maybe it's time for a hearing check." He smirks, "Catch us tomorrow night at The Oasis for the full show."

The crowd responds with enthusiastic cheers and applause, clearly enjoying the unexpected twist to the evening.

You blow a dramatic kiss towards the audience and wave yourself offstage with the rest of your group.

Once backstage, you're immediately caught in Charlie's embrace. She wraps her arms around you, squeezing you tightly in a bear hug. "Oh my gosh, Andi, that was incredible! I had no idea you could sing like that! You sounded absolutely fantastic," Charlie exclaims, her eyes shining with genuine admiration and pride.

Charlie shakes your shoulders excitedly, causing your whole body to sway as the band starts packing up their instruments and stacking them in the corner.

"Easy with the goods, princess. I need her in tip-top shape for tomorrow night," Vlad chimes in, causing Charlie to release you with a sheepish grin and you squeeze her hands as she releases you.

It felt good being able to help her out for a change.

You're a bit frazzled by tonight's events and make a point to not look at Alastor, even though he's standing right next to you.

You notice your bandmates have given him a wide berth, the Radio Demon is well known you suppose.

Mimzy slaps your back with a hearty laugh,"You've got some great pipes, girlie. Thanks for holding down the fort."

She begins to stride towards the stage, throwing a wink over her shoulder. "Care to introduce me, Allie Cat?"

She gestures grandly toward the audience, prompting Alastor to pause momentarily before joining her at the front of the stage.

This is your chance to get away for now so you thank your bandmates again, Jester opts to stay for the show but Clara and Vlad are going to head out.

As Alastor's voice rings out across the room, you seize the opportunity to make your exit.

"Hey, Jester," you say, looping your arm through his, "How about a drink? Let's hit the bar."

Jester's eyes light up, his enthusiasm infectious. "I-I'd love to!"

With a nod to Clara and Vlad, who share a knowing look, you guide Jester away from the stage and towards the bustling bar area.

"Have a fun night, Jester!" Vlad shouts and you feel your companion stiffen.

The lively chatter and clinking of glasses surround you, providing the perfect cover as you blend into the crowd, momentarily escaping the intensity of the evening's events.

There must be two hundred people in here tonight, and you weave in between heading toward your destination.

As you approach the bar, Husk's gruff exterior softens slightly upon seeing you. He sets down the glass he's pouring slides it to a bird demon and gives you a nod of acknowledgment.

"The usual Lemon Drop?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle and preparing it quickly.

You spy Angel and his flow dress behind the bar assisting Husk and chuckle, they'd be cute together.

You smile, appreciating his familiarity. "Yes, please, Husk. And how about something for my friend here?" you gesture to Jester.

"Could I have an Old Fashioned?"

Husk raises an eyebrow at Jester's choice but nods, pouring a measure of bourbon into a glass.

He carefully adds a sugar cube, and a dash of bitters, and twists a strip of orange peel over the top, releasing its fragrant oils.

With a final stir, he places the drink in front of Jester who thanks him and takes a sip.

Husk goes to place the bottle back up top but it's a bit high even for him.

Seeing his struggle, Angel steps in with a smirk, effortlessly reaching up and placing the bourbon bottle back on the top shelf.

"Need a hand, big guy?" Angel teases, his tone playful and flirtatious as he gives Husk a playful pat on the shoulder.

Husk huffs, rolling his eyes but there's a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks," he mutters, not meeting Angel's gaze but appreciating the help nonetheless.

Just kiss already.

"That was some performance, toots," Angel says, effortlessly hopping over the bar and sliding onto the stool beside you, his eyes twinkling with interest.

Taking a sip of your drink, you nod, the tartness of the Lemon Drop dancing on your tongue. "Well, that's the only kind I know how to give."

Angel chuckles, leaning in a bit closer. "So, who's the friend?" he asks, nodding towards Jester.

You glance over at Jester, who seems a bit overwhelmed but is trying to play it cool. "This is Jester. He's in the band with me and also owns a florist shop."

Angel raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A florist, huh? That's unexpected but kinda cute."

He flashes a flirtatious smile at Jester, who blushes a bit but tries to maintain his composure.

The four of you engage in light conversation, punctuated by the hum of the bar's activity.

Husk pours drinks with practiced ease, occasionally tossing a playful jab your way, while Angel adds his own cheeky comments to the mix.

As the music from the stage intensifies, you're drawn to the performance area, where Mimzy is taking center stage.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you spot several of Alastor's shadowy figures positioned around the stage, each holding a different instrument.

They start to play along with Mimzy's performance, their eerie presence adding an unexpected layer to the show.

Angel leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Looks like Smile's is pulling out all the stops for this one."

As the tempo starts you recognize the song's beat, but can't quite remember the name of it.

Varsity something or other.

Jester's voice is hesitant, almost shy, as he scratches the back of his neck. "Hey, um, do you want to... dance?"

You hesitate, considering. While you like to think of yourself as a triple threat with talents in singing, acting, and dancing, the latter was undeniably your weakest link.

You were decent, sure, but you always felt more comfortable with choreographed dances than with freestyle moves. Dancing on the spot without a plan wasn't exactly your forte.

Jester was your friend, and he had done you quite the favor by coming here tonight. While you're still mulling it over, you spot a familiar antlered redhead heading towards the bar.

You stand quickly, "Sure, why not? Let's give it a whirl!"

Honestly, It was that look he had during your performance that really unsettled you.

Mimzy's booming voice fills the air and Jester extends his hand towards you, his fingers trembling slightly. "You ready?" His voice wavers, betraying his nervousness.

Chapter 27: The Chase

Chapter Text

Morning breaks through the curtains, its light piercing through the haze of your thoughts.

The throbbing headache serves as a grim reminder of the previous night's indulgences. You can't help but ponder the irony—hangovers in hell?

It seemed like a cruel joke. After all, you were already among the departed.

Wasn't being dead supposed to exempt you from these earthly torments?

Yet, here you were, feeling as though you'd gladly embrace a second death just to escape the agony of this hangover.

Last night had been wild and had some unexpected turns. While you had managed to salvage the evening's festivities, it felt like you had unwittingly sealed a new chapter with Alastor.

He was going to test your limits until you either broke down or escaped to heaven. You hoped for the latter.

Though, there was an underlying melancholy whenever you thought of heaven now.

The allure of eternal peace remained, but the shadow of the extermination had tainted your perception. It left you questioning what awaited you beyond, making the path ahead even more uncertain.

There were good people in hell, why did they deserve death?

A ripple of pain wracks your head, yep no heavy thinking right now.

Alastor had held you near captive for not one but three dances last night and to recover you had gotten sloshed once he finally released you.

You'd apologized profusely to Jester for abandoning him, and he simply asked if you were okay. Alastor must have really unsettled the poor guy. Honestly, Alastor could be scary, but more often than not, he was just an insufferable prick.

The rest of the night seemed to blur into a mix of laughter and merriment. You found yourself hanging off Angel Dust's arm, sharing jokes and playful banter.

Husk, surprised everyone with his sleight of hand, performing card tricks that left you cheering in delight. The atmosphere was filled with warmth despite the tensions of the past few days.

Well whatever you needed to get dressed, tonight was another big night.

Slipping on leggings and a loose pink v-neck sweater you pulled your hair up into a high ponytail and fought around your horns.

Alastor was making breakfast today and you could smell something good cooking.

You settled into your usual spot, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media. Curiosity led you to check out the hotel's hashtag, and you were pleasantly surprised. The event from last night seemed to be a hit.

Scrolling through, you stumbled upon several pictures of you on stage and read through comments praising your performance. It felt good to see your efforts recognized and appreciated.

There were some people complaining about the lack of drugs at the event or that you didn't take off your dress for the performance but that was whatever.

Can't please everybody.

By the time you set your phone down, Sir Pentious, Angel, and several others had taken their seats at the table. The atmosphere was lively, filled with chatter and laughter.

Alastor emerged from the kitchen, a plate stacked high with fluffy pancakes in one hand and a pitcher of syrup in the other. The aroma of freshly cooked breakfast filled the room, making your stomach growl.

He sets the pancakes down right next to you and you glance up and meet his wry gaze he seems extra chipper today.

Ugh.

Vaggie clears her throat halfway through breakfast, capturing everyone's attention. "Everyone, and I mean everyone," she announces with a stern look, "will be participating in some trust exercises today."

You exchange glances with a few others, sensing a collective groan that goes unvoiced.

They must be trying to mend the rift between Sir Pentious and almost everybody else. You were ok with him but weren't exactly going out of your way to talk to him.

You all finish breakfast, and Vaggie leads the group outside into the gardens and the wooded area behind the hotel. The crimson hue of the morning sun casts an eerie glow over the landscape, giving the surroundings a haunting beauty.

The air is thick with an unsettling stillness, punctuated only by the distant echoes of otherworldly creatures and the occasional rustling of unseen entities.

Though the fresh air feels revitalizing, you can't shake off the remnants of last night's festivities. Your head is still throbbing, and a sense of grogginess lingers. Husk is beside you, looking equally worse for wear.

"Alright listen up, today we are playing a game, it's called Capture the Flag."

She outlines the rules, though the game's basics are still familiar from your school days, though it's been a while since you've played.

Two teams will be designated, each with their own territory and flag. The objective is for each team to infiltrate the opponent's territory, capture their flag, and return it to their own base without getting tagged.

If a player is tagged while in enemy territory, they are captured and must wait to be rescued by a teammate. The game continues until one team successfully captures the other team's flag and brings it back to their base without being tagged.

The only difference is that you are allowed to hide your flag any way you want to as long as it is still visible in some way.

Huh, that was interesting.

She also emphasizes that while the game is competitive, there will be no physical harm allowed, eliciting a mix of relief and disappointment from some of the participants.

Vaggie divides up the teams and puts you on a team, with Angel Dust, Pentious, and herself.

Husker, Alastor, Nifty, and Charlie would be their team. She divides up the territories and sends Alastor's group into the woods as their team would be on the other side past the creek and your team would get the area directly behind the hotel. She hands out a small red flag to the other team and yours gets a light blue one.

Vaggie adopts a surprisingly militaristic approach to the game, laying out strategic plans and Pentious assists. Angel Dust reveals a competitive streak, eagerly discussing tactics and potential hiding spots.

It becomes abundantly clear that you'll likely be the weakest link on the team.

While you possess a range of talents and maintain decent physical fitness, athleticism isn't your strong suit.

You've always been more inclined towards the arts, being a theater kid and a musician at heart. The team decides to hide the flag on someone, and you draw the short straw, ending up as the flag.

You tie the blue flag securely around your wrist like a makeshift bracelet and mentally prepare yourself.

It's decided that Alastor and Charlie were by far the biggest threats on that team, so you and Pentious (the least athletic of the group) would wait here on defense, while Vaggie and Angel engaged them.

"So, we'll start with psychological warfare," Pentious announces, a sly grin forming as he rummages around inside his parked zeppelin.

He retrieves a series of audio-phone-like speakers and an aux cord, "We'll need some music."

Angel, focused on something else, doesn't pay Pentious much mind. So you offer him your phone. He nods approvingly and connects the device and you take back your phone.

"Find something distracting, Andi. We don't want them to hear us approaching," Vaggie advises, looking at the speakers Pentious is setting up with a smirk.

Distracting... Something that would bother Alastor, you could do that.

You'd enjoy doing that.

You reflect on past interactions that you'd noticed bothered Alastor, insulting his appearance, the time you threw the teacup at him. Any physical contact that he didn't initiate himself, and when Angel made lewd comments towards him.

You watch Sir Pentious for a second and find inspiration. You quickly scroll through Inferno Beats and create a playlist.

Vaggie gives you the signal and you press play.

My anaconda don't, my anaconda don't
My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun

Angel gives you a sh*t-eating grin and laughs and Vaggie shakes her head as Anaconda by Nicki Minaj booms through the air.

Boy toy named Troy used to live in Detroit
Big, big, big money, he was gettin' some coins
Was in shootouts with the law, but he live in a palace
Bought me Alexander McQueen, he was keeping me stylish

Your teammates dart into the haunting depths of the forest, leaving you alone with Pentious. As you sit beside him on a moss-covered log, you take in the eerie surroundings.

The forest is filled with gnarled, spiky black trees, most of them barren, but the few that have leaves have foliage that appears white and ashy, lending a ghostly ambiance to the scene.

Now that's real, real, real
One in my purse, 'cause I came dressed to kill
Who wanna go first? I had 'em pushing daffodils
I'm fly as hell, I got 'em thirsty, track and field
I'm on some dumb sh-

As the next song starts, the upbeat rhythm of "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls fills the air. They should've returned by now, or at least one of them should have.

You spot Husk strolling through the forest, he doesn't look at all interested in playing anymore hangover is apparent.

Without a word, Husk walks up to you and extends his paw toward you, a resigned look on his face.

"Just f*cking tag me," he mutters, clearly uninterested. So you pat his arm and he waltzes right back into the hotel grumbling about his pounding head.

The music did him in.

With only three opponents left, you wonder where Angel and Vaggie have gotten off to.

The next song starts, and with each passing second, your nerves grow. Sharing a concerned glance with Pentious, you both decide it's time to join the search.

You and Pentious move cautiously through the eerie forest, trying to spot any signs of your missing teammates.

Crossing the creek into enemy territory, you feel the static energy in the air. The sensation is unsettling, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Deciding that dividing and conquering might be the best strategy, you and Pentious split up. He heads towards the left side of the woods while you take the right.

Moving stealthily, you creep along, treading softly on the forest floor and staying close to the trees for cover.

In the distance, you spot movement—someone scurrying around. As you focus, you recognize the figure—it's Nifty. She seems preoccupied, hunting insects and is paying no attention to her surroundings.

Seizing the opportunity, you continue on your path, hoping to find the others before they find you.

Hearing a muffled sound, you cautiously approach the source and discover Vaggie and Angel bound and muffled to two of the spiky trees. Slipping into a thicket of shrubbery, you carefully survey the scene.

Alastor is conspicuously absent, and Charlie looks visibly distressed. She paces around nervously, biting her thumbnail and muttering apologies while keeping a vigilant eye on Vaggie and Angel.

Now Charlie you could deal with, looking around you find a rock and toss it behind her. She flips around and immediately goes to investigate and you dash over clumsily slipping on gravel and start untying your teammates the best you can.

You manage to free Angel first, who quickly assists in untying Vaggie. Just as you're finishing up, Charlie bursts out of the bushes, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh, no!" she exclaims, realizing her captives have been freed.

Without wasting another moment, you, Angel, and Vaggie bolt from the scene. "Alastor has the flag; it's in his suit pocket!" Vaggie shouts

You are by far the slowest of the three of you so you rip off the flag from your wrist and hand it to Vaggie. As she takes the flag you feel that staticky feeling ripple across your skin and you know what's coming.

"Oho, seems like we have a prison break on our hands," Alastor's voice rings out, echoing through the forest. Shadows start to dance and ripple at your feet, a telltale sign of his magic at work. You and Angel push yourselves to sprint, but you're just a touch too slow.

His shadows surge forward, forming an impenetrable wall that separates you and Angel from Vaggie. The eerie darkness of the shadows makes your heart race even faster.

In the distance, the next song starts playing—Beyoncé's "Run the World." The empowering beat seems to mock your current situation.

"Aww f*ck not this again..." Angel growls banging one of his fists across the shadowy wall.

You watch in horror as Alastor lowers down out of the treeline his shadows acting as spider like legs.

"Ah, darling how nice of you to join me."

You wobble momentarily, steadying yourself as you mentally scramble for a way out.

Alastor's smug expression is infuriating; he's confident he's got you cornered, and the feeling is both unnerving and maddening.

As Alastor starts to close in on Angel, underestimating you as the greater threat, your fists clench tightly at your sides.

The audacity of him to dismiss you like this boils your blood.

You refuse to be overlooked or underestimated any longer you were his opponent.

Summoning a burst of adrenaline-fueled energy, you decide to take action. Without overthinking it, you sprint toward Alastor, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Channeling every ounce of strength and determination you possess, you launch yourself at him, wrapping both arms tightly around his torso.

With a surprised grunt, he loses his footing and crashes to the ground, your head gets buried into the side of his suit and he is momentarily taken aback by your audacity and the force of your attack.

He goes completely stiff beneath your grasp and, his shadows slip away.

Looking up, you find yourself mere inches away from his face, practically on top of him.

The vibrant hues of his irises catch the light, shimmering like facets of a gem, reflecting a kaleidoscope of scarlett.

His eyes are kind of pretty.

You shake that thought away, where had that come from.

Seizing the opportunity, you quickly snatch the flag from his pocket. Alastor's confused grin morphs into a sneer, his expression darkening with annoyance.

As you scramble to your feet, intent on making a quick escape, his hand shoots out, grasping your ankle with surprising strength.

You lose your balance, and with a sharp yank, he pulls your leg out from under you. You tumble forward, landing flat on your face with a thud, the wind knocked out of you.

Angel reaches towards you and you put the flag into his hand and give him a nod.

He knows what needs to be done and he takes off with the flag in tow.

Your team would win this, and even if you were caught, your daring move had set the stage for victory.

"That was a rather underhanded tactic, cher. I didn't think you'd stoop so low," Alastor tsks and releases your ankle as he stands and straightens his clothes.

You pull yourself up out of the dirt and flip around to face him, "I play to win."

He stares down at you and he looks amused again,"And I enjoy watching you try."

Shadowy tendrils stretch out toward the direction Angel went and you growl in frustration and get up on your feet and try to dive toward Alastor but he sidesteps you with ease.

"Ah, Ah, Ah, can't pull the same move twice, darling," he taunts, his voice dripping with mock disappointment.

You circle him and rack your brain for your next move you just need to keep him busy for a few more seconds.

Insult him.

"Speaking of the same move twice, your dance moves last night were a little... predictable. Ever considered taking a few lessons?"

The playful jab catches his attention, causing a flash of annoyance.

Emboldened, you press on, "At least Jester kept me on my toes."

He chuckles, "That's because he was stepping on them."

His smile widens, but for a brief moment, you notice a flicker of something else in his eyes.

"I dunno maybe he could give you a few pointers, help you add a bit more flair to your routine."

Alastor's laughter rings out, the sound echoing eerily through the woods.

"Flair? That clumsy sop of a man wouldn't know flair if it jumped up and bit him."

His grin turns sharper, eyes gleaming with both amusem*nt and a touch of challenge.

"But I must say, it's rather entertaining watching you attempt to ruffle my feathers."

This wasn't working.

He was going to catch Angel, so you do the only thing you can think of and take off in the opposite direction back towards Charlie.

It's a risky move, but your instincts tell you it's the right one. Alastor loves the thrill of the chase, and you're banking on that to distract him from the real objective.

You don't dare pause and full-on sprint legs pounding and arms pumping.

The sounds of his pursuit reach your ears, the soft thuds of his footsteps blending with the rustling of the trees.

He's close, too close, but that's exactly where you want him. With each step, you draw him further away from Angel.

Shadowy tendrils wrap around your waist and hoists you upside down into the air and he lowers you down in front of his face.

The blood rushes to your head and you feel nauseous.

"Seems you've been caught, darling. What will you do now?" Alastor's antlers seem a touch more imposing, their tips reaching out like darkened branches against the light.

His posture is taller, more commanding, and the shift in his form is enough to make you hesitate, swallowing back the sharp retort that had been poised on your tongue.

He takes a deliberate step closer, and you attempt to squirm out of his grasp, realizing the impulsive nature of your actions may have cornered you.

Just when the tension seems to tighten around you, a break in the atmosphere occurs. Charlie emerges into the clearing, Pentious trailing behind her, their presence a timely interruption.

"Vaggie texted me," Charlie announces with a cheerful grin, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

"Seems like their team won! Good game, everyone!"

The relief washes over you as Alastor releases his grip, lowering you just enough to let gravity do the rest. The abrupt drop leaves you landing less than gracefully.

"Prick," you mutter under your breath, dusting yourself off.

He tsks and walks off clearly not amused by the turn of events.

At least your headache has subsided, replaced by a newfound sense of accomplishment.

Charlie offers you a supportive hand, helping you to your feet and you go back to the Hazbin with her.

You decide to retreat to your room, needing some time to recuperate before your upcoming show and take a nap.

You half-expect Alastor to follow you to your show, but he's apparently left the hotel tonight on business.

Today was un-expectantly pleasant.

Chapter 28: Too Quiet

Chapter Text

The next few weeks go by quickly and things are finally coming up Andi.

The tension in the hotel has decreased some though Angel isn't talking to Pentious he's not outright malicious either and Vaggie hasn't threatened him in at least five days.

A new record.

You no longer have to sneak in and out of the Hotel and simply leave through the front door on the nights you are working at The Oasis. It's quite freeing.

Interestingly, Alastor has been notably absent from your nightly escapades. The radio demon seems preoccupied with his own affairs, doing god knows what.

Regardless, his absence allows you to enjoy your newfound freedom without the usual tension his presence often brings.

He still torments you when you're assisting him in the afternoons but it's only for a couple of hours at this point. Lately, you've noticed a change in Alastor's demeanor. There's an underlying agitation that wasn't there before, a restless energy that seems to consume him.

Deciding to approach the situation with a sense of diplomacy, you enter Alastor's office with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand.

The rich aroma of the beverage fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of old records and dust that always seems to linger in his domain.

His red eyes glint as they flicker between you and the cup in your hands, a subtle shift in his expression indicating a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

You're keenly aware of the complex dynamics at play—the intricate dance between you and him as he was your boss, tormentor, and constant opponent.

With an overly sweet smile, you place the cup on his desk, positioning it within easy reach of his hand.

Despite the complexities of your relationship with him, you strive to maintain a sense of professionalism during your working hours, always careful to navigate the delicate balance between camaraderie and defiance.

"Freshly brewed, just the way you like it," you remark, wryly.

Which meant strong, Alastor drank his coffee black with nothing added, what an absolute monster.

You take a seat and look over at him as he eyes the cup with suspicion, which is warranted you suppose.

"There isn't dirt in it this time," He co*cks his head and raises it to his lips, and takes a sip, "Just arsenic,” you say in jest.

"Ah, that explains the exquisite flavor, how thoughtful, darling," he remarks with a chuckle, setting the mug aside.

"But you should know, my dear, that kind of thing won't kill anyone down here." His tone carries a hint of amusem*nt as he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"After all, we sinners have a certain immunity to the conventional methods of demise." His smile widens, but there's a chilling glint in his red eyes now.

"It takes an angelic weapon or a rare talent for soul manipulation to truly do the job," he muses.

"Fortunately, I happen to possess skills in the latter."

You couldn't help but feel uneasy at the direction this conversation was taking, but your curiosity compelled you to ask, "Soul manipulation?"

With a clawed hand resting against his cheek, he taps it thoughtfully, each sharp tip catching the dim light of the room.

"Why, darling," his voice slips out like a velvety whisper, "There are methods to manipulate a soul in such a way that it tears apart at the very seams."

His tone is almost hypnotic, drawing you in despite the underlying threat in his words and your neck tingles, "While our bodies might regenerate quickly here in hell, the soul cannot repair itself in the slightest."

He finishes his coffee in one swift gulp, the action almost casual despite the weight of his words.

With a piece of paper from his desk, he demonstrates his point, creating a small rip in the middle and he starts gently pulling at both sides.

"If a soul gets even the tiniest of tears, it can start to unravel," he explains, his movements deliberate and unsettling you watch as the slight tug causes the paper to rip more and more and then the paper splits completely into two and he lets them fall back on the table.

You swallow hard and straighten your back.

"Have you not been tuning into my broadcasts? I'd be glad to give you a demonstration sometime."

His tone is playful but you feel like he's completely serious still and is just gauging your reaction.

You shake your head and make a quick excuse, "I, uh, don't have a radio."

He looks almost disappointed, a subtle crease forming between his brows, "Well, that simply will not do at all," he remarks.

With a snap of his fingers, a heavy cathedral radio materializes in your lap, catching you off guard.

You stagger under its weight, feeling the solid bulk pressing against your legs as you struggle to maintain your balance.

He smiles approvingly, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.

"There darling now you have no excuse to not tune in, though it seems that I will not be requiring your services this afternoon, so run along," he says, his voice carrying a tone of finality.

You blink at him, caught off guard by his sudden dismissal, but you don't argue. With a nod, you gather your things and exit his office, he comes out as well and you watch as he heads downstairs and out the front door with his cane swinging.

What was he up to?

You lug the giftto your room and set it on your desk, with a thunk.

You eye it warily, unsure of how to approach it. The thought of turning it on and tuning into one of Alastor's broadcasts sends a chill through you, so you leave it unplugged for now.

Instead, you opt for a more relaxing afternoon. You sink into your favorite armchair with a copy of Pride and Prejudice in hand, losing yourself in its pages as the day slips away in a quiet solitude.

You'd borrowed the book weeks ago but never found the time to read it.

The soft glow of lamplight casts a warm, comforting ambiance over the room, easing the tension that had settled in your shoulders. It's a peaceful respite from the chaos of the outside world, and you relish every moment of it.

With a lazy yawn, you dress in your dusty pink dress and denim frayed jacket and walk down to The Oasis.

The night is unusually still, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle that accompanies the evening hours.

The streets, usually alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter, are eerily quiet, the only sound the echo of your footsteps against the cobblestones.

A sense of unease settles over you as you glance around, a prickling sensation crawling over your skin. Something isn't right, but you can't quite put your finger on it probably just your nerves.

The bar is just as full as usual and practice goes well. Tonight's theme was the 2000s and you're singing Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis.

Trying hard not to hear, but they talk so loud
Their piercing sounds fill my ears, try to fill me with doubt
Yet I know that their goal is to keep me from falling, hey, oh
But nothing's greater than the rush that comes with your embrace
And in this world of loneliness, I see your face
Yet everyone around me thinks that I'm going crazy

Your heart races and you can't quite lose yourself in the music like usual.

A cacophony of chaos shatters the serenity of the stage, as an ear-splitting explosion reverberates through the air. The force of the blast sends you tumbling to the ground, disoriented and dazed.

Ears ringing and senses overwhelmed, you struggle to make sense of the chaos unfolding around you. The acrid scent of smoke fills the air, mingling with the panicked shouts of the crowd and the sharp crack of gunfire.

In the darkness that envelops the room, you feel a firm hand grab hold of you, pulling you backwards.

Disoriented and unsure, you instinctively resist, but the grip is relentless. When you finally manage to glance back, your eyes meet Jester's dark orbs, a glimmer of urgency reflected in their depths as he guides you backstage to safety.

Amidst the chaos, Clara's voice cuts through the turmoil as she barks orders into her cell phone. Vlad, on the other hand, remains calm and collected as he methodically loads a gleaming golden shotgun.

"What's happening?" you manage to shout over the noise.

Clara, her expression grim, shoves her phone into her pocket and swiftly opens her guitar case.

With a deft motion, she pulls out the lining of the case, revealing a shimmering spear tucked within. The sight sends a shiver down your spine—it's an angelic weapon, unmistakably potent.

She approaches you, her hands firm yet comforting as they rest on your shoulders. "It's a territory dispute," she explains, her tone heavy with concern.

"B-but this is a neutral zone..." you stammer, your mind reeling at the implications.

Clara nods grimly. "It's not supposed to be happening here, but that doesn't stop everyone," she confirms.

Billie steps into the back, brandishing two shining pistols. He takes one look at your panicked form and sighs.

"Best if you ladies get out of here," he advises his voice firm but laced with concern.

His gaze sweeps over Clara and you, assessing the situation with a practiced eye, and hands Jester one of his revolvers.

Clara starts to complain but he cuts her off, "The Loan Sharks are not kind to women.... They are only coming in from the north so you two should be able to slip out the back and down south into the Cannibal Colony. They won't mess with Rosie."

Voices cut through the air and you hear yelling in the bar, "Now."

Clara's grip on your arm is firm, her fingers digging into your skin as she leads you through the dimly lit alleyway.

The echoes of chaos from the bar fade into the distance, replaced by the eerie stillness of the night.

"Andi, I'm going to need you to follow my lead, okay?" Her voice is urgent, yet oddly calm, as she locks eyes with you.

You nod in response, feeling a mix of fear and trust coursing through your veins. Despite the overwhelming situation, you find solace in Clara's steady presence.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears like a relentless drumbeat. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid flutter of panic threatening to consume you. You can't afford to be a hindrance to Clara, not now.

A woman's blood-curdling scream pierces the air, causing you to gasp in shock. It's too close, far too close for comfort.

Clara's grip on your arm tightens, her fingers pressing into your skin like iron as she drags you stealthily across the shadowy alleyway and in between buildings.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, your senses heightened as you strain to listen for any sign of danger.

The darkness seems to close in around you, suffocating and oppressive, while a foul stench like rotten eggs assaults your nostrils, causing you to wrinkle your nose in disgust.

The putrid odor only serves to intensify your unease, and you can feel your hands trembling uncontrollably.

Amidst the eerie silence, a sudden scraping sound echoes through the alley, setting your heart racing with fear. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, prickling with an instinctual sense of danger.

Your eyes dart around frantically, searching for the source of the noise, but the darkness obscures your vision, and you can hear near-silent footsteps.

As if in response to the ominous sound, the mark on your ankle begins to throb with a dull ache, sending a shiver of dread coursing through your veins.

It's familiar somehow, in a way you cannot place.

Clara senses the danger and the two of you start a full-out sprint toward the end of the alley there is a metal door at the end and she kicks it open with ease and the two of you dart inside the building.

The interior is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering in through broken windows casting eerie shadows across the abandoned warehouse.

Dust hangs thick in the air, and the silence of the desolate space is deafening as you follow Clara toward the staircase at the far end of the room.

As you ascend to the second floor you hear something entering through the way you came.

You were being pursued.

With each step you take, your heart pounds louder in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins driving you forward.

Clara leads the way, her movements swift and purposeful, as you ascend several flights of stairs, putting as much distance between yourselves and the danger below as possible.

Finally, Clara pulls you down a narrow hallway, her grip on your hand tightening as she scans the deserted corridor for any signs of movement.

Spotting an empty room, she wastes no time in ushering you inside, quickly bolting the door behind you with a resounding click that echoes through the silence

She places her finger to her lips, and you nod in silent agreement. Now was not the time for talking.

Taking in the room, you surmise it was once an office of some sort; an empty desk with a view of the cityscape through a dirty window is the only furniture in sight.

As you cautiously approach the window, your eyes widen at the sight of a rickety fire escape, its metal frame barely holding together.

Flashes of gunfire illuminate the streets below, casting fleeting shadows against the grim backdrop of chaos and violence.

This was truly hell.

A shuttering breath escapes your lips as you step back from the window, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Clara stands guard at the door, her spear poised and ready, her gaze fixed on the entrance with unwavering determination.

You can hear that noise again like nails on a chalkboard drawing closer and you see Clara's grip on the spear tighten her knuckles whitening.

The stench of decay hangs heavy in the air, thick and nauseating, clawing at your senses and threatening to overwhelm you.

You fight the urge to gag, pressing your hand over your mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to filter out the putrid odor.

Despite the cacophony of noise and the oppressive atmosphere, there's a strange sense of detachment, as if you're watching the events unfold from a distance, disconnected from the imminent danger lurking just beyond the door.

It's a surreal feeling, as if the world has been momentarily suspended in time, waiting with bated breath for the inevitable confrontation.

With a tense exhale, you release the breath you didn't realize you were holding as the scraping sound reaches its peak right outside the door, only to recede gradually down the hallway, fading into the distance.

The relief that washes over you is palpable, like a weight lifted from your shoulders, but the tension in the room remains thick, the sense of danger still lingering in the air like an invisible specter.

Clara's stance relaxes marginally, though her grip on the spear remains firm, ready for any sudden threat.

You exchange a fleeting glance with her, silent acknowledgment passing between you, before turning your attention back to the empty room and take off your jacket letting it hit the floor your burning up and your shoulders ache for some reason.

A piercing ring shatters the tense silence, reverberating through the room, and for a moment, your heart stops.

It's the sound of your phone, unmistakable in its familiarity, yet utterly unwelcome in this moment of peril.

Your hand trembles as you reach into your pocket, fingers fumbling for the device, dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. With a sinking feeling, you retrieve it, the screen glaring brightly in the dimness of the room, casting an eerie glow against your face.

You glance at the caller ID, as the name "Angel" flashes on the screen. Your heart leaps into your throat as the phone slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a sickening thud.

The noise echoes through the silent room like a gunshot, sending a shiver of fear down your spine.

Before you can even process what's happening, a loud crash reverberates from the hallway, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer and closer. Panic seizes you as you realize they've heard you, they know exactly where you are.

You grab your phone and stuff it into your pocket.

As if on instinct, a voice inside your head screams at you to run, and you don't hesitate. Adrenaline surges through your veins, lending you a strength you didn't know you had as you make a beeline for the window.

With a desperate tug, you wrench at the stubborn frame, muscles straining against the resistance. The paint cracks and flakes beneath your fingers, and with a final, determined heave, the window flies open, letting in a gust of air into the stale room.

You turn back to Clara, the urgency of the situation palpable in the air. "Clara... we should run," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly with fear.

The door shudders on its frame, the violent force of whoever is outside causing it to rattle ominously.

Clara takes a step back, her eyes meeting yours in a silent exchange of shared terror. In that moment, you both understand the gravity of the situation, and the need to escape becomes paramount.

In one swift, decisive motion, Clara drives her spear through the metal door, the force behind her thrust enough to pierce through whatever—or whoever—is on the other side.

A guttural, growl-like yell reverberates through the room and she drops her spear and runs towards you.

With a sense of haste, you scramble out onto the fire escape, the metal grating cold and unforgiving beneath your hands and feet.

Glancing down, you realize with a sinking feeling that the way down has been severed, leaving you with only one direction to go—up.

Heart pounding, you begin to climb, each rung of the fire escape offering a precarious foothold as you ascend higher and higher. Clara is close behind you.

As you climb, a faint clanking sound echoes from the room below, signaling that whatever—or whoever—was pursuing you is not far behind. Clara's urgent push spurs you onward, your muscles burning with exertion as you climb with all the speed you can muster.

Breathless and trembling, you reach the pinnacle of the rooftop, a sense of relief flooding over you as you finally escape the confines of the building below.

With a desperate urgency, you swing your legs over the concrete divide and stumble out onto the rooftop, the cold night air whipping against your skin.

But as you survey your surroundings, your heart sinks at the sight of the collapsed door leading back into the building.

Panic threatens to consume you as you realize that your only means of escape has been cut off, leaving you stranded atop the towering structure with nowhere to go.

As Clara joins you on the rooftop, her expression mirroring your own sense of dread, you both frantically scan the surroundings for any sign of salvation.

But as your eyes alight upon the distant rattling of the rails across the way, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

The voice echoes in your mind again, urging you to embrace the wild unknown, drowning out the chaos and fear that threaten to overwhelm you.

It's a reckless notion, a mad impulse born of desperation and necessity, but in this moment of dire peril, you find yourself strangely compelled to heed its call as it tells you to jump.

This is mad you are crazy.

A feeling creeps in replacing the fear, it's a lot like when you sing, a confidence takes over as a shadowy figure joins you on the roof and you don't think you simply act.

It feels like something tugs at your ankle like an invisible tether.

As you move you catch a glimpse of glowing yellow eyes.

You wrap both arms around Clara and push her over the edge.

As Clara's screams pierce the air, you find yourself enveloped in an otherworldly sensation, a strange blend of dread and exhilaration.

The wind rushes past you with an eerie howl, whipping at your clothes and tousling your hair as you plummet through the darkness.

As the pain in your shoulders reaches its climax, a wave of sensation ripples through your nerves, igniting a burning sensation that spreads across your back.

It's an unfamiliar feeling, tingling and prickling along your spine, and you can't help but gasp as it courses through your body.

But then, something extraordinary happens. Your descent to the ground slows, the force of gravity losing its grip on you as if by some unseen force.

Instead of plummeting towards the earth, you find yourself gliding effortlessly through the air, carried by an unseen current that propels you forward.

Clara's surprised sound echoes in the night as she clings to you, her eyes wide with astonishment.

Though you're no longer racing toward the ground at breakneck speed, the earth still looms steadily closer with each passing moment,

Oh, sh*t.

You close your eyes and land roughly on your shoulder, you feel a stab of pain in your right arm and feel the flesh tear as you roll across the asphalt.

Your horns scrape on the ground and you bang your head which causes you to pass out briefly from the pain.

As you open your eyes, the world swims into focus, blurred and hazy from the pain coursing through your body.

Clara kneels beside you, her voice a distant murmur as she speaks into the phone, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Keep your eyes open, Andi," she urges, her words cutting through the fog of unconsciousness that threatens to pull you under once more.

Gently, she pinches your arm, coaxing you to sit up, but your back is oddly heavy and as you move, a wave of dizziness washes over you, and you slip back down onto the asphalt.

Your eyes flutter open once more, and you find yourself in a limo like car, surrounded by several pairs of intense red eyes, one of which belongs to Carmilla Carmine herself.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight, but before panic can fully set in, Clara leans forward, her voice calm and reassuring.

"It's okay, Andi," she says, her tone gentle yet firm, "We're headed back to my home now. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

You lay back down on a mess of prickly black feathers.

Why are there feathers?

The sounds of Clara talking to her family lull you back to sleep.

Chapter 29: Memories

Chapter Text

"Where are you?" A prickly voice calls out to you it’s a tingling whisper in your ear. It calls again and again buzzing like an annoying insect.

Was that Alastor?

And you groggily blink back into consciousness, someone shines a bright light into your eyes, prompting you to instinctively try to swat it away.

Instead, you're met with a gloved hand gently restraining yours, and a feline-like woman with green eyes and curly black hair standing in front of you in a pair of blue scrubs.

"How nice of you to finally join us," she says.

You manage to focus your gaze on her, squinting against the light. With a tired expression, you shoot her a confused look. She chuckles softly and proceeds to jot down a few notes on a clipboard, her movements smooth and practiced.

Clara comes into view and she stands next to the feline-like woman, leaning in closer to you with a mix of relief and exhaustion.

"Andi! I'm so glad you're awake," she says softly, her voice carrying a hint of emotion.

Despite her relief, Clara looks visibly exhausted, with dark bags under her eyes that speak volumes of the stress. She looks physically unharmed though.

Returning her smile, you notice the bandaging on your right arm and the IV connected to you, slowly dripping a blue-tinted liquid.

"Where am I?" you manage to rasp out.

Clara stands a bit straighter, her demeanor a mix of reassurance and seriousness.

"You're at my family's estate, You got a bit banged up in the fall, but we've got Doctor Nix on hand and an in-house clinic."

The other woman, Dr. Nix, steps forward, her expression matter-of-fact. “You’ve got a dislocated shoulder, cracked rib, moderate concussion, and several abrasions across your right side."

She gives the IV line a flick, her tone light, "Honestly, you're not in bad shape considering you decided to take a leap off a six-story building.”

“Your wings must have slowed your fall. Though I must admit, I'm puzzled why you didn't just fly down instead."

You sit straight up, the movement sends a shooting pain through your arm and shoulder and you wince, "My what now?"

"Your wings, massive black feathered things? They made it hard as hell to fit you in the CT machine," Dr. Nix reiterates, with a mix of professional observation and mild exasperation.

You attempt to twist around, trying to catch a glimpse of your back, but all you can see is the silvery-white fabric of the tank top against your skin. No sign of any wings.

Confusion clouds your thoughts as you struggle to make sense of the situation and your head spins.

"Wait, where's my pink dress?" you manage to voice out you really liked your dress.

Clara tilts her head sympathetically, her expression softening with understanding and she grabs a bag off the table and hands you the torn dress and your phone out of it, "Sorry, Andi," she says gently, "it was torn up in the fall."

You look at the bloodied dress and wince as a fresh wave of pain radiates from your shoulder, causing you to lay yourself back down slowly, seeking relief from the discomfort.

Dr. Nix, noticing your discomfort, fills up a syringe from some bottles on the nearby tray before making her way over to your IV stand.

With a practiced hand, she checks the IV bag, her brow furrowing slightly as she assesses the contents and adds the needles to your IV.

"Looked like you could use some painkillers, you'll be feeling great in no time now.” She says walking out clipboard in hand.

How long have you been here?

You set the torn dress down on the bed, and your fingers instinctively reach for your phone, a surge of anticipation rising within you.

Unlocking the device, you're greeted with a flood of notifications that have accumulated during your time of unconsciousness.

Dozens of missed calls and over fifty text messages from Angel, Charlie, Jester, and several others fill your screen. Clara replied to the band's group chat thankfully.

Glancing at the time displayed on your phone, you see that it's already two in the morning. A sense of disorientation washes over you as you try to piece together how long you've been here.

Judging by the time and the messages you've received, you estimate that it's been at least four to five hours.

Clara steps out into the hall and you can hear her talking to someone so you decide to call Angel.

The phone rings once, twice then, "Hey shut the f*ck, she's calling me!"

You can hear a cacophony of voices asking different things and a buzz of static, it sounds like they were driving.

"Put her on speaker," That was Vaggie.

"Andi?! Where the f*ck are you!" yells Angel.

"Oh my gosh! Are you ok? We were so worried, we saw what was happening on the news and the bar where you sing is wrecked..." That's Charlie for sure.

You put your phone on speaker due to all of the extra noise on their end and try to under stand them.

The medication from the IV begins to take effect, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreads through your arm, a welcome relief from the throbbing pain that had plagued you moments ago.

With each passing moment, you feel the discomfort melting away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility and you melt into it.

"Uh, hey guys... I'm alive," you announce, your voice slightly slurred from the effects of the painkillers.

Everyone was concerned about you?

You feel your eyes wet a bit and you get a goofy grin.

A staticky voice cuts in over the others, "Ẅ̵̩́̈́h̴̢͍͆ë̵̼͍r̶̼͝e̴̢̞͂ ̴̩̙̐a̷̺͑͌r̸̗̉͒e̷͍̗̐̇ ̴̡̝̋ý̷͉o̶̟͚͐ú̷̡̾ͅ?̸̨̣̈"

Was that Alastor?

Wait where were you at again?

"She's with me Radio Demon, she's at my main estate," you blink and notice the looming presence of Carmilla Carmine next to you her hair is down and loose and she's wearing a silky black robe.

Even dressed casually she still has that air of authority though. You didn't even notice her arrive she moved so quietly.

"C̶̨̮͍̘̺̠̺̭̺̱̥̉̐̓̈́̀͛̍̇͌̋̍͛͗a̴̧̛̛͙̰͕̖̙̥̻̗̟͚̭̬̲̥̪̼͚͖͓̟̘̙͙̔͋̇͑͂̾̂̏̐̔̇͑̈́̾̑͋͂͆̈̈̑̊̽̄̊̽͌͛̕̚͜͝ŗ̸̫͍̼̟̫̼͓͉͓̦͕̺̜̩̰̗̥̔͌̀͐͗́͌͐͆͆̓͋̓m̶̧̩͚̥̹͚̦̠̙̳̟̮̜͇͓̍̓̊̔̈́̋̍͆͌͒̄̈͂̂́̆̽̿̎̚i̵̧̪͌̊̄͌͑̈́͋̑̀͋͆̈̅̃͐̃̃̎̀̈́̈́̌̍͂̈́͒̃̎̿͛͘͝͠͝l̸͕̩̹̲͕̃̈̂͆̈́̈́̀͊͑͆̈̔͘̕͠͝͝l̶̛̛̳̲̱̦͕̻̘̮̼̩͓̏̀̍̉̆̈̽̎̊͌̑̐̀̏̔̂͋̈́̐̒͊͛̒̏͜a̴̧̛̲͍̫̠͈͕̩̤̭͖̮͓̠̐̔̿̓̉̈̆͂̑̆͂͂̊̇͂̈̓̓̓̅͜͝͝,"

You watch as Carmilla's lips tighten, she was not amused by his tone, "The girl was caught up in the dispute along with my youngest daughter," she explains, her voice carrying a hint of frustration.

"She was injured when I arrived, so I treated her injuries. "

Alastor's voice clears through the static, "A̵̛̞h̴̩̍,̶̮́ how magnanimous of you," he remarks, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Well, in that case, I'll be arriving shortly to collect my assistant."

The phone line goes dead with a final crackle of static, leaving you to roll your eyes in exasperation.

"He's so dramatic," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

To your surprise, Carmilla's lips twitch slightly in amusem*nt at your comment. "Yes, he has always been one for theatrics," she agrees with a wry smile.

She pauses her eyes looking into yours, "Are you in his debt?"

You shake your head firmly, eager to dispel any notion of owing a debt to that prick, "Nope."

"Good, try to keep it that way."

Carmilla gives you a once-over, her gaze assessing yet approving. "Clara filled me in on what happened tonight," she explains, her tone carrying a note of appreciation. "And your actions will not be forgotten."

"Oh, y-yeah of course she's a friend."

With that, she nods and exits the room and the doctor comes back in to remove your IV and get you ready to go and tucks your right arm into a sling.

Clara comes in too and gives you a silky gray shawl that she just lays across your shoulders and helps you put your shoes on.

She's oddly quiet.

You hear something like a doorbell ringing, and she wraps her arm around your waist and helps you stand as she walks you downstairs.

Her house is really fancy you think eyeing the crystal chandelier and lavish furnishings.

"Y-you know you can stay here if you want..."

What?

"But I want to go home."

Clara's eyes widen slightly at your response, her expression unreadable as she absorbs your words. After a moment of silence, she nods in understanding, a sense of resignation flickering across her features.

Several armed guards mill about the lobby and you watch as Carmilla opens the door with Dr. Nix at her side.

As you step outside, you spot two familiar figures standing nearby. Charlie and Alastor, their distinctive red attire standing out against the darkness of the night.

A smile tugs at your lips as you catch their eye, a sense of relief flooding through you at the sight of their familiar faces.

Charlie's eyes widen in surprise as she sees you, and she darts over to you, wrapping her arms around your midsection in a tight embrace. Despite the tenderness of her gesture, you can't help but wince slightly as she squeezes you.

"Careful, she's got a broken rib on her right side," the doctor chides gently. Charlie quickly releases you, her expression shifting to one of concern as she takes in the doctor's words.

The Doctor hands her some paperwork and a little white paper bag that rattles. She says something to Charlie but your face feels hot and you feel all warm and fuzzy so you don't catch it.

Charlie nods in response to whatever the doctor is saying, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration.

However, your attention is momentarily diverted by the sight of Alastor engaged in conversation with Carmilla nearby.

Despite their discussion, his gaze remains fixed on you, his scarlet gaze watching you intently roaming over your form.

Something about how he looks at you, with a mixture of both concern and annoyance, makes your heart flutter slightly in your chest.

Must be the pain medicine because you feel like you could do anything right now.

You see the hotel's limo waiting down the road and start to step off the porch but stumble.

In a flash, Alastor grasps you firmly around the waist and hoists you off your feet and under his arm like one would do a piece of luggage.

The sudden change in position catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily breathless as you find yourself cradled against his side and staring at the ground.

If you were in a different state of mind, you might feel a twinge of embarrassment at the weird way Alastor is carrying you.

But in your current state, fueled by pain medication and a fuzzy sense of detachment, you find yourself being extra bold, mustering up the energy to mutter something under your breath about his "f*ck-ass bob of a haircut."

Alastor's grip tightens around you, his smile widening in response to your remark and he jostles you. The movement elicites a small groan of protest from you.

"Well, we best be going now, Carmilla," Alastor remarks, dryly "Seems my assistant is eager to take her leave. Have a pleasant evening."

He turns and starts to walk back towards the car with Charlie in tow.

Charlie asks him to be careful with you and she starts listing off your injuries worriedly as she flips through the papers.

Honestly though unconventional the way he's carrying you doesn't hurt in the slightest so you don't struggle against him.

Charlie opens the door to the vehicle and Alastor maneuvers you inside and sets you down in a plush leather seat with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed.

He takes a seat to your right side, and you feel someone press into your left, and when you turn you're met with Angel's concerned face.

"f*ck! Andi, we've been looking for you all night!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and worry.

You turn your head toward him, offering a sheepish smile. "S-sorry, I was passed out for a while," you explain, your words slurring.

Before you can say anything further, Husk's voice cuts in from the other side of the limousine.

"Go easy on her, Legs," he interjects,"She looks like sh*t."

You can't help but shoot Husk a playful glare at his blunt assessment, but his words bring a smile to your lips nonetheless.

"H-hey," you protest weakly, a hint of amusem*nt dancing in your eyes. "I feel fantastic!"

Charlie hops in the car and it starts moving, must be little sheep guys driving.

"What happened to you?" Vaggie asks leaning forward from beside Husk.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the events of the night still swirling in your mind like fragments of a disjointed dream.

"Oh, uh, so like there was an explosion," you begin, your words coming out in a slightly slurred cadence as you try to piece together the sequence of events. "And then everyone had a gun."

You let loose a small chuckle at that, who knew everyone was just secretly packing heat?

As you recount the chaotic scene, memories flash before your mind's eye in a whirlwind of confusion and adrenaline.

"So, Clara and I headed out the back to run away," you continue, your voice growing more animated as the story unfolds.

"And there was, like, a monster or something. It was like I was in a scary movie."

The memory sends a shiver down your spine, the surrealness of the moment still fresh in your mind.

"Then I... I jumped off a building and flew away," you conclude, the words tumbling out in a rush as you recall the adrenaline-fueled escape.

As the echo of your words fades into the air, a sudden burst of laughter breaks the tension in the limousine.

"She's high as a f*cking kite, right now," Angel remarks with a chuckle, his voice tinged with amusem*nt.

You glance around at the confused expressions of your friends, their brows furrowed in varying degrees of disbelief and concern. It's clear that they're struggling to make sense of your disjointed narrative.

"No, I totally flew off a building, wait... Maybe I just fell really slowly off the building?" you muse aloud, your words trailing off as you second-guess the validity of your own account.

"They gave her that real good sh*t," Angel says with a head shake.

Frustration bubbles up within you as you realize that your friends aren't quite grasping the gravity of your experience.

With a heavy sigh, you lean back in your seat, feeling exasperated.

It's clear that they just weren't getting it, and try as you might, you can't seem to find the words to bridge the gap between their perception and your reality.

As Angel's remark fades into the background, you settle back into your seat, listening as your friends recount their night spent searching for you.

Their voices blend together in a melodic cadence and you let your eyes shut briefly before you hear some arguing.

The car is stopped and you see the hotel out of the window.

"Ain't no way you're taking her up to her room," Angel declares, his voice firm and unwavering.

"Not after that creepy ass voodoo sh*t you pulled earlier."

You watch in silence, a sense of apprehension knotting in the pit of your stomach as the tension between them crackles in the air.

Alastor, ever the picture of calm, meets Angel's gaze with a cool detachment, his crimson eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts or intentions.

You don't know what going on but you naturally lean towards Angel your friend who flashes you a toothy grin, "Ha, come on toots," he says, his voice warm "Let's get you cleaned up and put to bed."

He flips a crude gesture before turning to you.

He helps you to your feel and before you know it you're somehow upstairs he helps you take off your shoes and brush your teeth and gives you a glass of water before helping you into bed.

As you settle beneath the covers, Angel's voice breaks through the silence, "Gave us quite the scare, Andi," he murmurs, his tone soft and gentle.

"Ya gotta take better care of yourself. You should have seen how concerned I-uh-Husker was."

You nod, catching his slip of the tongue and smile as you hear the door click closed and you start to drift off to sleep.

Your radio clicks on and a gentle tune starts playing, you squeeze your eyes tighter and try to ignore it.

A buzz dances across your skin and a finger pokes your cheek once, twice, and on the third time digs in a touch.

You know it's Alastor.

Annoyed you swat his hand away and wretch your eyes back open, "What do you want?"

He chuckles darkly, "Now that's an interesting question."

His words are absent of their usual echo tonight. Instead you’re hearing his actual voice you realize.

He taps his chin thoughtfully, "Well right now, I want you to tell me more about this monster that you saw tonight."

Alastor towers over you and the light of heavens gate washes over his skin eerily.

His request catches you off guard, and you blink in surprise, momentarily forgetting your irritation as you consider his words.

You sit up and you feel a chilling nagging sensation pull at the back of your mind, there was something there but you couldn't quite grasp it.

"I don't think I saw him too well. I can't remember," you confess, frustration evident in your voice as you struggle to grasp onto the fleeting memories.

Despite your best efforts, the memory remains elusive, slipping through your fingers like smoke. A sense of unease settles over you as you realize that you're missing something crucial.

Alastor takes a seat on the side of your bed, his crimson eyes gleaming with intrigue and a hint of something else.

"Why, darling, I could assist you with remembering," he offers, his voice smooth and enticing.

Everything still feels a bit hazy, and you can't shake the feeling of apprehension that grips you.

"You can? Wait, I'm not making a deal or anything with you," you respond hastily, a note of caution creeping into your tone.

He reaches forward and pinches your cheek lightly, "A deal? Why, cher, you wound me," he says with mock offense. "I'd never make a deal with a dame in such a compromising state."

"No, when that time comes, you'll be at your full faculties, rest assured," Alastor says, withdrawing his hand from your cheek.

You start to grumble, but he silences you by placing a clawed finger to your lips. "Now's not the time to argue," he interjects softly, his tone surprisingly soothing.

"What I was suggesting is simply a mutually beneficial arrangement."

You regard him warily, unsure of what he's proposing. Despite your reservations, there's a part of you that's intrigued.

"Explain."

His eyes light up at your actual interest, a glimmer of anticipation dancing in their depths. This was as far as he'd ever gotten with you when it comes to this kind of thing.

"Splendid. Now, all I'm asking is for permission to enter your subconscious dreams. From there, we should be able to focus on your memories, and I can probably clear up some of that pesky forgetfulness and find out who it was you saw tonight."

You know you aren't firing on all cylinders, your mind is still foggy from the pain medication and the events of the night.

Yet, there's a sense of urgency to uncovering the truth, and you find yourself nodding in agreement, albeit hesitantly.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "I... I suppose that's ok," you murmur, your voice uncertain.

"But promise me, no funny business in there."

Alastor nods in understanding, his smile widening as he brings his hand to his chest, "Cross my heart, darling. Nothing unsavory, just a bit of exploration," he assures you, his words as smooth as silk.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

As if on cue, the radio station switches to a lullaby-like tune, its gentle melody filling the air around you.

"Just close your eyes, darling," Alastor murmurs, his voice weaving through the music like a comforting whisper.

"Focus on what you do remember, and let your mind guide us through."

You obey his instructions, allowing the soothing melody to relax you as you start to focus.

You feel him moving, but you don't dare open your eyes, determined to remain immersed in the depths of your own mind.

A green light shines through your closed eyelids, casting an otherworldly glow in the darkness behind them.

You shudder slightly, a sense of apprehension washing over you, but you push the feeling aside.

You didn't want to know what he was doing, but you felt the hairs on your arms stand on end.

With each passing moment, the green light seems to pulse and flicker, its ethereal glow dancing across your consciousness like a beacon in the night.

You cling to it like a lifeline, allowing it to lead you deeper into the labyrinth of your memories, you try to focus on tonight's memory but something nags you and you drift away from it towards something else.

Sometime else...

When you open your eyes, you find yourself standing under the soft glow of moonlight, casting gentle shadows on the corner of a bustling street.

The air is crisp, filled with the distant hum of traffic and the faint scent of city life. But as you look up, you realize with a start that the celestial body above is not heaven's pearly gates but the actual moon.

The sight takes your breath away, a sense of wonder and disbelief washing over you as you gaze up at the celestial spectacle. You glance out at the world, this is New York, this is home.

Standing on the corner of the busy street, you spot a figure engrossed in the screen of their phone. It's Jade, your Jade, and seeing her there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions.

You want to laugh with joy, to cry with relief.

Was this all just a dream? Were you truly back home?

Without hesitation, you reach out to her, your heart pounding in your chest. As she turns, her eyes meet yours, and a smile lights up her face.

But before you can call out to her, another figure runs right through you and embraces her in a hug.

Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize the redhead—it's you, but from before you died.

This was just a memory, a moment frozen in time, a reminder of what once was.

A hand clasps your shoulder, pulling you gently back from the scene unfolding before you. "Darling," a familiar voice murmurs, "I think a mistake has been made."

Why did your mind pull you back here, you glance around and look at the living you.

Wait this was when you.....

"This is the night I died."

Alastor's hand releases your shoulder, and you turn to face him, his scarlet eyes studying you intently. "Why did you bring us here?" he asks, his tone genuinely curious.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the memories swirling around you like a whirlwind.

"I... I'm not sure," you admit, sadly.

"Maybe there's something I need to remember, something I missed. I don't really remember how I died but... I think a demon killed me."

His eyes widen and his face sinks toward yours, "How very interesting, well let's find out shall we?"

With a confident stride, Alastor sets off toward your human self, his gait purposeful and determined.

You stumble for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden movement, but quickly regain your footing and follow closely behind him, your heart pounding with anticipation.

As you walk, the oddity of the experience washes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you feeling disoriented and unnerved.

You draw closer to your human self, who is turning a corner up ahead. With each step, the gap between you narrows, until you're walking just a few feet behind your memory.

You watch in silence as your human self engages in conversation with Jade. The sound of her laughter fills the air, mingling with the soft click of beads in her braids.

The street lamps cast a warm glow over the scene, illuminating your red hair as it shimmers in the darkness.

Alastor's scarlet gaze flickers between you and the scene before you, his expression thoughtful as he takes in the sight.

"Who was this girl with you?" he inquires.

You glance over at him, a pang of emotion tugging at your heart.

"She was my best friend."

He doesn't speak but you feel him watching you observing.

As you glance around, taking in the familiar sights of home, a sense of nostalgia washes over you like a gentle tide. The bustling streets, the soft glow of the street lamps, the laughter of passersby—it all feels so achingly familiar yet distant, like a half-remembered dream.

Up ahead, you watch as Jade pulls out an Airpod and hands it to the living you, a small smile playing on her lips. Your counterpart takes the Airpod with a grateful nod, slipping it into their ear as the music begins to play. A soft melody fills the air, mingling with the sound of your footsteps as you walk.

You watch as your human self starts to hum along to the music, their movements fluid and carefree. There's a sense of joy and lightness in their demeanor.

They stumble and bend to tie their shoes and your heart freezes this was it.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you watch as a long, smokey hand reaches out toward Jade.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see your counterpart shove her out of the way just in time, but before you can fully process what's happening, the hand latches onto her and she's pulled into the darkness.

As you draw nearer, and slip into the alley the details become clearer, etching themselves into your mind with stark clarity. The hulking figure, at least eight feet tall, emerges from the swirling darkness, shrouded in smoke that seems to coil around its skeletal frame like tendrils of living shadow.

Its yellow eyes gleam with an otherworldly intensity, boring into your human self with a chilling gaze.

Dressed in a cloak and top hat that evoke a bygone era, the figure exudes an aura of malevolence that seems to permeate the very air around it. It lifts your human self effortlessly by the throat with a singular hand, its grip unyielding as it examines you with a detached curiosity.

You struggle against him and he drops you completely uninterested and starts back out towards the street towards Jade who has just now noticed you were missing and has turned back looking for you.

No...

With a gasp, your human self scrambles to her feet, a fierce determination flashing in her eyes as she launches herself at the monstrous figure.

The impact sends both of them crashing into the side of a nearby brick wall, the sound of the collision echoing through the alleyway. Your chest tightens with a mixture of fear and desperation as you watch your counterpart struggle against the demonic assailant.

Tears blur your vision as you see her fighting to regain her footing, her every movement a testament to her sheer willpower. But the demon, unfazed by her efforts, lashes out with a vicious growl, its clawed hand seizing her by the hair and dragging her deeper into the suffocating darkness of the alley.

A sense of helplessness washes over you as you watch the scene unfold, a deep ache gnawing at your chest as you yearn to intervene, to somehow change the course of events.

Alastor steps beside you.

"Andi, Where are you?" Jade's frantic voice calls out from the front of the alley, her words ringing out with desperation and fear, "Andromeda!"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of your full name spoken aloud for the first time in months. It's as if the weight of your entire identity crashes down on you at that moment.

The demon's head snaps towards her voice calling out to you and you yell towards her.

"JåÐê rµñ!" The human you screams in a pitch that hurts your ears, the words distorted and almost unrecognizable.

Jade's form freezes, and her back straightens as she turns around and runs without a second look back, disappearing into the darkness of the street beyond.

She made it out.

The other you lets out a raspy relieved laugh, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and the demon's expression twists into one of pure malice. With a swift kick to your chest, you're sent flying backward, your back colliding with the cold, damp alley wall.

"Filthy wench," he seethes and he pulls out a sharp serrated knife that glistens in the dim lighting, he raises it high and stabs you directly into your abdomen.

A sharp, phantom pain shoots through your abdomen, mirroring the agony of the moment as if it were happening all over again. Instinctively, your hand flies to your stomach, fingers trembling as they press against the fabric of your shirt, seeking to soothe the invisible wound.

Despite knowing that this is just a memory, the intensity of the pain feels all too real, a visceral echo of the trauma etched into your consciousness.

Sweat beads form on your brow as you grit your teeth against the overwhelming discomfort, your mind reeling from the sheer force of the memories flooding back to you.

Alastor grips your arm, "It's just a memory, darling," he repeats, his voice softening ever so slightly.

At that moment your other self unleashes an inhuman scream, the sound reverberates through the alley with an eerie intensity, causing the very air to tremble.

In response, glass windows from the buildings lining the alley shatter into glittering fragments, cascading like icy rain upon the pavement.

Your attacker staggers back, dropping to his knees as he clutches his head in agony, the veins in his temples pulsing with a sickly glow.

His grip on the serrated knife loosens, the blade clattering to the ground as he writhes in torment under the onslaught of the unearthly sound.

Then you go completely silent and the light leaves your eyes, and you die.

He yells and grabs at you but you're already gone, and he hisses at your lifeless body. A sound ripples through the air and a red portal opens up behind him.

He stares at your form and a low, guttural sound emanates from deep within him as a chain, dark and rusted, emerges from his chest, snaking its way toward your inert form.

With a swift motion, he taps your chest, summoning forth a brilliant golden chain that materializes from your being along with a clear version of yourself.

Murmuring incantations under his breath, he manipulates the chain with practiced precision, binding his chain to your ankle with a firm grip.

You struggle against him, your translucent form flickering with resistance, but he tightens his chain tightens, and he drags you through the portal.

He drug you down to hell.

With a disoriented gasp, and flash of green light you find yourself back in the familiar surroundings of your hotel room, the memories of the alley still fresh in your mind.

Alastor stands over you, his features are inscrutable, his eyes vacant lost in thought.

"That's who I saw tonight," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter 30: Its All Greek To Me

Chapter Text

Alastor's gaze lingers on the flickering embers dancing in the fireplace, their warm glow casting a soft illumination across his room.

As the clock strikes six in the morning, a heavy sigh escapes his lips, the weight of the past night's events still lingering in the air.

Alastor runs a hand through his tousled hair, the faintest hint of weariness shadowing his features despite his usual air of composure.

The past few weeks have not been going as well as he had hoped.

He had assumed he'd be finished with those Loan Shark cretins by now, but it seemed there was more going on than he had first assumed.

Seven years ago they were nothing more than a bunch of low-life con artists banded together to give off the illusion of strength.

Now, they've become a thorn in his side, growing bolder with each passing day.

Alastor had captured several low-ranking members of the gang easily and sought to extract information from them, but none of them talked.

None of them could remember.

It frustrated him to no end. Not a single one of those bottom-feeding scumbags could provide a singular piece of information about who they were working for, regardless of how much he tried to wring it out of them.

And he had been trying, employing every method he knew, from intimidation to outright torture, but to no avail.

It was as if they had been forced to forget, their minds sealed off from revealing any useful details.

Rosie had indeed warned him that something was off, but this situation felt different, more insidious.

It wasn't just about a gang of thugs anymore; someone capable was clearly puppeteering them.

He knew the Vees had supported them financially but didn't think they were directly controlling them. They had simply hired them out from time to time as goons.

Alastor couldn't shake the feeling that they were just pawns in a much larger game, and he intended to uncover the identity of the puppet master pulling the strings behind the scenes.

And his darling assistant had given him his first real lead.

What an unexpected turn of events, today had been he muses.

Arriving back at the hotel after another unfruitful broadcast he'd expected to drink some giggle juice and turn in early but he was met with a cacophony of panic.

Apparently, a turf war broke out in one of the neutral zones nearby which was odd but not unheard of.

Why did that matter? He'd protect the hotel per his arrangement.

And who'd be foolish enough to attack Lucifer's daughter outright?

"The f*cking kid is, smack in the middle of it," Husker growled out to him.

Kid?

Alastor glanced around the room, mentally taking attendance as he often did.

His sharp eyes swept over the familiar faces of the residents, but there was one notable absence that didn't escape his notice.

A furrow formed between his brows as he realized the place was one resident short.

You were nowhere to be seen.

The spider had the picture box on and the press was showing footage of the damage and fighting.

A disquieting sensation gnawed at Alastor's gut as he witnessed the tumultuous scenes unfolding.

The chaotic images flickering across the screen painted a vivid picture of the violence and destruction consuming the neutral zone.

His eyes could clearly make out gunfire from Angelic weapons, which could spell a final death to any demon on the receiving end.

That sensation grew inside him, an electric charge crackling along his skin like sparks from a flame.

A jumbled-up mix of thoughts races through his mind.

If you were to meet your end, his carefully laid plans would be disrupted.

He'd not get to see that frustrated look in your blue eyes when he pulled one over on you.

So he instructs Charlie to have the car pulled around and he takes the most capable demons of the bunch and they set off towards the establishment you frequent.

Most of the actions moved out of the area by the time they arrived at The Oasis.

Everyone stepped out of the vehicle and surveyed the damaged building, the blinking neon sign was blown half off, and there was a gaping hole in the right side of the building but the structure was still sound and intact otherwise.

There were a few bodies lying around in various states of death mostly ones belonging to the Loan Sharks, this place defended itself well it seemed.

The fact that they had launched an attack here tonight feels off.

Husker took the lead, striding confidently towards the entrance of The Oasis. His gravelly voice cut through the air as he called out to those inside, a hint of familiarity in his tone.

A tall, bull-like man emerged from the dimly lit interior, his imposing presence accentuated by the twin pistols holstered at his sides. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at the unexpected visitors but made no move to bar their entry.

The unspoken implication hung in the air – permission granted, but not truly necessary, especially not if Alastor had insisted otherwise he went where he wanted.

The interior fairs marginally better than its battered exterior, though signs of the recent turmoil are still evident. Alastor's sharp gaze sweeps over the scene, noting the various individuals scattered about the room.

Inside there are various individuals mucking about and Alastor recognized two faces, the tall well dressed man with bat-like wings.

The second is the scrawny, dour-looking couillion, who harbors an evident infatuation for his assistant.

Alastor wastes no time approaching them first. The scrawny fellow takes a step back in instinctual deference – a glimmer of common sense, perhaps?

They said they were unaware of your location and apparently sent you and your other female bandmate away.

Alastor feels his smile tightening , why on earth would they send two women out on their own?

He feels his claws lengthen and his horns grow and the Bull of a man steps in, "Women have been disappearing, when those fishy f*ckers show up. We sent them towards Cannibal town to keep them out of it."

This was news too Alastor and he files it away.

"I-I can take you to Cannibal town to look for them?" The annoyance utters.

Charlie buts in and accepts and they follow his van over with the limo.

When they arrive Alastor makes a B-line towards Rosie's place and she comes out in her robe and curlers.

After hearing the situation she gathers quite a few members of her town and no one can find hide or hair of you.

The spider calls her several more times and the group as a whole start to panic.

With times being desperate Alastor does something he'd normally not do in public and pulls the bloodied handkerchief from so many weeks ago and utilizes the last remaining fragments of blood from it.

Alastor's mind plunges into the depths of ancient knowledge, drawing upon the sacred traditions passed down through generations of his family.

With a whispered incantation, he taps into the reservoir of latent magic that courses through his veins, a legacy from his mother's teachings.

He is keenly aware of the discomfort his actions may cause among the others present, but in this moment, his singular focus is on the task at hand.

It's a reminder of a lifetime of discretion, a necessity born out of the societal stigmas surrounding his family's practices.

His father had despised their ways called them heathens, may he rot...

A shadowy strings comes forth and shoots out into the night like a beacon and the group follows its path winding through allies and roads until it leads to a place on the street but your not there anymore.

He spies tire marks and a scrap of pink fabric but his fists clench at the loss that was the last bit of your blood and he'd wasted it.

The group is severely disheartened as they return to the parked car and he summons his cane to attempt to call out to you over the radio waves but you do not answer.

The group drives around aimlessly until you finally call from Carmilla's estate, your voice crackling over the cell phone with a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

They quickly spring into action, hastening to the estate to collect your battered and disoriented form.

He could feel that gnawing sensation slowly recede like a tide within himself.

Though it angered him you were in the possession of another overlord he knew Carmilla was a reliable sort especially to women.

As they arrive, it's evident that you're under the influence of medication, your movements sluggish and your speech slurred as they get you in the car.

Though you have enough vigor to insult him still.

How refreshing!

During the drive Alastor's catches the seriousness in your tone as you mention a monster, while you attempt to recall your night and his curiosity is piqued.

Intent on helping you to your room and questioning you further, Alastor finds himself met with resistance from the spider, who seems to be in a particularly finicky mood after his display of magic.

Despite his attempts, the spider adamantly refuses him, leaving Alastor to watch from the sidelines as you cling to the effeminate man, seeking comfort and familiarity.

It irked him for some reason.

Did you really think the spider to be a more reliable than himself, how utterly laughable when on any given night he was twice as doped up as you currently were but he refused to make a scene and Alastor waited in his room until the spider left.

After that he slipped into the shadows and emerged in your room while you dozed off. He flipped on his gift to you the radio and watched as your lips twitched in annoyance and your nose scrunched.

You knew he was here but you ignored him still, how petulant he thinks as his smile widens.

This was how it was supposed to be – you where you were supposed to be, annoyed and irritated, but ultimately safe in his presence.

His eyes danced across your injuries, noting that they didn't look permanent. With a characteristic curiosity, he begins to prod at you until you reluctantly accept your fate and entertain him.

He's pleasantly surprised when you agree to his proposal, eager to see what you saw tonight. He had a feeling it would be interesting, and oh, how very right he was.

As usual, you didn't show him what he expected. But he still got what he wanted: a lead on who was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Though seeing your demise wasn't pleasant, especially knowing you hadn't stood a remote chance against that demon.

He despised men like that... He had even hunted them in life, men that preyed on the weak.

Watching you meet your fate like that stirred up those gnawing pains again. He felt his claws dig into the arms of his chair, a physical manifestation of his frustration.

Running a hand across his face, he regains his composure.

Though amidst the chaos, there was something fascinating about your final moments though. He detected a hint of potential in that exchange, something eerie in the way your voice resonated with power, something inhumane.

He'd felt a pull the night he heard you sing and he was sure there might be something more there but that wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

Because tonight he had witnessed a demon that could not only travel to the mortal realm but could drag a human soul to hell without a deal, it troubled him deeply. The audacity of such a creature defied the laws he understood.

Honestly what bothered him most was the fact that your souls chain was summoned while being untethered from a deal, there was no consent.

The usual rules had been bypassed, and you had been taken to hell without judgment, without the usual negotiations that accompanied such transactions.

Alastor thinks about the chain of your soul, a glistening gold in the dim light of that forsaken alley.

He wanted to see it again.

He lets out a huff, finding the man’s ability quite remarkable, but he didn't quite envy it.

It lacked finesse, a certain elegance that Alastor valued in his dealings. There was no artistry to it, only a crude violation.

To him, making the deal was half the fun—the negotiation, the manipulation, the satisfaction of outwitting your opponent.

He realizes now that this endeavor would be difficult, he couldn't run into this situation head first like he thought, he'd have to change his approach he didn’t know how but he’d find a way.

A shiver of excitement ripples through him as he imagines it, oh how he’ll relish tearing that man apart bit by bit until there is nothing left.

He will broadcast his screams for all of hell to hear, for you to hear.

Would you like that? Would you smile sweetly listening to the sounds of your murderer perishing at his hands.

As Alastor muses, a spark of recognition ignites within him.

Ah... amidst the chaos, he recalls something else intriguing from the night's events.

A name echoes in his mind—your name—and it dances on his tongue, "Andromeda, it meant 'ruler of men'"

Chapter 31: Video Killed the Radio Star

Chapter Text

The water dances in mesmerizing patterns as it cascades down the drain, a soothing symphony of sound and movement.

Seated beneath the spray, you feel the gentle pressure of the water against your skin, its warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

Leaning back against the cool tiles, you close your eyes, allowing the rhythmic pulse of the shower to ease the tension from your weary muscles.

Your body aches from last nights escapades, the entire side of your torso and hip are bruised and purple.

Your shoulder is still dislocated and you don't have a full range of motion in it currently so you’re letting it rest against your side.

The steam from the shower swirls around you, mirroring the fog that clouds your mind.

And remnants of the medication linger, casting a haze over your thoughts and leaving you feeling disoriented and nauseated.

And then there's the unsettling sensation of Alastor's presence, his influence lingering like a phantom in your subconscious.

You shutter at the foreign sensation, the intimacy of connecting to someone like that is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before and you squeeze your knees towards your chest.

Emotionally, you're a wreck and you’d cried for well over an hour after the ordeal.

How could you not feel miserable, after reliving the horrors of your own death?

The memories crash over you like waves and you let them come.

Yet, amidst the chaos of it all, there's a strange sense of catharsis.

You now know how you died at the very least.

Though you don't know why, the monstrous demon did it.

A nagging feeling churned in the depths of your stomach, a subtle discomfort that refused to be ignored.

It wasn't just the demon's unsettling gaze that troubled you; it was the realization that you weren't its intended target

It's a chilling thought.

Was Jade in danger still?

Why had it wanted her so much?

Not to mention the fact that the demon drug you down to hell, did you even receive fair judgement?

You feel your teeth grit at the thought.

It's not like Alastor had given you any answers; the man left nearly immediately after you woke up.

His red jewel toned eyes blown wide, he knew something and you needed to talk to him.

The questions swirl around in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

Your skin is good and pruned by the water, and it's starting to run cold, so you pull yourself to your feet and stumble out of the shower.

Turning around you try to glance at your back in the mirror and see nothing unusual just your freckled back.

Where did the wings go?

You sigh and brush your teeth and leave your hair down and wet.

You slip into the comfortable blue dress, relishing the softness of the cotton against your skin.

The dress provides modest coverage and the built-in chest support offers a welcome convenience, allowing you to forgo the discomfort of wearing a bra so your shoulder can be comfortable.

With no plans to venture outside into the chilly air, you prioritize comfort, knowing you'll spend the day indoors.

After pulling on your tall cream socks and cozy slippers, you make your way downstairs, noting the time on the clock—it's nearly noon.

You leave your arm out of the sling for now and head over to Alastors office, when you open the door you find the lights off and the room empty.

Shutting the door you can hear several voices coming from the lobby and decide to go there.

The room smells like florals and when you reach down stairs you spy familiar faces in the sitting room of the lobby.

Its Vlad, Jester, and Alastor on the couch and Charile is seated on one of the arm chairs.

What an unexpected collective.

"Aye there's Dottie." Vlad says waving you over casually.

Meanwhile Alastor's gaze is fixed on Jester for whatever reason, who appears visibly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

Why was he such a bully? You swiftly make your way over and position yourself directly between the two men, effectively inserting a physical barrier.

Alastor, caught off guard, reluctantly scoots a bit further over but remains pressed into your side.

You shoot him a warning glare, silently urging him to back off.

In response, Alastor feigns innocence, batting his eyes at you in a playful manner.

What a prick.

You greet the unexpected visitors with a warm smile.

"Hey guys, what brings you by today?"

Jester hesitates for a moment, his voice barely above a mumble as he spoke. "W-we wanted to check up on you after last night."

You watched as Jester's gaze flickered over your bruised side, a brief flash of concern crossing his features before he quickly averted his eyes taking on a somber expression.

"Yup, gotta make sure our little vocalist is still in working order," Vlad remarked with a touch of humor, his attempt to lighten the mood evident in his tone.

"Heard you had a hell of a night," he added, giving you a once-over before offering a reassuring smile. "But glad you're still in one piece."

It was nice that they were checking up on you but you sensed Vlad had other reasons for coming the man was shrewd.

"Anyway," Vlad continued, his tone shifting slightly as he addressed the reason for their visit, "We also wanted to let you know that we'd be closing shop for a couple of weeks while repairs get completed. Place got pretty messed up."

You nodded slowly, "Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it," you replied, "And thank you for checking up on me."

Jester offered a small, sheepish smile, his expression reflecting a mixture of concern and relief.

Beside you, you felt Alastor press more closely, a subtle movement that asserted his presence in the room.

"Indeed, how chivalrous of you both." Alastor remarked with a hint of sarcasm his radio voice echoing in the room.

Vlad, ever the pragmatic one, clears his throat, "Of course, we should still get some practicing in, even while we wait right? So I came here to ask if we could get permission to use that ballroom where we performed for the event a few weeks back. You know, for free and last minute."

So that's his angle leave it to Vlad to be bold for the sake of the show.

Charlie's eyes lit up at Vlad's request, a genuine smile playing at the corners of her lips. "We really appreciated your assistance that night!"

She tapped her fingers lightly on the armrest of the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I don't see why you couldn't use the ballroom. It's just sitting there."

Undoubtedly she’d give them her redemption spiel while they practiced.

Alastor's lips curved into a sly smile as he leans forward, his tone dripping with subtle mischief.

"Well, isn't that a delightful idea . And what better way to enjoy the evening than with a performance from our dear Andi?"

You fight an eye roll.

Vlad goes over a few specifics and you try to be decent company and make small talk with Jester.

Apparently they had gone to see Clara earlier in the day and she relayed most of the story thankfully, you didn’t particularly want to rehash that nightmare.

Before the conversation could continue, Vlad interjected with a knowing look. "Jester, isn't there something you're forgetting?"

Jester's eyes widened in realization, he quickly jumps up, excusing himself from the room.

Moments later, he returned, clutching a beautiful bouquet of white and purple flowers in his hands.

He handed you the delicate arrangement, the petals soft against your fingertips, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

There really were good people in hell.

"I-I put this together for you," Jester stammered, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush as he spoke.

Charlie coos and brings her hands up to cup her cheeks.

You accepted the bouquet with a grateful smile, feeling the warmth of appreciation blossoming in your chest.

"Thank you, Jester," you murmured softly, "There beautiful."

A prickling buzz of static runs across your skin and Alastor stands up, "How quaint. Well my darling assistant has had quite the ordeal and needs her rest so allow me to escort you both out."

It was true, and you were running on no sleep so you lean back on the couch and wave your guests out as Alastor hustles them out the door.

Charlie shoots you a grin and wink and you just blink back as she practically skips off.

Alastor begins to ascend the stairs, his steps deliberate and measured.

But you call out to him, "We need to talk Alastor."

"I suppose we do," he acknowledged, "Let's take this conversation to my office, shall we?"

Clutching the flowers tightly, you followed him up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last and you notice he slows his steps giving you time to catch up.

Entering the familiarity of his office you brace yourself for the conversation.

You settled into your usual chair, the soft leather creaking beneath you as you adjusted your position to relive the pain in your shoulder.

Across from you, Alastor took his place behind the desk, the click of the radio filling the room with a soft hum of static and saxophones playing.

"So, what did you want to talk about, darling?" he inquired, his voice smooth and nonchalant, his gaze fixed on you with unwavering attention.

"Alastor, lets not play games," you assert, your tone firm and resolute.

"You know exactly why I'm here. Let's not tiptoe around the issue. Your actions last night were not without a purpose. There's something you gained from doing it, and I want to know what it is."

He leans back in his chair, resting his chin in his palm as he regarded you with a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "My, my, how direct, but ultimately you’re correct. You know me so well..."

How exhausting, you let a bit of anger creep into your voice, "What connection do you have to that demon? The one who killed me."

His posture stiffens, and in one swift movement he reaches across his desk and clutches your hand in his, "Darling, I assure you, I have absolutely no idea who that cretin of a man was."

His hand gives yours a squeeze, Alastor was a lot of things but a liar wasn’t one of them.

He’s telling the truth, and you find yourself at a bit of a loss.

You had assumed he recognized your assailant.

"Then why were you so interested in what happened last night?" You press further tugging your hand from his grip.

A slow, almost mischievous smile creeps across Alastor's lips, his red eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he leans forward, his gaze piercing.

"Now that piece of information will cost you," he teases, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

Your grip tightens on the bouquet of flowers, the delicate petals crushed between your fingers as you struggle to maintain your composure amidst the rising frustration.

"Why? Aren't I your darling assistant?" you demand, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush of exasperation, "You're clearly working on something, and judging by your reaction last night, you need assistance with it."

Alastor chuckles softly, the sound reverberating in the air like a low rumble of thunder.

"What a valiant attempt at manipulation! But I'm afraid this is quite the personal matter," he responds.

"He murdered me; how much more personal can it get?" you deadpan.

You pause and give him a sweet façade of a smile, “I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

You’re mirroring his very words from last night.

The radio flips stations rapidly, as Alastor observes you his eyes penetrating and his ears twitch.

You can almost see the moment he comes up with something as his whole demeanor lights up and the radio volume increases drastically.

"Well, you have proven to be a capable asset," he conceded, a sly grin spreading across his lips. "And I suppose you do have a dog in this fight."

You leaned forward eagerly, anticipation coursing through your veins as you awaited his next words. "Alrighty, darling, I'll let you in on everything," he declared, his voice brimming with excitement.

But before you could respond, he held up a finger, halting you in your tracks with a playful yet firm gesture. "Ah, ah, ah, under one condition," he interjected, "I want you to put on a radio show with me."

Your stomach churned at the unexpected request, a wave of apprehension washing over you at the prospect, "What? Wait, like a broadcast?" you exclaimed scooting back your chair.

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusem*nt, "Heavens no, darling," he reassured you, his crimson eyes twinkling with amusem*nt.

"Just a simple radio show. You have such a sweet voice and swell taste in music, I think you'd do a bang-up job. Especially with a seasoned professional like myself directing you."

You squirm from his compliments but supposed that his request was reasonable, "So one radio show and you'll tell me what you know?"

He strums his fingers across his desk, "One show and I will clue you in, If you want more involvement after that we can discuss options. Do we have a deal?"

You nearly fall back when you hear that word and he laughs again, "Fine, fine darling just a verbal arrangement for now. We can discuss a date when your healed up a bit."

He stands, "Now, I simply must insist that you go rest."

As he escorts you out of his office, you feel a sudden warmth on the crown of your head.

Alastor's hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary, gently ruffling your hair in a surprisingly tender gesture.

It makes your cheeks warm slightly and you swat his hand away and you watch his crimson eyes dance with mirth.

It’s clear to you in this moment that you were digging yourself in deeper and deeper with Alastor.

Could you handle it still?

Could you handle him?

Vox reclined in his opulent leather chair, bathed in the soft, neon glow of the monitors that surrounded him, his digital form seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly radiance.

With a frustrated sigh, he rubbed his pixeled brow, the lines of his expression momentarily contorting with irritation as he surveyed the myriad video feeds before him all the while a certain situation nags at the back of his memory like a corrupted file.

Across the room, he glances at Val lounged in a plush armchair, the clink of ice against glass punctuating the otherwise hushed atmosphere. With a nonchalant air, he swirled his martini, the amber liquid catching the light as he perused the scripts spread out before him.

A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily from the end of the cigarette held between his fingers, adding to the smoky haze that hung in the air.

Vox sighed inwardly, his irritation mounting at the acrid scent of tobacco that permeated the room.

He despised the smell of smoke, but he knew better than to pick a fight with Val over it.

Especially not now, when tensions between them were already strained by the pressing matters concerning his main earner, Angel Dust.

His obsession with that twink bordered on insanity, but Vox had long since learned to pick his battles with Val. After all, their on-again, off-again relationship had taught him that some things were better left unsaid.

For now, he focused on the task at hand, pushing aside his personal grievances in favor of their shared business interests.

With a swipe, Vox pulled up his agenda, his irritation growing palpable as he scanned through the tabs. His eyes narrowed dangerously when he came across the section concerning you. Over the past few weeks, he had amassed quite a bit more information on you, thanks in no small part to his right-hand man, Viktor.

Viktor was undeniably an unsavory character, but Vox couldn't overlook the benefits of his chameleon-like ability to seamlessly blend into any situation. With Viktor's assistance, Vox had been able to gather a treasure trove of valuable intel on your movements, habits, and connections.

But it wasn't just about observing from a distance. He had Viktor take a more hands-on approach.

Especially after that first encounter, he had made him watch your performances at least twice a week since. It was through these frequent observations that Vox had gained a deep understanding of your talents and appeal.

Vox, always one to value empirical data, had even gone so far as to organize closed focus groups at headquarters to gauge public opinion on your performances.

The results had been overwhelmingly positive.

Testers had been completely enamored with your voice, praising its unique quality and emotional depth.

You possessed talent and undeniable appeal. In Vox's eyes, you had the potential to become his top earner, a shining star in his vast empire of entertainment.

He could envision the transformation already: a rebranding, a new name—Andi was far too boorish a name for a pretty woman like yourself. Perhaps Victoria or Valeria, something vibrant and captivating that fit in with his brand.

He would conceal those freckles, adorn you in blue, and have you singing night after night in the opulent club nestled at the bottom of his towering domain.

Yet, despite the allure of such prospects, you hadn't reached out to him—a fact that perplexed Vox to no end.

After all, he had extended an invitation to you, an opportunity to ascend to new heights within his realm of influence. But for some inexplicable reason, you had yet to respond, leaving Vox to wonder what could possibly be holding you back.

Frustration gnawed at Vox as he contemplated the chaos caused by his attempt to disrupt the bar where you performed and scare you a bit. It had been a simple plan: pay some thugs to create a bit of havoc and stir up trouble.

But instead of a controlled disturbance, they had ignited a full-blown turf war that threatened to engulf the entire area. His intel confirmed that both you and Carmine's daughter had been injured in the crossfire.

That was not what he intended.

Messing with Carmilla was out of the question, and it was the reason he had hired people to do this instead of having his own people handle it directly.

The situation was spiraling out of control, and Vox knew he had to take decisive action.

The Sharks were no longer following orders, and their reckless behavior posed a significant risk to his operations. With a heavy sigh, Vox made up his mind: he would cut ties with them immediately.

They had become too unpredictable, too volatile, and Vox wanted no part in their escalating idiocy. He preferred order and control, and it was clear that the Sharks no longer fit into that vision.

Vox also seethed with resentment at your connection to that damned Alastor.

You'd been spotted with him on numerous occasions, even residing in the same hotel.

The realization fueled Vox's frustration to a boiling point; he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Alastor was scheming to strike a deal with you.

The mere thought of Alastor gaining the upper hand ignited a fiery determination within Vox. He refused to allow that old timey prick to squander your potential.

With a smirk of confidence, Vox reminded himself that he was twice the businessman Alastor could ever hope to be. He harbored no doubt that he could sway you to see his own vision, to align your goals with his own.

All he needed was the right angle, the perfect pitch to captivate your interest and ensure your loyalty.

There wasn't a single thing Alastor could offer you that Vox couldn't do better. After all, "Video Killed the Radio Star."

He’ll have his star and revenge too.

Chapter 32: Fly Me To The Moon

Chapter Text

"You're completely full of sh*t..." Angel Dust says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he points his fork in your direction.

A drop of syrup dribbles off the prongs and lands with a soft plop on the wooden table, eliciting a slight cringe from you as you instinctively pull back to avoid the sticky mess.

You glower at the man slightly, "I'm telling you, I one hundred percent grew wings. Why would I even make this up?"

His phone dings again for the millionth time this morning and he sighs and pockets it.

"I'm not calling you a liar or nothing, but you were zooted out of your mind the other night."

He stands, and in a instant grows a third set of arms beneath his first two, "If ya gottem let me see em then."

You blink a couple of times and sigh, try as you might you have not been able to figure out how to make them appear, Angel Dust can just will his arms out but you can't seem to figure out your wings situation.

His phone goes off again and he lets out a weary laugh, "That's what I thought. Whelp I gotta f*ck off now, Ciao..."

Charlie reaches across the table, towards you "I believe you."

Of course she did, she was like the supportive older sister you never had.

As Angel heads for the door, you can't help but wonder what's gotten into him today. He's been unusually snappy and irritable.

You finish your breakfast in silence as the rest of the hotel finishes goes about there day.

You watch as Frank waddles over to Nifty and gives her a bashful smile which she pointedly ignores. It seemed like the little egg man had a crush on her or something.

Nifty only had eyes for those who she deemed a bad boy though unfortunately so he was out of luck as he was about as dangerous as a kitten.

When you turn back around you notice most everyone has finished eating and its just you and Alastor at the table, with Husker reading his paper over at his bar across the room.

It's been a couple of days since you were injured and your feeling immensely better with just a few lingering bruises and a achy shoulder.

Alastor finishes his coffee and snaps his head towards you, huh guess you were staring?

It's not intentional, but you can't help but feel frustrated by his evasive behavior regarding the radio show.

Every day, you've brought up the topic, hoping for a definitive answer or at least some clarity, but each time, he's either waved you off or offered some vague excuse.

You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

The frustration bubbles within you, fueling your determination to get to the bottom of things.

If agreeing to do his radio show is the only way to extract valuable information from him, then so be it.

You're more than willing to oblige, but you won't let him off the hook that easily.

He doesn't budge either so your both just looking into each others eyes, his crimson gaze is unwavering and penetrating.

It makes you feel a bit embarrassed and heat creeps into your cheeks as you fight to keep your face collected but ultimately you fold and look away first with a huff.

The sudden sound of a laugh track emanating from Alastor's cane breaks the tension, and he rises from his seat, his movements fluid and graceful.

With a charming smile playing at the corners of his lips, he smooths out his suit and adjusts his tie with practiced precision. His crimson eyes glimmer as he addresses you, a hint of mirth dancing within.

"Well, darling, it seems I've kept you waiting long enough," he says, his voice smooth as velvet.

"You seem to be in good health now, so why don't we put on a little show, hmm?"

He holds out his hand to you, to help you up but you ignore it and stand pushing past him.

Husk clears his throat from his spot at the bar, his furry eyebrow raised in silent observation.

You catch his gaze and offer a tight-lipped smile, acknowledging his unspoken question as you make your way toward the door.

You were fine, this was fine... It was just one radio show in exchange for information nothing you couldn't handle.

He leads you upstairs and into the familiar corridors leading up on the roof of the hotel.

As you step out onto the rooftop, a gentle breeze greets you, carrying with it the distant sounds of the waking city.

The streets below are just beginning to bustle with activity, the hustle and bustle of morning commuters echoing faintly in the distance.

Alastor moves with a fluid grace as he crosses the rooftop, his silhouette outlined against the backdrop of the morning sky.

You follow in his wake, but stop and take a moment to look out over the open ledge as a gust of wind catches your white and rosy colored hair.

You move to back up, but bump directly into Alastor's chest. He's right there, directly behind you blocking you from moving further back from the ledge, his presence towering over you like a shadow.

You glance up at him, and his grin widens, the glint in his eyes dangerous, "Convinced you have wings darling?"

It doesn't take a genius to know what his current train of thought is.

You swallow dryly.

His gaze tracks the movement, and his head co*cks slightly, as if considering something.

Would he really push you off the roof?

The thought sends a shiver down your back.

It takes him a few moments, but finally, he steps back, breaking the tense silence. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief flooding through you.

"Come along," he says, his voice smooth and inviting once more, "We haven't the time to waste. Our audience awaits!"

You shuffle after him, your footsteps echoing faintly against the rooftop as you ascend the rickety ladder leading up to his radio tower.

Each rung feels precarious beneath your feet, the metal cold and unforgiving against your palms as you climb higher and higher.

As you enter through the hatch, the room greets you with a familiar ambiance, bathed in the soft glow of vintage radio equipment.

However, there's something new—a few cases leaning against the corner, their outlines suggesting musical instruments tucked safely inside.

You make your way over to the spot where you sat during your last visit, noticing the small couch-like seat positioned behind the desk and microphone.

The upholstery feels plush beneath your fingertips, a comforting contrast to the metallic coolness of the microphone stand.

Alastor settles into his spot beside you, exuding an air of casual confidence as he prepares for the show.

"Okay, what's the plan?" you ask, your tone tinged with uncertainty.

"Hahaha, worry not cher," he chuckles, "Just sit back and enjoy the show. I'll let you know when it's your turn. But remember darling you have to uphold your part of the agreement..."

What did that mean?

You shoot him a glare, feeling the nerves creeping in. Improv was not your strength, and the thought of being put on the spot unsettles you.

You glance over at the records stacked neatly on the shelves and the array of equipment scattered across the desk. You have zero idea how any of this stuff works, and you can't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at your gut what were you supposed to do.

You start to tap your knee nervously, a habit you've picked up whenever you're feeling anxious.

Alastor leans forward and the pressure switches as you spy the on air sign blink to life. The room fills with static and you fight a shiver, his power feels overwhelming.

"Good morning, sinners!" Alastor's voice booms over the airwaves, his signature charisma evident in every word

He launches into a comedic commentary on the happenings in Hell, peppering his monologue with witty remarks and sardonic observations.

From the latest gossip in the demon circles to the antics of the damned souls, nothing escapes Alastor's sharp wit.

As he talks, you can't help but be impressed by his moxie and stage presence. Despite the dark subject matter, his delivery is light-hearted and entertaining, drawing in listeners with every word.

You wait for your moment, observing as Alastor continues his lively banter, effortlessly captivating his audience with his charismatic presence. There's a newfound energy to his demeanor, a liveliness that commands your attention.

As a fellow entertainer, you can't help but admire his skill and confidence, recognizing that he's truly in his element.

But out of the corners of your eyes, you notice something unsettling. Shadows begin to dance along the walls of the room, twisting and contorting in eerie patterns. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you pull back in your seat, your senses on high alert.

What was happening?

The darkness takes on a life of its own, coalescing into shadowy figures that seem to move with a purpose.

They move almost mechanically, their movements synchronized as they shuffle through the cases scattered around the room.

With a sense of foreboding, you watch as they pull out various instruments, their intentions unclear.

Alastor gives you a sidelong glance, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in close.

"It's time, darling," he murmurs, his crimson eyes alight with anticipation.

As if on cue, the shadows spring into action, each figure grabbing hold of an instrument with eerie precision.

The air fills with the haunting melody of a familiar tune, the music weaving its way through the room with an otherworldly quality.

He scoots the microphone closer to you, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

You realize what he wants you to do, the weight of the moment settling in as you prepare to take your part in this impromptu performance.

Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
And let me see what spring is like
On a-Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand

You lean forward and pull the mic closer to your lips and let the music take you, if he wanted a performance you'd give it to him.

The infuriating bastard...

Rosie adjusted the volume on her vintage radio as soon as she heard you start singing.

She hadn't heard you sing before, but she recognized your voice instantly. It had a certain clarity to it that stuck out among the other sounds of the morning.

You had quite the set of pipes on you, she decided, nodding appreciatively as she listened to Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon," your voice adding a new depth to the familiar tune.

Al had said you could sing, actually he’d said a lot of things about you.

While the music is enjoyable to hear its very unexpected, Rosie has known Alastor the better part of a century and had never heard him have a singular guest on one of his shows.

She wasn’t counting the unwilling participants in his broadcasts as guests of course.

Rosie sits back, sipping her tea thoughtfully as she contemplates the events of the past couple of months.

There was no denying that something was brewing between you and Alastor.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Rosie had a keen eye for these things.

She doubted that Alastor was even aware of it.

Honestly it was a side of him she hadn't seen before, one that intrigued her.

She hardly thought him capable of such a thing.

But despite his nonchalant facade, there was a certain warmth to him now whenever you were around.

She noticed the way he watched you constantly, the way he sat straighter, and a bit prouder when you were there.

He didn’t even seem to realize that he brought you up nearly every conversation the two them shared.

The way he stormed into town the other night looking for you only cemented her suspicions.

Rosie wondered if you reciprocated?

You were a doll and sweet as a peach with just enough pep to keep Alastor on his toes.

Though she could understand why you wouldn’t, the man could be rather taxing.

But there was a certain chemistry the two of you had in your banter a potential for something more.

It was all very interesting.

Rosie knew better than to interfere. Whatever was happening between you two was delicate, fragile even. It needed time to develop, to grow into something more substantial.

Bringing it to Alastor's attention now would only risk unraveling it before it had a chance to fully blossom.

He might view it as weakness this early on and destroy it, but Rosie wouldn't let that happen.

So she'd wait patiently, she glances down the road at the little florist shop and spies Jester loading his truck for the day and smiles.

A little competition never hurt anybody.

Chapter 33: Shadows

Chapter Text

As the song finishes, a sense of satisfaction washes over you.

Despite Alastor's impromptu request, you had risen to the occasion and delivered a performance worthy of praise.

A small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as you bask in the feeling of accomplishment.

Glancing over at Alastor, his crimson eyes are wide, filled with an intensity that takes you aback.

There's a spark of something in them, something you can't quite place—perhaps admiration?

It's a rare sight, seeing him so genuinely affected by something, and it leaves you feeling strangely unsettled yet exhilarated at the same time.

It made you feel powerful being able to shake a man like Alastor even a little bit.

His smile feels different, less forced, and for a moment, you find yourself captivated by the genuine warmth that radiates from him.

It's a fleeting glimpse of someone more.

As the shadowy band plays the final note, Alastor blinks and sits up straighter, his usual unshakable persona snapping back into place with practiced ease.

"Well, that's all for now, listeners," he announces, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

"But fear not, for we shall meet again soon for another devilishly delightful show."

The staticky pressure releases once the show ends, and the mic clicks off.

The air feels lighter as the shadowy figures sink back down into the floor, disappearing into the darkness from whence they came.

Alastor sits back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he turns to you. "Darling, that was quite the performance!" he exclaims.

You offer him a nod of acknowledgment, but there's no time to dwell on compliments now.

"Uh huh," you reply, your tone firm.

"Now, I think it's time for you to uphold your end of the bargain, Alastor."

His smile widens, and he leans in closer, his gaze locking with yours.

"Ah, but of course, my dear," he purrs, his voice dripping with honeyed charm.

"But first, let's discuss the terms of our little arrangement, shall we?"

You mimic his upbeat intonation,"Nope! Because this," you gesture around the room, encompassing the radio tower, "won't be happening again unless you've got something interesting to tell me."

Alastor's smile only grows, his eyes narrowing in amusem*nt, "My, my, aren't we the feisty one today?" He remarks, his voice still dripping with charm.

You hold his gaze steadily, refusing to back down, "I'm serious, Alastor," you assert, your voice firm.

"I've done my part. Now it's time for you to do yours."

"Very well, darling," he taps his cheek once, then twice, a habit you've come to associate with his moments of contemplation.

"Now, where to begin... Ah, well, I'm sure you've heard by now about my little seven-year sabbatical."

You nod, recalling hearing Zestial bring it up several weeks ago at the meeting.

"Well, I won't go into that," he continues, "but during my absence, a lot of my territory was misplaced by some unsavory characters."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Misplaced?"

Alastor's expression darkens, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

"Stolen by those aquatic cretins, known as the loan sharks," he grumbles, his knuckles cracking as he interlaces his fingers and places his hands in his lap.

You can sense the tension in his voice, the bitterness underlying his words, "They have always been nothing but a lowly collective of muscle for hire," he continues.

"So I assumed that I would be able to easily reclaim what was rightfully mine."

It's clear that this topic is a sore spot for him, and you make a mental note.

"Unfortunately, I have made far less headway in my endeavors than I first assumed. It's clear that someone has been organizing them, someone with power, means, and intellect."

As the weight of his words sinks in, you feel your stomach drop, a sense of foreboding settling over you like a heavy blanket.

"What does that have to do with the demon that killed me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor leans in closer, his crimson gaze piercing through you, "Darling, I think that the individual pulling the strings with the sharks and the one who killed you are one and the same," he explains.

"You had a very hard time remembering anything that happened, and every single cur I interrogated from that group had a similar situation."

Alastor's stretches out his hands and his fingers strum across the table, a rhythmic beat that underscores the gravity of his words.

"Women have also gone missing during their little upsets," he adds, his tone tinged with a hint of disdain.

Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in— the monster was targeting women...

In your mind's eye, you see Jade, her braids adorned with violet beads, her smile radiating warmth as her dark eyes twinkle with mischief.

How many other girls had he gone after? The question echoes in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine.

"He didn't want me," you nearly gasp, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. "H-he wanted my friend. Why?"

Alastor tilts his head, his expression thoughtful, "That's uncertain. It's possible he was seeking out a particular type of victim."

"Like a serial killer?" you blurt out, the words hanging heavy in the air.

His posture stiffens, and he shifts quickly to face you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours.

"Yes, darling, exactly like that!" His hand finds its way to your wrist, and he locks his around it.

"Does that prospect frighten you?"

"Why wouldn't it?" you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

His grin stretches nearly unnaturally, and he barks out a laugh, "Do I frighten you then?"

Your eyes widen as you try to process his question.

Why was he asking you this? Your mind races, but something clicks into place and without thinking, you blurt out, "Y-you were a killer too."

The air around you seems to grow heavy with tension as Alastor's grip on your wrist tightens.

His gaze becomes intense, a mixture of amusem*nt and something darker lurking beneath the surface.

"Yes, darling," he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with an unsettling edge, "I was quite infamous in fact!"

You don't quite know why you ask this, but you do, "Why did you do it?"

He releases your wrist and leans back, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he composes himself. His shoulders start to shake as he laughs.

"Oh, you always are full of surprises," he says finally, his tone light but his eyes betraying a deeper intensity.

"To answer simply, I enjoyed taking out the trash! Back in my time, darling, there were many men who adored preying on women and those they thought of as weaker, and I relished in making them feel weak and disposing of them!"

He shrugs lightly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.

"Now that I'm dead, I've come to realize that I simply decided to kill men who reminded me of my father. You know what they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty..."

A million thoughts race through your mind, but honestly, you don't find this new fact all that surprising. After all, Alastor was in hell for a reason.

He was a monster but he was a monster you knew. He was a monster that preyed on other monsters...

You take a moment to process his words, the nonchalant way he speaks about such gruesome acts. But this wasn't about him.

"Do you think he'd go after Jade again?"

Alastor pauses, his gaze distant as he considers the question.

"I do believe so, yes. A predator rarely gives up on its prey easily. Trust me, I speak from experience."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, solidifying the gravity of the situation.

The danger surrounding Jade is palpable, and you can't shake the feeling that she might still be in harm's way.

"I want to help you find him..."

That staticky pressure returns two fold and Alastor is suddenly standing, he pushes the small couch your on further back and he comes to stand directly in front of you he bends down to face you his face mere inches from yours.

"Darling, while you may be my assistant, I'm afraid this is simply out of your job description. You are my assistant as it relates to the hotel only..."

What bullsh*t! He’s had you doing his personal bidding this entire time he’s baiting you.

You feel heat rise to your chest, frustration bubbling up within you, "Are you kidding me? You had me running your clothes to the dry cleaners and fetching your coffee, and now you're telling me now I can’t handle your personal matters? That I can't potentially help save my friend's life?"

You teeter on the edge of desperation, knowing you need to get a grip.

Alastor would easily take advantage of you in this state, so you make a conscious effort to clear your head.

Gripping the bottom of your sweater, you break eye contact with him, hoping to regain some semblance of composure.

But in a single, swift motion, he seizes your chin and forces you to face him again. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and you find yourself trapped in his gaze once more.

"I didn't say we couldn't come to an arrangement," he muses, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"I'm willing to extend you the honor of becoming my assistant beyond the confines of this hotel. Potentially even on a more permanent basis darling!"

Permanent?

His grip on your face is annoying, but you hold his gaze steadily, "Look I’m never making a deal with you, I’m still going to heaven one day."

Alastor’s horns lengthen a bit, and his eyes narrow, "Never say never darling.”

You start to protest, but he shushes you, by putting one of his fingers across your lips.

“We can discuss finer details later but for now I want you to sing on my Radio Show once a week. If you do that, I will keep you in the loop regarding this situation.”

He lets out a staticky huff, “Is that an agreeable proposition?"

That's what he wanted?

You could do that easily enough.

"It is."

He releases your chin, and straightens back up, "Perfect! I look forward to working with you further, darling."

Alastor actually looks pleased, a glint of satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

It's a rare sight to see him anything but amused or intrigued, but in this moment, there's a genuine warmth to his expression, however fleeting it may be.

Standing you give the man a look before shaking your head, "Can we go now?"

He co*cks his head and he grins mischievously, "Of course I can, but can you darling?"

With a flash he melts into the floor in shadowy mass and you just blink as he disappears.

What was that supposed to mean?

With a sigh you climb out the hatch and down the rickety ladder, onto the roof of the hotel.

When you make it to the door, you pull it but it doesn't budge.

You try once more and realization hits.

He locked you out on the roof.

Of course he did.

You get that feeling of being watched again and see a shadow move out of the corner of your eye.

"Can I at least get a drink, I'm really thirsty after singing?"

You don't get an answer so you just walk over to the middle of the roof as the late morning breeze blows bye and lay out flat on your back.

Did he expect you to fly down off the roof?

Closing your eyes, you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and revelations from your conversation with Alastor.

It's unsettling to think that he was a serial killer—or at least had been. You can't help but feel a mixture of fascination and unease toward the radio demon.

But as you lie there, pondering the implications of his past, you can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story than meets the eye.

What drove a man who was a successful radio host to become someone so violent? How was his father involved?

A monster who hunts monsters, huh? Its honestly fitting...

Would he hunt this one?

Time ticks by and your wishing you had your cellphone, you've been stuck out here well over an hour.

Something wet drips on your face and when you open your eyes you see a shadowy mass holding something above your face.

Startled, you sit up abruptly, scooting away from the shadowy figure that looms over you.

It's the same sinister presence from your dreams nearly two months ago—the one that chased you relentlessly.

Its form resembles Alastor, with two glowing red eyes mirroring his own. In its clawed grasp, it holds a glass of brown colored liquid, with a slice of lemon resting on the side.

It brought you a drink, and you reach out to take it as the creature retreats to the side of the building and sits down to watch you.

You bring the glass to your lips and take a sip of the cold liquid, its sweet tea. You haven't had any in years, since your grandma was alive.

Gently, you set the glass down on the concrete beside you, the clink echoing softly in the stillness.

Facing the shadow, you voice the question that lingers in your mind. "Are you Alastor?"

The shadow seems taken aback by your directness, its form shifting uncertainly as it nods and shakes its head simultaneously.

"What does that even mean?" you press, trying to make sense of the cryptic response.

The entity slinks closer, slipping into your shadow with an eerie fluidity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced—cold and strange, yet strangely not unpleasant.

"I'm his shadow, a piece of him," it explains, its voice echoing faintly from within the depths of your own darkness.

How peculiar. "I appreciate the drink. Do you think you could let me in?" you inquire, hoping for a way off the rooftop.

A buzzing sound, almost like laughter, emanates from the shadow. "We want to see you fly," it declares cryptically.

Sure they did.

“Even if I somehow did figure out how to get my wings out again, I don't know how to fly. I remember falling off the building," you admit, the memory still vivid in your mind.

The shadow seems to mull over your words, its form swaying slightly as it teeters its head back and forth.

"I will let you in for a price," it finally responds, its voice echoing softly from within your own shadow.

Even his shadow made deals. You can't help but feel a sense of exasperation at the thought.

"Are you doing this without Alastor's permission?" you inquire, eyeing the shadow warily.

Its eyes narrow, and it nods a bit sheepishly, the movement causing ripples in the darkness.

Dealing with Alastor and all his facets was exhausting. "What is it you want exactly?" you ask, already bracing yourself for the answer.

His red eyes light up with a mischievous gleam, and he slinks back over to the wall, assuming his full height.

Bringing his hand to his outlined, shadowy face, he taps his cheek.

The shadow repeats this motion several times, its gesture growing more insistent with each tap.

Something on his cheek...

"Your cheek?" you hazard a guess, watching for its reaction.

It nods eagerly, continuing to point at the spot on its face.

"Wait, you want a kiss on your cheek?"

It nods again and claps its hands at your guess.

You feel heat rising to your face, a flush spreading across your cheeks.

Why would Alastor's shadow want this?

It's a piece of Alastor, isn't it?

Was this some kind of power play?

"Will you tell Alastor?"

It shakes its head quickly.

You sigh and run your hands through your hair, and walk over to the wall.

The shadow crouches down and you lift up on your tip toes and place a quick peck to the shadows cheek.

The moment your lips touch its dark form, you feel a strange tingling sensation, as if static electricity were dancing across your skin.

To your surprise, the shadow lets out a soft, almost contented staticky sigh, its form rippling slightly.

Quickly pulling back, you avert your gaze, feeling a mixture of confusion and discomfort.

The door clicks and he even opens it for you and you shoot him a glare.

He shutters in apparent laughter at your expression and it sinks down into the floor as you make your way downstairs.

What is his problem?

Chapter 34: Improv

Chapter Text

Today marks the second day that Angel has been absent from the hotel.

He hasn't been back since the morning of your radio show.

It's not unusual for Angel to disappear for a night, often returning to the hotel in the early hours of the morning with stories of wild escapades and blurry memories.

But as the hours tick by and he fails to make an appearance, the worry intensifies.

You've sent him several text messages, each growing increasingly frantic as the silence stretches on. With each unanswered text, your concern for his well-being deepens.

Angel is known for his larger-than-life personality and his penchant for attracting trouble wherever he goes.

Despite his devil-may-care attitude, you can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

The hotel feels different without him, quieter somehow, as if his absence has cast a shadow over the vibrant energy that usually fills the halls.

Husk seems unusually restless today, his typical laid-back demeanor replaced by a noticeable sense of agitation.

He's been pacing around the lobby, his movements more erratic than usual. You can't recall seeing him reach for a drink all day, which is highly unusual for him.

The way he keeps glancing at the entrance, as if expecting someone to walk through the doors at any moment, only adds to the sense of unease permeating the atmosphere.

It's clear that whatever's on his mind has him on edge, mirroring your own growing concern for Angel's whereabouts.

The two of you share knowing look and you head out the door, you'd decided after all the crap you'd been going through that you needed to do something for yourself so you had booked an appointment at a nail salon near by.

You’ve been raking over potential reasons why a demon might go after Jade since your show with Alastor.

The two of you had an agreement he’d told your during your working hours that had no new information.

He was a lot less proactive than you wanted regarding the situation but you were going to have to be patient. He was collecting intel apparently through some means?

You honestly didn't want to know.

He was so damn frustrating but he was a man of his word so you’d have to trust him on this.

Thinking of him causes you run your fingers across your lips, you still couldn’t believe his shadow had asked for a kiss like that the other day.

It’s just a power play Andi…

Alastor still acted the same way towards you so he didn’t know thankfully. It was a bit embarrassing to think about and your face flushes.

You shake those thoughts away.

In the meantime, you've taken matters into your own hands, conducting research from the comforts of your bedroom.

You've begun compiling a list of missing girls in Pentagram City, printing out their pictures and jotting down any key details you can find online on the back of each paper.

The number of missing girls is far higher than you'd like it to be. You discarded those who disappeared during the last extermination, as they likely met their fate at the hands of angels, tragically enough.

You've collected thirty-six pictures of missing girls so far.

Now, you need to speak with Alastor to determine the days the Sharks launched assaults and their locations.

Then, you'll cross-reference those times and places with the dates and locations the girls went missing.

Your goal is also to find a pattern, something that connects these individuals to each other.

If he was targeting victims here in Hell, why did he also go to Earth?

Were the thirty-six just the tip of the iceberg?

You have no way of tracking how many individuals are missing up top.

This was so out of the realm of anything you’ve ever done before.

With a heavy sigh, you scuff your black boot against the concrete, lost in thought. The rhythmic sound provides a small comfort amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts.

Soon enough, you arrive at Demonica's Nail Emporium, a small shop adorned with cutesy, girly pop themes.

The exterior is bright and inviting, a stark contrast to dark thoughts pinging around your mind.

Its okay to do something for yourself Andi.

Upon showing the lady at the counter your appointment confirmation, she nods politely and leads you down a hallway lined with colorful posters and flyers.

One particular flyer catches your eye—a missing person's poster for a girl named Mari.

She's one of the girls on your list, having disappeared around six weeks ago.

You pause at the flyer but the lady demon escorting you gently urges you forward, and you begrudgingly tear your gaze away from the poster, following her to your appointment room.

Once you enter the room your met with a very floral smell and cheerful looking one-eyed demon with bright green hair, done up tightly in a bun.

"Welcome, darling!" she chirps, her voice melodic and tinged with what sounds like a Russian accent.

"I'm Lolipop your nail technician for today. What can I do for you?"

You let her know you want a gel manicure and pick out a metallic pink polish from the many bottles lining the room.

The two of you start a light conversation, about nothing all that important and you tell her you sing at the Oasis and she tells you she dances at some club at the entertainment district.

"What kind of dancing do you do?"

"Exotic..." she says quietly as she applies the base coat to your nails.

You weren't one to judge, hell Jade had even danced at a gentlemen's club from time to time for extra money.

You'd never fault someone for working a job they had to work to get by.

"Seems we are both in entertainment then," you say with a smile.

Lolipop chuckles softly, seeming to relax a bit in your company. As she continues to work on your nails, she opens up to you, sharing bits and pieces of her past life.

"I was a ballerina, you know," she confesses, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

"One of the best, they used to say. I did whatever and whoever it took to reach the top. But in the end, I got taken out by some competition..."

Her hand glides across her throat in a chilling gesture, and you can't help but gulp dryly at the implication.

"It sounds like you've had quite the life," you remark, your voice soft with understanding.

"But hey, you're still here, right? Making the best of things, one day at a time."

Lolipop nods in agreement, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah, you're right," she says, "I may not be dancing on stage anymore, but at least I'm still dancing."

Once she finishes, you wiggle your fingers and grin at Lolipop, impressed by her skillful work. You tip her generously for the services rendered, feeling a sense of camaraderie with her after your conversation.

As she escorts you down the hall, you notice her glance at the missing person flyer on the bulletin board, her expression darkening with concern.

"Do you know her?" you inquire, nodding towards the flyer.

"Yeah, she was a friend of mine," she replies, her voice tinged with sadness.

"I've been looking for her for weeks. We danced together at Opulence."

Feeling a pang of sympathy for her, you decide to broach the subject delicately.

"Hey, I don't want to seem rude or anything," you start, "but a lot of women have gone missing recently. Do you think I could ask you a few questions about Mari?"

Her eye widens and she pauses for a second,"I-I uh have a client right after this but..." she looks both ways, "I'll give you my number maybe we can talk later this week?"

Gratefully, you accept her business card, tucking it into your pocket as you step out through the doors into the crisp evening autumn air.

A slight shiver runs through you, a reminder that you're only wearing a high waisted faux leather skirt and a black turtleneck with a heart cutout.

You needed to buy some jackets...

As your walking you spy a familiar figure walking across the street the opposite way and you cut across the street to follow him.

It was Husk, where was he going?

With some determined strides, you manage to catch up to him. He gives you a sideways glance as you fall into step beside him.

"Go home, kid," he mutters, his tone gruff.

You blink, and because you rarely let any man tell you what to do say, "No thanks. Where are we going Husk?"

He lets out an annoyed huff and cusses under his breath.

"Going to look for Angel."

You stumble a bit, "Do you know where he is?"

He shakes his head, "Nope but I know where he works and frequents."

You cross your arms and rub them for some friction warmth, "You think he's ok?"

"No idea," he stops walking and gives you a look, "We might see some sh*t in there, you gonna be ok?"

You were well aware of what industry Angel worked in.

"Uh, yeah I'll be fine."

Husk just shakes his head, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he mutters, before turning to lead the way once again.

Husk takes you through bustling streets, the cacophony of sounds and sights assaulting your senses.

As day slowly gives way to night, the atmosphere changes dramatically, the neon lights casting an ethereal glow over the scene.

You soon find yourselves in the heart of downtown, where the vibrant pulse of the city seems to quicken with each passing moment.

Music blares from every storefront, mingling with the raucous laughter and chatter of the crowds.

You catch glimpses of people engaged in intimate acts in the dimly lit alleys, their silhouettes cast against the walls.

This was hell people just didn't care, you supposed.

Despite the chaos surrounding you, you maintain your composure, straightening your back and keeping your gaze fixed ahead, your expression carefully neutral and disinterested, even when random demons whistled and called out to Husk and yourself.

You were a performer, you could roll with it.

Husk brings you to a stop and your eyes catch sight of an electric blue building with a towering structure connected to its back.

Huh, it actually looked like there were three different brightly colored buildings connect to the tower in the center.

You see a purple building and can't make out the color of the third one in the back but it was a huge structure.

The name "Delirium" glitters in bold, neon letters above the entrance, casting an inviting yet ominous glow against the night sky.

You look towards the purple building next door and see the sign that says, "Opulence" on it.

Recognition dawns on you as you realize that is the club Lolipop mentioned she danced at.

"Just keep your head down and follow my lead, okay?" Husk's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment.

Stepping through the entrance, you're immediately engulfed by a sensory overload.

Towering wall-sized screens flank the entryway, each one displaying a kaleidoscope of vibrant images and pulsating colors.

Advertisem*nts for the club flash across the screens, enticing patrons with promises of excitement and indulgence.

For a moment, you feel a strange pull on your eyes, as if drawn into the hypnotic rhythm of the visuals, but you quickly shake off the sensation, determined to stay focused.

Beneath your feet, the floor gleams with a polished darkness, reflecting the ambient lights in a mesmerizing dance of shadows.

The tiles are cool and smooth against your shoes as you navigate through the throngs of people, their voices blending into a cacophony of laughter and music.

The walls, that were not adorned with screens, are painted in a similar shade of deep blue as the exterior.

Delirium seems to be some kind of entertainment mega center, featuring a casino, dancing lounge, restaurant, bar, and even a concert hall.

Glancing around you watch as sinners gamble and drink to their hearts content all the while being bombarded with advertisem*nts.

You watch as man with a TV for a head flashes on the screen sipping a martini and talking about winning big.

You suppress a shiver for some reason, feeling a sudden chill creep up your spine, as he weaves down some halls and into a new section of the building.

"Where are we going?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing sense of unease gnawing at you.

"Toward the dressing rooms," Husker replies curtly, his tone brooking no argument. "Angel has one back here between here and the other club."

You stop dead in your tracks, the pieces clicking into place in your mind. Dressing room? If this is where Angel worked, that means this was... This was Vee Tower.

You gulp, a lump forming in your throat, and quickly catch back up to Husk, who is starting to look anxious.

"Look Kid," he mutters under his breath, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, "just play along with whatever happens. We ain't supposed to be going back here, okay?"

"Understood," you whisper back, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

As you continue down the dimly lit hallway, a bear like demon in a black suit suddenly emerges from the shadows, his expression stern and his posture rigid.

He wears a badge on his lapel, marking him as a staff member of the establishment.

"Where do you two think you're going?" he demands, his voice low and authoritative. "This is a restricted area."

Husker starts to speak but the man interrupts, "She one of the new tramps? You her pimp?"

With a blink Husk tries to go with it but he's stumbling over what to say and the man is starting to look suspicious. So you take a deep breath and do your least favorite thing, improv...

"Sorry, darlin', but you got it all wrong," you declare, channeling your thickest Southern accent and injecting a hint of flirtatiousness into your tone. "I'm his pimp."

The man's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, clearly taken aback by your unexpected response. You seize the opportunity to press on, doubling down.

"All sorts of kinks out there, ya know," you continue, flashing the man a coy smile. "Tonight's client happens to like silver foxes, and I aim to please."

The man clears his throat, "I'm gonna have to see some confirmation..."

You let out a throaty laugh, "Vincent, huh?" you purr, snatching his badge and pulling its cord closer to your face.

"Can I call you Vince?" Without waiting for his answer, you continue, your tone dripping with faux familiarity.

"I've got some very important clients waiting back there, and they aren't the patient sort," you add, flashing him a sultry smile.

"I'll be sure to let them know that my little pal Vince is the holdup."

The man, now identified as Vincent, shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly flustered by your brazen approach. He hesitates for a moment, glancing between you and Husk, before finally nodding in reluctant agreement and he steps aside.

With a snap of your fingers, you gesture for Husk to hurry along, and you wave at the guard with a playful smirk, as if dismissing him from your presence.

As the two of you make your way towards the elevator, Husk wears a pleased expression. "Not half bad, kid, not half bad," he remarks with a chuckle.

You take a dramatic bow, flashing him a grin. "Thank you, thank you very much!" you quip, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Chapter 35: Bottom of the Ocean

Chapter Text

You blink up at the towering figure, feeling small in comparison to his immense presence.

The man stands at a staggering nine to ten feet tall, his figure dominating the space around him.

His skin is a deep shade of purple, and his eyes burn with a fiery intensity, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

He's adorned in extravagant attire, including what appears to be a fur-lined cape that cascades down his back.

Upon closer inspection, you realize that the cape isn't separate from him but seems to be an extension of his own body, melding seamlessly with his insect-like form.

Leaning down over you, he speaks again, his voice demanding, "¡Oye! Did you hear me, chiquita?"

His sudden change in tone catches you off guard, and you stammer in response, "S-sorry, no, I don't think we've met."

You'd remember a tall purple bug man...

He steps around you and circles you like a predator sizing up his prey.

As the man's gaze lingers on you, you can't shake the feeling of sleaziness that emanates from him like a noxious odor.

His eyes seem to undress you with every passing moment, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence it makes you want to curl in on yourself in an attempt to cover up more.

There's a lecherous gleam in his eyes, a hunger that sends a wave of discomfort through you. You can practically feel his gaze crawling over your skin, leaving behind a sense of unease and revulsion.

His presence feels like a stain on your consciousness, something you can't shake off no matter how hard you try.

You smell something sickly sweet wafting off him and you scrunch your nose.

"Can I help you?" you inquire, forcing a polite smile despite the unease prickling at the back of your mind. You desperately want to get away from this man, but you're trying to maintain a façade of composure.

However, he completely disregards your question, his attention solely focused on his phone. His fingers move swiftly across the screen.

You can't help but feel a sense of irritation at his dismissive behavior, especially considering how he had snapped at you just moments ago for taking a few seconds to respond to him.

You despised individuals like him, those who treated others as if they were beneath notice. It reminded you of the encounters you had with several semi-famous theater stars while alive.

He chuckles suddenly, his voice carrying a smug undertone. "Ah, I thought I recognized you!"

He holds out his phone, displaying a picture of you from the Overlords' meeting a while back. "You're the little singer, Vox keeps going on about."

sh*t.

There's no use in denying the fact that it's you; it's glaringly obvious.

"Yup, that's me... Just visiting, though. Getting a feel for the place," you respond, trying to maintain a casual tone despite the rising unease in your gut.

"Well, if you're visiting, then you won't mind meeting with Vox, right? He'll be thrilled to see you," he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"I'm actually here with friends, maybe some other time," you try to protest, but before you can finish your sentence, he's already grabbing your arm and pulling you down the corridor.

"It'll only take a moment."

He's surprisingly strong, overpowering you easily as panic starts to rise within you. Your heart races as he drags you into the elevator, the doors closing behind you with a finality.

When the elevator doors slide open, you're greeted by the chaotic bustle of a movie set.

Half-naked demons mill about, their scantily clad bodies adorned with extravagant costumes and elaborate makeup.

You quickly avert your eyes, feeling uncomfortably out of place amidst the flurry of activity.

A gray-colored bird demon with eyes reminiscent of Angel's approaches him, "Mr. Valentino, Tiffany tit* is asking for you," the bird demon informs him.

Valentino, the infamous overlord who owns half of Angel's soul.

"Tell the bitch I'm busy," Valentino replies dismissively before turning his attention back to you.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

You needed to get out of here.

His grip is practically bruising as he leads you into a ornately decorated room, it looks like some kind of office space. The walls are red with a huge bay window behind a glass desk. Neon flashing lights cast the room in an eerie light.

With a forceful yet fluid motion, Valentino releases your arm and gestures for you to take a seat on a plush, oversized red couch positioned strategically in the center of the room, "Sit down, chiquita."

You take a seat reluctantly, and rub your now sore arm.

Glancing around this room you feel a creeping sensation, why were there mirrors on the ceiling.

Bad things happened in this room...

He pulls out his phone and sends a couple of texts, and you watch him.

This man didn't radiate power the way Alastor and some of the other overlords you've met did, his presence felt more like an assault on your senses.

The realization dawns upon you that this is the man who inflicts pain upon Angel, the one who exploits and mistreats him, the source of Angel's fear and distress.

A voice inside your mind seethes with resentment and indignation, echoing the sentiments of the anger bubbling up within you.

It's a feeling vaguely familiar yet unsettlingly intense, reminiscent of the righteous fury you felt towards the man who struck Jade.

But this emotion is deeper, more consuming, overwhelming you with its intensity.

As you sink your nails into the plush fabric of the couch and bite down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, a primal urge for retribution pulses through your veins.

It cries out for recognition and vindication, demanding justice for Angel's suffering.

In this moment, you feel an overwhelming desire to tear Valentino apart.

You want to drag him down to the bottom of the ocean and watch him drown...

A gasp escapes your lips as you struggle to steady your emotions, reminding yourself that you're not a hateful person.

Though you can be stubborn and resolute, this overwhelming thirst for vengeance is something else entirely.

It feels foreign yet oddly right, a contradiction that leaves you shaken to your core.

The man in front of you seems oblivious to your growing disdain and is talking about something but you couldn't care less he's just talking at you not to you.

His phone rings and he answers it, "f*ck, Fine! I'll be right over. Gonna smack the sh*t out of that dumb bitch." He mumbles that last bit but you hear it crystal clear.

Valentino's dull red eyes lock onto yours, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips as he observes your expression. With a casual air, he retrieves something from his pants pocket resembling a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his fingers.

A sickly sweet, pink-hued smoke curls into the air from it, filling the room with its cloying aroma. He blows it directly into your face, and you cough involuntarily, the acrid taste assaulting your senses.

Valentino chuckles at your reaction, his amusem*nt evident as he watches you succumb to the effects of the smoke.

"Stay here, chiquita," he commands.

Warmth spreads through your limbs, leaving you feeling light-headed and strangely content. The fog of confusion clouds your thoughts, but you find yourself strangely at peace, as if this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Why would you ever want to leave? Everything felt so right in this moment, and you can't help but smile, sinking back into the plush cushions of the couch as a blissful sensation washes over you.

You hear the door click shut and you lull your heavy head towards the sound.

Beneath the surface, a nagging voice whispers of danger, urging you to resist the seductive allure of Valentino's control.

It's a struggle to maintain your focus as the warmth envelops you, but you force yourself to concentrate, fighting against the euphoric haze that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

A sharp pain ripples across your shoulders, causing you to wince and clutch at them, the discomfort intensifying with each passing moment.

Panic surges through you as the voice in your head screams at the wrongness of the situation, driving you to the edge of desperation.

With a gasp, you lurch forward, panting heavily as you struggle to break free from the insidious grip of Valentino's influence.

You feel a pull on your back and know exactly what's happening as your wings rip through your shirt and you stumble off the couch and onto your knees.

That hateful feeling builds again and you cling to it and it overtakes that complacent haze your in and you bring yourself to your feet.

The spell snaps and your mind is your own again, quickly you pull out your phone and you see a text from Husk. He's got Angel and wants to know where you are.

You have no idea and when you check the door it is very much locked.

Texting Husk you let him know you'll meet him out front and to get Angel out of here.

You were not going to stay here and wait around for two overlords to show up.

Pocketing your phone you look at the window and sigh.

Why do you have to keep jumping off of buildings and climbing out windows?

The window doesn't budge and you glance around the room and find a heavy looking trophy and you pull your good arm back and let it fly. It crashes into the large window and shatters the glass completely.

You’re not normally for vandalism but frankly f*ck this guy.

A rush of cool night air that stirs the heavy atmosphere of the room. Glancing back over your shoulder, you catch sight of your newly emerged wings, their majestic form stretching out behind you.

With a tentative movement, you attempt to flex the unfamiliar muscles, the sensation strange and alien to you.

You focus intently, willing your wings to respond to your commands, and to your surprise, they twitch and flutter in response.

A sense of wonder washes over you as you watch the delicate feathers ruffle in the breeze, each movement feeling both foreign and exhilarating.

Despite the discomfort, there's a strange sense of liberation.

You ease yourself out onto the narrow ledge under the window and you mean to wait a few more moments but a night breeze blows against your side and catches your left wing and the weight of it shifting knocks you off balance.

Crap! Move ! Flap ! Something!

The ground is coming quickly but your wings catch that same breeze and you move upwards which was a better direction for sure.

Relief floods through you as you ascend into the night sky, your heart pounding in your chest. With a newfound sense of determination, you adjust your wings, guiding yourself in a graceful arc around the corner of the purple building.

As you glide closer to the ground, you catch sight of Husk's familiar figure standing near the entrance of the blue building. Relief floods through you as you realize you've found your destination.

But just as you're about to land, the breeze dies down, causing you to lose your forward momentum. Panic surges through you as you feel yourself beginning to drop too quickly. Frantically, you adjust your wings, trying to slow your descent.

With a rush of air, you manage to angle your body into a crouching position, bracing yourself for impact. Your feet touch down on the ground with a jolt, and you stumble slightly, struggling to maintain your balance and you fall and land on your ass roughly.

Angel, looking worse for wear, manages a raspy laugh. "Guess you do have wings, huh?"

You pull yourself up to your feet, shaking your head. "Told you so."

Husk, taking most of Angel's weight as he struggles to stand, interjects, "Where have you been?"

Rushing to Angel's other side to offer support, you glance over at Husk, "Later. Let's get him home." With a nod of agreement, Husk adjusts his grip on Angel, and together, the three of you begin the journey back to safety.

The trip takes twice as long as it should and your wings drag awkwardly on the ground and you wish they'd just go back to wherever it is they come from.

As the hotel comes into view, a wave of genuine relief washes over you. Dragging the last few feet, the three of you finally make it through the doors.

Inside, Charlie gasps in surprise, her eyes widening at the sight of Angel's battered appearance. Vaggie lets out a heavy sigh, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration as she rushes over to assist.

As Angel starts to falter, Husk swiftly sweeps him off his feet and into his arms with practiced ease. You step back, giving them space, and take a moment to catch your breath.

Alastor materializes beside you, his presence preceding his physical form. You adjust your barely-hanging on shirt, revealing the glossy wings now extending proudly from your back.

His gaze immediately fixates on them, his smile widening at the sight.

"I'm sure you have quite the tale to tell, darling," he remarks with his signature grin.

Before you can respond, Alastor's demeanor shifts abruptly. His posture stiffens, and with a sudden movement, he leans in close, almost burying his face in your hair. You feel a crackling, staticky buzz in the air as he takes a deep inhale.

A sharp sound emanates from his being, and you instinctively shove him away, needing some space.

"Where have you been?" he practically growls, his tone authoritative.

You're about to snap a retort when Angel's hand catches your arm as Husk begins to carry him upstairs.

"Please... don't leave me, Mollie," Angel pleads, his voice shaky and desperate.

All your anger dissipates as you grasp Angel's hand back.

Who was Mollie? Maybe you'd ask him one day.

The question lingers briefly in your mind, but you push it aside, focusing on the present moment.

You return his grip, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Glancing back at Alastor, you give him a pleading look, silently asking for understanding.

He steps back, his presence fading as he nods in acknowledgment, his eyes staring you down intently.

As you leave the room, you find Husk waiting in the hallway, his expression one of concern mixed with fatigue.

"He's okay for now," you reassure him. Husk nods, the lines of worry easing slightly from his face. He heads back downstairs, likely seeking solace in a drink. You consider joining him after a much-needed shower.

Entering your room, you're grateful to find it blessedly empty.

The sanctuary of privacy allows you to shed the grime of the day, and you relish the hot water washing away the stress and tension.

Clean and refreshed, you change into a pair of fuzzy shorts and a pink sweatshirt, the comfort of the soft fabric against your skin providing a small measure of peace.

As you brush your teeth, you hear a shuffling noise coming from your room. Spitting out the toothpaste, you walk back in to find Alastor's shadow sifting through the papers on your desk with an air of curiosity.

"Do you mind?" you snap, striding over to your desk, the shadow chuckles.

You grab the scattered sheets, quickly re-sorting your research into the meticulous order you had it in before, "I'll tell Alastor when I'm ready."

He nods, backing off "We are waiting for you downstairs, we want to talk." He whispers slinking away.

You really could use that drink.

Chapter 36: A Gift

Chapter Text

Husk downs a shot of whiskey in one quick gulp and fills another up immediately, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as he pours.

The sharp burn of the alcohol is a welcome distraction, momentarily numbing the gnawing ache in his chest.

What a f*cking night.

Seeing Angel messed up like that was painful, more painful than Husk cared to admit.

He'd been worried about him, worried he'd not come back from wherever Valentino had taken him this time.

That moth was a disgusting bastard and he only prayed he'd get to be there the day he met his final death or better yet he hoped to be the one to do it.

Though he doubted the man upstairs listen to sinners prayers.

Husk glances across the counter at the red-headed demon sitting at his bar, switching through radio stations with erratic clicks. The constant chatter and snippets of music fill the air, with a buzz.

Alastor was in a pissy mood, Husk could pick up on that easily enough after spending thirty something years in his debt.

While he hated Alastor, he'd rather be in debt to him than any of those f*cking Vees.

Valentino, Vox, Velvette—they were all cut from the same manipulative, money-hungry cloth. At least with Alastor, there was a twisted sense of predictability.

The Radio Demon had his own set of rules, his own f*cked up sense of honor.

He was a wildcard, a being who thrived on chaos and amusem*nt, but even so, there was a begrudging respect there, he was a more successful overlord than Husker every was or could have been.

Alastor's actions, while often incomprehensible, stemmed from his twisted sense of entertainment or necessity rather than a compulsion to dominate and control others like the Vees did.

Sinners owned by the Vees hardly had free will, Angel was lucky to have half of his soul still intact.

Valentino's cruelty was personal, targeted, and relentless, driven by a sad*stic desire to inflict pain and exert power in the most violent and sexual ways possible.

Husk watches as Alastor's shadow darts behind him, whispering in his ear it’s so creepy.

When you come down the stairs, your eyes are weary and tired, but you still carry that underlying warmth, even after all the sh*t you've been through recently.

It was one of the things he liked most about you, your resilience and ability to stay kind in a place like Hell.

You were strong.

Husk is curious about what you were up to while he was talking Angel down.

Alastor has been waiting for the same thing, the f*cker had already questioned him about why you were there and what happened he told him what he knew which wasn’t much.

Husk glances over at Alastor, who shifts his demeanor back to his calm, collected self when he catches sight of you.

It’s so f*cking annoying.

He hates the way that psycho stares at you, the way he gravitates towards you as if you were a glass of water in the middle of a desert.

There’s a possessiveness in Alastor’s gaze that makes Husk’s skin crawl.

The more he thinks about it, the more a sense of guilt washes over him.

He wonders if bringing you to the hotel was the right choice.

You’re so tangled up in Alastor's web now that he doubts you'll ever be able to get out completely unscathed unless this heaven sh*t worked out.

Husk second-guesses himself, replaying that early morning when he found you.

He has no idea what better decisions he could have made.

It’s too late for second guesses now he muses.

You’re one of the few people he can tolerate here, you’re good for Angel, and you’re safe here—mostly.

He has no idea what Alastor is up to or what he wants with you aside from the obvious deal-making.

There’s something going on though, something he can’t quite put his finger on.

He nearly choked on his drink the other day when he heard you on Alastor’s radio show singing.

Alastor was acting in a way that Husk had never seen before.

There’s a strange unpredictability to his actions, an undercurrent of something more than just the usual manipulative schemes or amusem*nts.

It’s unsettling.

If Husk didn’t know better he’d almost think Alastor had some kinda f*cked up crush.

He actually shutters at the notion, nope that was impossible.

Alastor only cared about himself and that thought brings a bit of relief.

You slide into the stool to the right of the bar, next to Alastor, who moves nearly imperceptibly closer to you.

Husk narrows his eyes at the subtle shift in proximity, a surge of irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"f*cker..." he mutters under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle with more force than necessary.

You adjust on the stool and let out a small yawn. Husk slides over a red drink, and you take a sip. It tastes sweet, like cherries.

Alastor clears his throat, moving closer towards you, "Darling, I think you've kept me in suspense long enough."

Husk grumbles under his breath, something about you not owing Alastor anything, and you fight back a smile at his grouchiness.

You knock back your drink, savoring the last of the cherry flavor, and set the glass down with a decisive clink.

"Alright, here's what happened," you begin, your voice steady despite your exhaustion from the night's events.

Starting with your encounter with Valentino in the halls, you recount every detail but leave out the fact you felt like tearing the man limb from limb, those were inside thoughts.

You tell them the other things though, the towering, purple-skinned demon with his insect-like features, his dismissive attitude, and the way he had dragged you to meet Vox.

As you speak, you notice Husk's expression his face pale as he continues to down shots of whiskey.

Alastor, on the other hand, goes visibly rigid, his usual composed demeanor replaced by a tension that crackles in the air around him.

You fight a shiver at the pressure change.

"Then he took me to a back room it was his office I guess, and set me down on a c-couch and-"

Alastor suddenly grasps your hand, his eyes dark, "Did he touch you?" he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, trying to steady your voice. "No, he didn’t touch me..."

Your eyes water at the implications, realizing just how much danger you had been in.

You feel a mix of fear and self-reproach—you had been so naive.

His grip loosens marginally, giving you a moment of comfort. "Please, continue, darling," he urges quietly.

"Uh, yeah, he got a call and then he blew this weird-smelling smoke in my face," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "It made me feel strange, almost like I couldn't think straight."

"f*ck, kid... I-I should have made you go home," Husk says, his voice laden with guilt.

You laugh softly, pulling your hand from Alastor's grip to give Husk a reassuring pat on the arm.

"No one can make me do anything. I wanted to come. It's not your fault," you say, trying to ease his worry.

"Plus, whatever he did only worked for a minute or so. I snapped out of it pretty quickly."

"You snapped out of it?" Alastor queries leaning in a bit closer.

You nod, meeting Alastor's gaze, "Yeah, he really pissed me off," you explain, recalling the rush of emotion that had surged through you in that critical moment.

"I just... like focused on that angry feeling and I snapped out of it. Then I broke his office window and jumped out."

Well glided...

Alastor's grin widens, his posture relaxing, and a spark of amusem*nt dances in his eyes. "Well, isn't that a delightful turn of events," he comments, leaning back on his stool.

"And quite in character, darling. You do always manage to surprise."

His expression shifts to a pensive one, "Not just anyone can overcome an Overlord's influence with a simple act of will," he adds, reaching over to ruffle your hair.

Husk's laughter reverberates through the bar as he slams his fist on the counter, struggling to contain his mirth.

He clasps his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with amusem*nt, and shoots you a mischievous grin between chuckles.

"sh*t I’d pay a hefty sum just to see the look on his face when he got back to that room," he manages to say between bouts of laughter.

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to that side of town for a while," you comment with a wry smile.

"You won't be," Alastor responds, his tone carrying an air of finality, and you shoot him a questioning look.

He didn't get to tell you what to do, even if you were going to avoid that area anyway. Did that even make sense?

You're very tired.

You stifle another yawn, feeling the exhaustion settling in, but Alastor stands and grasps your arm, pulling you to your feet. "I think it's time for you to retire for the night, cher."

He's being unusually bossy tonight, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"I need to check on An-"

"I'll keep an eye on him, kid, Vaggie wanted to check on him too." Husk interrupts, stretching his back.

With a reluctant nod, you allow Alastor to lead you away.

He walks you to your door and lets himself right in.

Why was this man so entitled.

You suppress a sigh, wondering why this man seems to think he can just waltz into your personal space without a second thought. It's frustrating, to say the least, but you don't feel like pitching a fit tonight.

He just stands in the middle of the room as you tuck yourself into bed.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me sleep?" you retort, closing your eyes.

"While I enjoy doing that," Alastor begins, his voice holding a teasing lilt, "I actually wanted to give you something."

Your eyes pop open at his unexpected words.

"Your joking right?"

He shakes his head, "Of course not darling!"

Which part was he not joking about?

Alastor reaches into his jacket and produces something on a small chain.

It glints in dim light of your room.

"A necklace?" you say surprised.

He nods stepping closer, “Yes, just a gift… No strings attached.”

He dangles it in front of your face, it’s a delicate silver necklace with a red jewel pendant.

You reach out and he places it in your hand. It sends a tingle across your skin and has an oddly warm feeling to it.

“It’s not just a necklace is it?”

He leans down closer, “Very astute as usual darling. Since you seem so keen on attracting trouble I’m offering you a safety net if you will.”

”A safety net? W-what does it do?”

“Well if you wear this and call out my name three times it will summon me.”

You feel your mouth drop open a bit and quickly try to school your features.

“Why would you give this to me?” It’s so unlike him.

He hums to himself and taps his cheek, “Darling you wound me can’t I do something nice for my assistant?”

Your eyes narrow and his smile stretches as he stands back up to his full height, “Think what you will cher, but I do have a vested interest in keeping you in one piece.”

He turns to head out the door, “It’s your choice whether or not you use it of course.”

“Sleep tight darling.”

With that he’s out the door and you stare at the red pendant for a moment before setting it by your night stand and you start drifting off to sleep.

You sit straight up.

Does Alastor watch you sleep?

Chapter 37: Thanksgiving

Chapter Text

You roll the pendant between your fingers, feeling a surprising warmth emanating from the metal.

Holding it up to the morning light, you inspect the gemstone more closely.

Though you’re not an expert on gems, the deep red hue and the way it catches the light make you think it's a ruby.

The stone has a rectangular princess cut, its facets sparkling as it refracts the light in a mesmerizing dance of crimson.

It's about the size of a quarter in height, perfectly proportioned to be both noticeable and elegant.

The craftsmanship is exquisite, the metalwork around the ruby intricate and delicate, accentuating the stone's natural beauty.

"It's rather pretty," you muse aloud, turning it this way and that, marveling at how the light plays within the gemstone.

You drop it back in your palm and you feel its weight again, and let out a small huff. As beautiful as it might be it feels like choosing to wear it might have implications.

You were already so involved with Alastor did you really want to go further?

Did you trust that this gift truly didn't have strings attached?

He said he had avested intrestedin your safety he said.

Did he really want your soul that badly, was it worth that much to him?

Keeping yourself alive—well, existing—was a personal goal of yours.

Plus, you had a lot of crap to figure out concerning the demon who killed you and the missing girls.

The monstrous demon had already killed you once maybe you could use a plan b.

Though you fully feel confident in your abilities, Alastor was right when he said you had been attracting trouble.

So you walk over to bathroom and you carefully clasp the necklace around your neck.

The pendant lays just above the swell of your breasts, catching the light and glinting softly it contrasts nicely against your silvery skin.

The warmth from the ruby spreads through your chest, a reminder of its power and the connection it signifies. You can almost feel Alastor’s presence, a subtle, invisible thread linking you to him.

You shake off the lingering unease and focus on getting dressed for the day.

You opt for a peachy pink turtleneck, the soft fabric snug and warm against your skin, and it covers the necklace completely.

You didn’t want to give Alastor the satisfaction of seeing you wear his gift so openly. You pair the turtleneck with faded flare jeans that hug your hips comfortably and give a nod to a vintage style.

As you pull your hair up into a messy bun, you leave two loose strands framing your face. They soften your features, the casual look contrasting with the intensity of your thoughts.

Your phone dings, breaking the silence. Picking it up, you see a message from Charlie:

MEET ME DOWNSTAIRS ASAP!!!

Her use of all caps signals she's excited.

A smile plays at your lips as you head downstairs to see what all the commotion is about. The sounds of chattering fill the air, and you spot Nifty scurrying about excitedly, a blur of activity.

The dining room table is covered in grocery bags, a chaotic array of ingredients and supplies spilling out from them.

"Andie, there you are!" Charlie squeals, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. You shake your head in mild disbelief as she grabs your hands, practically bouncing on her toes. "Today is Thanksgiving!!!"

What? You blink, taking a moment to process her words. Doing a quick mental calculation, you realize that the Halloween advent had been about three weeks ago. So, yes, it made sense.

You hadn't been keeping up with dates here in Hell, too consumed with your own troubles and the bizarre happenings around you.

Charlie pulls you into a warm, enthusiastic hug. "Let's make a huge dinner!" she exclaims, her excitement infectious.

Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, she adds, "I think Angel could use some cheering up right now too."

You glance around the room, taking in the sight of Nifty organizing the bags with a whirlwind of efficiency, her tiny form darting from one end of the table to the other.

Husk is already grumbling about something, though you notice he’s setting up chairs and clearing space.

"Alastor is in charge of the kitchen," Charlie announces, her voice cutting through the din of activity.

Your head snaps up in surprise as the man himself steps out from behind the kitchen door. Alastor, has adopted a different look today.

His usual pristine suit jacket is nowhere in sight, and instead, he wears a deep red button-up dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and untucked from his black dress pants.

Gone is his trademark bow tie, leaving the top few buttons of his shirt undone, adding a strangely casual and almost disarming air to his appearance.

He looks a lot more approachable than usual, but there's still an undeniable aura of power and confidence that surrounds him.

You find yourself momentarily taken aback by the sight of him, surprised by how different he looks without his usual formal attire.

The shirt pulls tightly against his lean and toned form as he moves.

Despite your better judgment, you can't help but acknowledge that he looks handsome...

You pause at that thought, surprised by the unexpected assessment.

Where had that come from?

You quickly try to rationalize within yourself. Yes, you had eyes, and objectively speaking, he did look... well, decent today. It was just an observation, nothing more.

There was no need to read too much into it.

Chapter 38: Tea Time

Chapter Text

Alastor swirls his morning coffee, staring out at the empty lobby.

The dark, bitter brew is pleasantly familiar too his palate, and he takes a contemplative sip before relaxing into an armchair.

The silence of the early morning was rather refreshing from time to time.

A noise draws his attention, and he shifts his gaze to the staircase.

You come bounding down with a small side bag in tow, your steps light and energetic. Your presence brings a subtle vibrancy to the otherwise quiet lobby.

You don’t seem to notice him as you pull a black jacket off the coat rack, your focus entirely on your own tasks. Alastor's eyes narrow slightly as he observes you.

If you were going to make it down here in Hell, you'd need to be more observant. You were clever, but you often missed the subtle details around you.

Such as that dour florists obvious amorous glances.

Alastor grips his coffee cup a bit more tightly as he thinks of the practice session he had the keen displeasure of witnessing last night.

He had been interested in observing you and your little band’s endeavors during your first practice session at the hotel.

He had hung towards the back of the ballroom, while Charlie was hovering around the front, interrupting your bandmates and canvassing them about the hotel’s mission.

She was enthusiastic, as always, but her well-meaning intrusions were more distracting than helpful, Alastor noticed.

You had parked yourself at the piano on the stage and started practicing. He hadn’t known you played and, he had to admit, you were quite skilled.

The music flowed from your fingers effortlessly, filling the room with light tune. Briefly, he wondered if you played any other instruments, but his thoughts were interrupted.

That insipid sop, the florist, had broken off from the rest of the group and sat down beside you on the bench.

The man said something, and you chuckled lightly.

Alastor felt his eye twitch.

That man was such a weakling and had nothing to offer you—no power, no reputation, and no means of keeping you and your troublesome self intact.

A dame with looks and talents like yours could surely do better. The image of you beside someone as insignificant as that sop was almost laughable.

Alastor didn’t make it a habit of getting involved in others' personal affairs even of those in his debt, but he had plans for you, and that man didn’t fit into those plans.

Honestly, you and he would be relatively busy after he won this game you both played and finished his debt here at the hotel.

He envisioned a future where he’d be working on expanding his territory and influence, with you as his entertaining assistant.

Of course, you’d be featured prominently on his radio show as well, your talents showcased for all to hear.

He knew you were an entertainer like himself and he'd make sure you had time for that as well.

With all that going on, Alastor doubted you’d have time for any romantic relationships.

You’d be far too occupied with more important matters together with him.

Besides, why settle for silly fleeting infatuations when you could be part of something grander, something with real purpose?

Alastor smiles genuinely at the thought.

You were a valuable asset, always amusing and full of potential that he was determined to help you realize and guide.

As you finish adjusting your jacket and head for the door, Alastor’s eyes follow you closely.

He catches a glimpse of the pendant he created for you, glinting in the morning light.

You hadn't worn it in several days since the holiday dinner which was irksome, but now that you were leaving the hotel, you had chosen to put it back on.

Good girl.

While you might be a stubborn dame you were also pragmatic.

The sight of you wearing it brings him a strange sense of pleasure for some reason.

He’s not sure why exactly but he doesn't dwell on it.

The pendant suited you perfectly, its deep red hue contrasting nicely with your complexion.

It was a symbol of his influence, a silent declaration to others that you were under his protection.

Given everything going on and considering the Vees’ increasing interest in you, Alastor felt he needed to make a bit of a statement.

It's not something he'd usually do but you were a special case he supposed, and he wouldn’t have his game cut short.

His claws lengthen slightly at the thought, recalling the vile insect Valentino and the recent encounter.

Had that insect dared to violate you, Valentino wouldn’t be drawing breath now.

Though Alastor might not be at his full power, he still had the means to take that cretin out if given a reason.

A few moments alone with Valentino, separated from his pack of sycophants, would be all it took.

Alastor's eyes narrowed at the thought, claws tapping rhythmically against his coffee cup.

Though given the current circ*mstances it was advantageous to all parties that it wasn’t necessary.

You had been unharmed and managed to extricate yourself from the situation with surprising ease.

Alastor was intrigued by how you had overcome Valentino's influence.

Perhaps your will was simply stronger than most.

Alastor had witnessed your stubborn spirit firsthand, so it wasn't particularly surprising, but it was certainly interesting.

Occasionally demons came into hell and manifested certain abilities that others did not posses, he'd noticed several instances with you that hinted at more and was determined to sort that out eventually.

Curiosity piqued, Alastor wonders where you're going this early.

Deciding it might be entertaining to follow you, he downs the last bit of his coffee and flits after you, making sure to maintain a safe distance.

Other demons notice his presence but you appear to have some kind of ear contraptions on and he can hear the hum of music as you make your way down the street.

Its fun watching you be so carefree, just where was it that you were going? You make your way down to Cannibal town surprisingly enough and Alastor's smile tightens.

He watches pull out your pocket phone and start walking towards the florist shop and his irritation grows.

Were you here to see that man?

He watches you walk right past the shop though, and towards some kind of tea shop with patio seating.

The thought of tea turns his nose up a bit, he couldn't stand the stuff but ladies seemed to enjoy it.

As you approach the tea shop, a woman with bright green hair and a single eye stands and waves you over. You greet her warmly and take a seat, pulling out a notebook and pen.

Before Alastor can ponder what your up to.

He turns to see Rosie standing there behind him, her hands on her hips and a curious expression on her face, he stiffens for brief second.

"Al, what brings you around these parts today?" she asks, her tone laced with amusem*nt.

Alastor gives her a charming smile, slipping easily into his usual affable demeanor, "Just a bit of morning exercise, my dear Rosie," he replies smoothly.

"A stroll to clear the mind."

Rosie follows his former line of sight and chuckles softly.

Looping her arm through his, she begins to lead him down the street toward her emporium.

"A stroll, huh? Well, while you're at it, why don't you come take a look at the new fabric stock I just received?”

“It's been far too long since you updated your wardrobe. A man of your stature should always look his best, after all."

You take a seat with Lollipop, noticing her casual attire—a floral print sundress that complements her long viridian hair flowing down her shoulders.

You order a Classic Milk tea from the nice blonde waitress, surprised by the presence of a boba tea shop in Cannibal Town.

After double-checking the menu, you're relieved that everything seems to be uh? Kosher? Vegetarian?

"This is my treat," you say to Lollipop as you pull out your notebook and start rifling through your collected notes.

She thanks you awkwardly, fidgeting with a strand of her green hair tucked behind her ear. "Why are you doing this?" she suddenly asks, catching you off guard.

"Why do want to know about a missing stripper?"

Setting your notes down, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself to share the truth, "I... I think I was killed by the demon who took Mari," you admit, the words heavy. "And it's not just Mari that's missing."

As you lay out some of the photos and information you've gathered, Lollipop's expression shifts from curiosity to concern. Her eye lingers on the picture of her friend Mari, and a tear escapes it, tracing a path down her cheek.

Without hesitation, you reach out and gently clutch her hand, offering what comfort you can in this troubling moment.

She squeezes your hand in return, and the two of you begin to talk. Lollipop shares stories about Mari, painting a vivid picture of her vibrant personality and the deep bond they shared.

You can only imagine how she feels.

You get a lot of good information and an alarming realization occurs Mari reminds you a lot of Jade in personality and the fact that they both danced at clubs strikes you as odd.

Was this a connection?

You'd need to find out more about where the other girls worked to be sure but its definitely something.

After the two of you finish you promise to keep in touch and grab your half drank tea and head back towards the hotel.

As the memories of the missing girls and the conversation about Mari linger in your mind, you become increasingly jumpy, opting to forgo your earbuds and stay alert as you make your way back to the hotel.

Despite the bustling streets, an unsettling feeling of being followed gnaws at you. Each time you glance back, you see nothing out of the ordinary, but the sensation persists.

Determined to shake off whoever may be tailing you, you quicken your pace, weaving through the crowded sidewalks.

Darting down a side street in an attempt to lose your pursuer, you break into a sprint.

However, just as you think you've escaped, a strong hand grabs hold of you, causing your heart to race with fear and adrenaline.

Instinctively, you pivot and hurl your entire drink at your assailant...

The plastic cup bounces off the ground and you swallow dryly at who you just threw tea on.

Alastor's expression is totally blank as boba pearls drip off his face and down his suit.

Great…

Chapter 39: Just a Drink

Chapter Text

You're not sure how long you stand there staring at each other—it may have been a few seconds or a few hours—but you crack first.

You slip on your sweetest smile, the type that makes your eyes crinkle at the corners, and start to formulate your apology.

But just as you're about to speak, a tapioca pearl plops onto the ground with a wet splat, and despite your best intentions, a tiny laugh escapes your lips.

That causes him to snap out of his apparent shock, and he co*cks his head to the side with a painful-sounding crack.

His smile curls way too tight, and you know you've messed up.

Panic sets in as you start backing up and stammering.

Your instincts tell you to run, "L-look, you're the one who snuck up o-on me! I-I was j-"

Alastor takes a deliberate step forward, and before you can react, he lunges forward and grabs you, pulling you tightly into his side.

His grip is unyielding, almost suffocating, as he holds you close against him.

An indescribable feeling takes hold of you as the world melts away into a swirl of inky blackness.

The familiar sights and sounds of the street vanish, replaced by a void that feels endless and oppressive.

Static crackles across your skin, each tiny spark sending a shiver down your spine and making your hair stand on end.

It feels like you're falling, the sensation of weightlessness causing your stomach to lurch and your head to spin.

Your senses are overwhelmed by the strange mix of sensations: the electric hum of static, the vertigo of falling, and the cold, clammy grip of fear.

The darkness is all-consuming, pressing in on you from all sides, and the only thing keeping you anchored is the firm grip of Alastor's arm around you.

Gradually, the inky blackness begins to recede, giving way to a more familiar setting but unfortunately the dizziness sets in and you lose consciousness.

You hear a hearty staticky laugh, and suddenly feel weightless like your floating.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself in an unfamiliar place. The red wallpaper is familiar, so you’re at the Hazbin Hotel, but the room is one you don’t recognize.

You're laid across a plush red couch, the fabric soft beneath you. The room is lavishly decorated with ornate furniture and dark, velvety drapes framing the windows.

A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow.

As you sit up, your gaze shifts to the walls adorned with shelves and vintage radio memorabilia: old microphones, framed advertisem*nts, and classic radio sets.

One corner of the room catches your attention; it’s like a slice of a swamp, complete with murky water, moss-covered trees, how odd.

This must be Alastor's room, you decide in that moment.

To have gotten here, he must have teleported you. You shiver at the memory of the phantom sensations, the feeling of falling through an inky void still fresh and unsettling.

You did not want to ever do that again.

Sitting up, you look directly in front of you, and your eyes widen. Alastor's shadow, elongated and flickering, is rifling through your bag and setting everything on the coffee table in front of you.

Notes, photos, and other pieces of evidence are spread out, each one carefully examined by his spectral hand.

Ugh, every part of that man is nosey.

"You're not sorting it right," you say, stumbling off the couch to crouch down beside the shadow.

Taking the papers from him, you begin sorting them by the order in which the victims went missing.

You feel a cold, staticky sensation as the shadow ruffles your hair gently before taking a seat beside you. With a quick wave, you swat the hand away and continue to sort everything correctly. As you work, you glance around the room for Alastor.

You notice several doors along the walls, each adorned with intricate carvings. One door, in particular, catches your eye; a soft light shines from underneath it, suggesting someone is inside.

"Where's Alastor?" you ask the shadow. It points toward the same door with a snicker. You stand and make your way over, hearing a faint humming coming from behind it. You have the good sense to knock.

You hear the sound of something opening and shutting, and then the door swings open. A wave of steam pours out, enveloping you in a warm, misty embrace.

You realize with a start that Alastor had been showering. Your cheeks warm as you recall that you had thrown tea at him.

Was he still mad?

Alastor towers above you, dressed in a pair of black pants and a cream colored dress shirt, the top few buttons left undone.

His hair appears darker and is still wet, sticking to his head in clumpy waves.

Droplets of water glisten on his skin, catching the light and making his complexion seem almost luminescent.

For a moment, you find yourself staring, caught off guard by the sight of him in this more relaxed state. There's a magnetic quality to him, a strange allure that you can't quite put your finger on.

Wait... He looks more human like this.

"Darling, don't you know it's rude to stare?" he says, his voice positively dripping with smugness.

You wince, in embarrassment.

Your posture tenses immediately at his comment, and you quickly fix your expression.

"Sorry, I just wanted to apologize about the tea."

His ears flatten against his head at that reminder, his eyes narrowing slightly in irritation. Without a word, he walks past you, a snap of his fingers echoing in the air.

Suddenly, a garment bag drops into your hands. You fumble slightly before realizing what it is—his suit, the one now stained with your drink.

You glance down at the bag, then back at him. He wants you to take it to the cleaners.

It seems like a reasonable request, given the circ*mstances. "I can do that," you say, nodding as you accept the task.

You were getting off easy.

Alastor doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moves over to the coffee table where your notes and pictures are spread out. He picks up one of the photos, studying it intently with one hand on his hip.

"You've been busy, it seems," he remarks, his tone neutral but with an edge of curiosity. His eyes flicker over the various documents, taking in the details with an analytical gaze.

You step closer, feeling a bit of the initial tension ease. "Yes, these are girls that have disappeared from the city over the last year not sure if they are connected to that monstrous demon or not," you admit.

"I wanted to ask you about the dates of the Loan Shark gangs attacks, I think there might be a pattern connecting these disappearances, but I need more information to be certain."

Alastor raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "A pattern, you say? Fascinating."

He sets the photo back down and turns to face you fully. "And what, pray tell, have you discovered so far?"

You were going over this a bit sooner than you would have liked but you would roll with it.

Taking a seat on the couch, you set his dry cleaning across the back and pull the coffee table closer, spreading out all the notes and photos you've gathered.

Alastor's shadow retreats behind him, melding back into the dim lighting of the room. You begin to explain, showing him each document, including the ones from earlier and the possible connection to Jade.

As you delve into your findings, Alastor's piercing gaze never wavers. He occasionally asks questions, probing for details and clarifications.

You answer them as best you can, your passion driving you despite your amateur status. You weren’t a detective, but you were determined to uncover the truth.

“Here,” you say, pointing to a map dotted with red circles. “These are the locations where the girls disappeared.”

Several of the girls disappeared near the entertainment district you realize.

Alastor strums his fingers thoughtfully across the arm of the chair. "I'll ascertain the movements of the Sharks from the past year," he says.

"It might take a couple of weeks, though."

You nod in agreement. "In the meantime, I'll try to talk to some more of the victims' friends or families to see if I can't find anything out. There might be patterns in their personal lives that I haven’t considered yet."

Alastor leans back, steepling his fingers. "Darling, I must say I'm impressed with your work thus far."

You try not to preen at the compliment, but you'd be lying if you said that it didn't make you feel a touch pleased.

He continues, "But,"—wait, why was there a but?—"I do think it might be a bit difficult for you to be snooping around that area considering recent events."

Oh with Valentino.

Alastor was right but he didn't get to tell you that.

"You're not my boss outside of my working hours," you assert. Alastor's grin tightens at that, his ears twitching, but he remains calm.

He chuckles lightly, "Cher, I wasn't trying to stop you, I was going to suggest I join you!"

You pale at the suggestion. "Uh, no offense, but I don't think people will be willing to talk to The Radio Demon."

The man has a reputation.

With a snap, he materializes a glass of some kind of amber-colored liquid and swirls it around. "Who said they have to be willing?"

Its too early to be drinking.

You shake your head. "Do you really think intimidating innocent people is an effective way to get information?"

He takes a sip, and you can smell the strong liquor from where you sit.

"Darling, have you forgotten where we are? This is Hell. There aren't any innocent people here." He pauses for a moment and gives you a look. "Not many, at least."

You let out a deep sigh and lean back on the couch next to him. "I get that you don't think the hotel can work, but do you really think everyone down here is unworthy of basic decency? I know I haven't been here all that long, but I've seen a lot of good here."

Alastor takes another sip of his drink, his gaze thoughtful, "Idealism in Hell is a dangerous game, cher. But if you're determined to play it, who am I to stop you? Just don't expect everyone to play by your rules."

He pauses "And I suppose I can accompany you more discreetly if you insist on doing things the hard way with your interrogations."

You glance over at him, feeling a mixture of frustration and reluctant appreciation. You were spending way too much time with him, honestly. You needed The Oasis to open back up so you could get some space.

If you kept this up, you'd grow complacent and fall into one of his traps. You can't trust this man, regardless of how charming he can be.

His motivations were always shrouded in layers of deception, and even now, you couldn’t be entirely sure what his true intentions were.

You feel your smile falter a bit as you stare down at the notes, reminding yourself of the stakes. You needed to work with him to help these girls—to help Jade. There was no other option, no matter how wary you felt.

Alastor seems to pick up on your shifting mood, and with a flick of his wrist, smooth jazz starts playing softly in the background. The music is strangely soothing.

"Darling, why don't you stay a bit?" Alastor suggests smoothly, materializing a second glass filled with the same amber liquid.

"Have a drink?"

This was weird, you were just sitting here with a freshly showered Alastor, his shirt was unbuttoned at the top revealing smooth tanned skin underneath.

Was this a challenge some kind of test or were you over thinking things?

This man wanted your eternal soul.

So you snatch the drink and down it in one swift motion, feeling the fiery warmth of the liquid coursing down your throat. It burns, but in a strangely enjoyable way.

"Thanks for the drink, but I've got things to do," you say briskly, masking any uncertainty with determination as you rise from your seat.

Alastor watches you his expression unreadable.

You ignore it, hoisting the bag over your shoulder with a sense of purpose and scoop up his dry cleaning.

The man tilts his head towards you as you're walking away, "Don't be a stranger, darling," he calls after you, his voice carrying a hint of amusem*nt.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

He could be so insufferable sometimes.

As his door clicks shut behind you, the music coming from his room grows louder, the smooth jazz enveloping you in its soothing melody.

It's almost as if the music is following you, trailing after you like a lingering echo.

As you toss around in your bed, the discomfort of your horns pressing against the pillow making it difficult to find a comfortable position, you can't shake the nagging thoughts that linger from your encounter with Alastor.

He always manages to unsettle you somehow.

With a frustrated sigh, you shut your eyes and try to distract yourself by counting backwards from one hundred.

The monotonous task starts to lull you into a drowsy state, but somewhere around fifty-five, a sudden bang jolts you back to alertness.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Angel, who had been somewhat withdrawn since his return to the hotel. Concern gnaws at you as you quickly throw off the covers and head down the hall toward the source of the sound.

This time you don't knock and open his door wide, and you find Angel emptying drawers out he throws a package of white powder onto the ground.

"I'm sick of this sh*t, Andi," he says, his voice strained with frustration.

"Help me get rid of it."

Your initial shock gives way to concern as you nod quickly in response. "What do you want me to do?"

Angel rummages through his closet, pulling out another baggie filled with the same substance. "Flush it. I-I, uh, don't think I can," he admits, his voice faltering.

Meeting his gaze, you recognize the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, you step forward and take the bag from him, making your way to the bathroom.

The two of you spend the next half hour going through his various stashes.

As the last of the drugs is flushed away, a sense of accomplishment washes over both of you.

This was a significant step for Angel, a choice he was making to turn his life around, and you couldn't help but feel proud of him.

You assist him in tidying up his room, organizing the remaining belongings and making the space livable again.

Angel collapses onto the floor, exhaustion evident in every line of his body, but there's a lightness to his demeanor that wasn't there before.

He leans his head against the edge of his bed and laughs, the sound carrying a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Just flushed several hundreds of dollars down the drain," he remarks, his voice tinged with irony.

You join him on the floor, taking a seat beside him. "Money well wasted," you reply with a smile.

"I'm feeling f*cking awful, c-could you stay here for a bit."

Angel's voice carries a hint of vulnerability, a rare moment of honesty that tugs at your heartstrings. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of his struggles pressing down on him.

That dreamy feeling washes over you again and you let it take hold.

Adjusting next to him you let yourself start singing a gentle tune.

Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end
Sun digs its heels to taunt you
But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same
Rises the moon

He sighs beside you relaxing his head against the back of the bed and closes his eyes.

Oh-oh, close your weary eyes
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To darken fading summer skies
Breathe, breathe, breathe

Days pull you down just like a sinking ship
Floating is getting harder
But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile
Rises the moon

Angel tilts over gently his shoulder leaning into yours, he's falling asleep you realize.

Days pull you up just like a daffodil
Uprooted from its garden
They'll tell you what you owe, but know even so
Rises the moon

You'll be visited by sleep
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To steal away each dream you keep
Breathe, breathe, breathe...

Chapter 40

Chapter Text

Taking a pause due to health concerns! Hopefully I can get it sorted.

Chapter 41: Perfect Gift

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, you throw yourself into your research, talking to over a dozen friends and family members of the missing victims.

People were simply surprised someone cared and were honestly willing to talk for the most part.

One correlation becomes glaringly apparent: all the missing girls were involved in the adult entertainment industry in some capacity.

Some worked in p*rnography, others were exotic dancers, and a few were sex workers.

There were also those who worked in adult stores or related establishments. While several of them had ties to the Vees, not all of them did, so that didn't seem to be the primary factor.

Meanwhile, Alastor was able to gather information about all the recent upturns caused by the Loan Sharks.

Out of the thirty-six victims, only five appeared to not have disappeared during a Shark upheaval.

These five were also the only ones who didn't meet the criteria of working in the adult entertainment business.

You set those photos aside, they were likely unrelated.

The connection between the victims' professions and their disappearances was becoming increasingly clear, raising even more questions about the nature of their abductions and the motives behind them.

There seemed to be no other real connections the ages and appearances of the girls were all varied.

Several of the victims' loved ones had been near the individuals when they were taken and recalled a putrid smell or seeing a shadowy figure, but not much else.

These witnesses experienced memory loss similar to your own, with gaps in their recollections that made piecing together the events difficult.

No blood or traces of the victims were found at the scenes of their disappearances, which only added to the mystery. Only one body had been discovered, and it belonged to a lover of one of the missing dancers.

She was found with her stomach slashed open—an eerie parallel to what had happened to you. It was clear that she had gotten in the way and was disposed of by the perpetrator.

Alastor had gone with you when you went to talk to all the loved ones of the missing victims, but he kept out of sight, lurking in the shadows or whatever it was that man did.

Small blessings, you thought.

His presence was unnerving enough without him actively participating in the conversations.

This investigation had turned out to be a lot bigger than either you or Alastor had initially expected. Though he wouldn’t outright admit it, you noticed his subtle tells—the way his eyes narrowed, his claws sharpened, and his voice became tinged with a bit more static.

These were clear signs that he was taking this threat very seriously.

Whoever this demon was, they were not to be trifled with.

Alastor had shared with you the peculiar behavior of the gang involved. The Loan Sharks were divided across the city, each faction operating in different territories. They came together only when creating havoc, making them exceptionally difficult to track.

"Why would a gang operate separately most of the time?" you asked, puzzled.

"Honestly, darling, I haven't the foggiest," Alastor replied with a shrug. "But it’s what makes them so elusive."

"None of them seem to know who their leader is. They receive their orders and payments through intermediaries. It's a well-organized operation, designed to keep the higher-ups hidden from view."

This was exhausting work, but you were driven.

Alastor still teased and heckled you, his sharp wit and playful jabs a constant presence.

He insisted the research be conducted in his room, to which you promptly said, "Nope!"

You both met in the middle and decided to keep it all in his office.

Whenever you were poring over notes, Alastor would hover nearby, occasionally leaning in to make some snide little comment like, "Darling, if you frown any harder, you'll get wrinkles," or your personal favorite "You know, cher, you might want to try using that pretty little head of yours for more than just holding up your horns."

You'd slip on a sweet smile and fire back, of course.

"Oh, Alastor," you'd begin, feigning innocence, "it's so nice of you to give advice on wrinkles. Is that how you manage to hide all of yours? You do have a face meant for radio, after all!"

He really hated that one the look on his face had been priceless.

The way his nose scrunched and his ears slicked back was kinda cute...

Teasing him about his appearance was always a surefire way to get under his skin.

His smile would tighten just a bit, his eyes narrowing with that familiar spark of annoyance. He would even huff a bit, like an irritated cat.

Your comments must have really gotten to him because you noticed he'd acquired a few new suits recently, each more immaculate than the last.

He was a bit vain you guessed?

He’d fuss over them, straightening his tie or smoothing down his lapels, and you’d suppress a smirk every time you caught him doing it.

The Oasis opened back up as well, and it was nice getting out of the hotel more regularly again. The familiar buzz of activity and the company of friends provided a welcome break from the relentless investigation.

You kept up your deal with Alastor, doing one radio show with him every weekend. The broadcasts had become a strange routine, filled with the usual banter and occasional barbs, but it was almost... fun?

Angel was having his ups and downs after getting off of drugs. The first week after the incident, he stayed out of work entirely, needing time to adjust and recover. By the second week, he was back, though with a noticeable change in his demeanor. He was quieter, more reflective, and there were dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights.

You and Husk made it a point to keep him company during these tough times. Late at night, the three of you would gather in the common room, playing cards or watching old movies.

The familiar, comforting activities helped Angel feel more at ease. You’d laugh over Husk’s grumbling complaints about losing at a game, or Angel’s dramatic reenactments of stories, his natural flair for performance shining through even in his struggles.

Sometimes, you’d catch Angel staring off into space, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. During these moments, you’d give him a reassuring smile or a light nudge, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. It was a slow process, but Angel was resilient.

However, whatever was happening at work was not helping him in the slightest. He often came back looking a bit roughed up, his clothes disheveled.

He'd laugh it off, making some joke about his "rough clientele" or "overzealous fans," but you could see the toll it was taking on him.

What could you possibly do?

Christmas was coming up rather quickly, and Charlie had insisted on exchanging gifts. You all drew names from a hat, hoping for someone easy. Because the universe hated you, you drew Alastor, of course.

Finding a gift for the enigmatic Radio Demon seemed an impossible task. You had no idea what to get the man, so you were currently wandering aimlessly around an antique shop of sorts in the shopping district.

Something modern he'd not like as he made a point in not keeping up with technology very well.

The shop was a cluttered maze of curiosities, each shelf and corner crammed with items from another era. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and dust, and soft classical music played from an old gramophone in the corner. The dim lighting gave the place a cozy, if somewhat eerie, atmosphere.

You drifted past rows of vintage radios, ornate lamps, and faded photographs. An old phonograph caught your eye, its brass horn gleaming dully under the weak light. Alastor did love his old-timey music, but you doubted he needed another phonograph. Besides, it was too obvious.

As you continued to browse, you considered what you knew about Alastor.

He valued power, control, and appearances. He had a fondness for the macabre, a taste for the dramatic, and a deep love for the bygone era he hailed from.

He also loved music and cooking.

Your eyes fell on a shelf of vintage pocket watches. They were intricately designed, with ornate patterns etched into the metal cases.

You picked one up, its weight reassuring in your hand. As you opened it, the delicate hands ticked away, and you wondered if this might be something Alastor would appreciate. It was elegant, timeless, and had a touch of old-world charm.

Still, you hesitated. You sighed, placing the watch back on the shelf. The task seemed insurmountable, but you were determined to find something that would suit him perfectly.

As you wandered deeper into the shop, your gaze landed on a faded green book wedged into a shelf. Intrigued, you carefully pulled it out and flipped through its pages. The book's cover was worn and the pages had yellowed with age, but it was still in remarkably good condition.

The title, "Creole Delights: Authentic Recipes from the Heart of New Orleans," caught your attention. As you skimmed through the pages, you realized it was a cookbook with a Cajun theme, filled with recipes for gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish étouffée, and more.

The rich aromas of the dishes seemed to waft off the pages, painting a vivid picture of Southern comfort food.

You paused at the publishing information, noting that it had been published and written by local chefs in New Orleans in 1928.

This book was nearly a century old and had likely seen many kitchens and many meals.

It was a piece of history, much like Alastor himself and being from his hometown and roughly the same time frame it just seemed appropriate.

So you head towards the counter and purchase the book, feeling a sense of anticipation building.

The toad-like demon running the store barely spares you a second glance, but that doesn't dampen your excitement. You always took pride in your gift-giving skills in life and enjoyed the process of selecting and giving thoughtful presents.

This was no exception.

With the paper bag securely in hand, you practically skip out of the store, feeling a lightness in your step. The streets of the shopping district buzzed with the usual Hellish activity, but you were in your own little world.

Arriving at The Oasis, you slipped backstage, carefully stashing the gift in a corner where it would be safe until you could wrap it properly.

The backstage area was bustling with the usual pre-show activity: Vlad huffing and reviewing the set, Clara smiling and calming him down and Jester tuning an instrument in the corner.

You headed to the bathroom to freshen up, taking a moment to fix your hair and makeup. The mirror reflected your determined expression, a contrast to the playful glint in your eyes.

The show goes pretty well and you have a blast, peering out in the audience your a bit relieved to not see any familiar faces. Alastor had made it a habit of attending from time to time now along with Husk and Angel.

Alastor would sit quietly in the back, his presence a dark silhouette against the dim lighting. His crimson eyes would scan the room, observing everything with an unsettling calm.

The entire crowd gave him a wide berth, no one daring to get too close. His reputation preceded him, and even in a place like The Oasis, people knew better than to provoke him.

Billie, the club owner, didn't seem to appreciate Alastor's presence, but who was going to tell the Radio Demon to leave?

He wasn’t being disruptive, at least, just his usual menacing self.

Sometimes a break from the hotel was needed though so you were grateful for some alone time.

Slipping down after the show, you make your way to the bar and order a drink from Billie. He nods in recognition, already reaching for your preferred drink without needing to ask. Taking the glass, you find a quiet corner to sip your drink in peace.

As you relax, your mind drifts from the lively atmosphere of the club to the upcoming holiday festivities at the hotel. Charlie had been buzzing with excitement, eager to make New Year's Eve a memorable event for everyone at the Hazbin Hotel. But beneath her cheerful facade, you could sense her growing unease.

You couldn't blame her. The looming threat of the next extermination weighed heavily on all of you. It was only three months away, and you, Angel, and Sir Pentious hadn't exactly made progress.

Despite your best efforts, you hadn't made much progress in redeeming yourself since your arrival in Hell.

You had hoped that helping Charlie with the hotel and following her program would just do it but nothing had happened. Those lingering doubts at the fairness of heaven weighed on you as well.

After all you had been drug to hell why did you have to earn redemption? Had you even been fairly judged? If heaven took sport in murdering people in hell did you even want to be apart of that?

Was your grandma in heaven ? What did she think of the extermination?

What could he possibly want now?

"I've had worse," you quip, tapping your glass rhythmically. "What can I do for the two of you tonight?"

You keep your tone casual, but inside, you're already bracing yourself for whatever nosy questions he's about to throw your way. It's best to stay on your toes with Viktor.

He pales slightly at your nonchalant response, but his chuckle betrays his attempt at composure. You catch the faint buzzing sound of someone talking to him through his earpiece.

"We missed you the other night," he says, and you can't help but roll your eyes internally. He's referring to the night with Valentino, undoubtedly.

"I had places to be," you reply curtly, not bothering to elaborate. There's no need to give him any more information than necessary.

He nods and hums, his eyes lingering on the necklace around your neck with a predatory gleam.

"Doll, are you in debt to the Radio Demon?" he probes before you can speak. "If you're in some kind of trouble with that old hack, we'd be happy to help you out of the deal. That coward ain't sh*t compared to my boss."

Something about the way he talks about Alastor pisses you off.

"I'm deal-free and intend to keep it that way," you assert firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument. "Also, I prefer not to think about that man any more than I have to."

The buzzing in his earpiece increases, and you can tell whoever is on the other end is amused by your response.

You need to get out of here, away from his invasive questions and his condescending attitude.

As you stand to leave, he surprises you by gripping your hand tightly, preventing your escape. "Stay a bit," he insists, his grip firm and unyielding.

You shoot him a glare, not appreciating the physical contact or his persistence. "I'm not too sure why you're here again," you retort. "I thought you said a deal like this only knocks once last time?"

The man co*cks his head, his expression unreadable, "Dollface, you're a special case," he murmurs.

"This guy bothering you Andi?" Billie says voice deep and stern from the other side of the counter, he eyes the man and doesn’t look impressed.

Viktor immediately releases his grip and you yank back your hand.

"Nope, he was just leaving."

Viktor blinks and you hear a buzz but he stands and starts to take his leave, "See you soon doll."

Instinctively you grip your necklace and run your fingers over the warm scarlett gemstone.

It brings you some comfort, oddly enough.

Viktor didn't scare you...

Chapter 42: Unexpected Gifts

Chapter Text

You never could sleep in on Christmas mornings when you were alive, and you supposed Hell was no exception. So, you pull yourself out of bed, feeling a mix of nostalgia and anticipation as you dress for the day.

Flipping through your closet, your eyes land on the red sweater dress you purchased last week.

It fits loosely in some places but snug in others, hugging your curves just right. The rich, vibrant red seemed perfect for the holiday, festive and warm.

The dress has a soft, plush texture, with a high neckline that gives it a touch of elegance. You put on your necklace and give yourself a fishtail braid.

The hotel is quiet as you make your way downstairs, the early morning stillness only adding to the magic of Christmas Day. A smile spreads across your face as you take in the sight of the glistening Christmas tree in the living room.

It's a tall, grand tree, adorned with vintage ornaments and strings of popcorn and cranberries, giving it a charming, old-fashioned feel.

The twinkling lights cast a warm glow, reflecting off the tinsel and creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

The entire hotel has been decorated with a nostalgic, old-fashioned Christmas theme. Garlands of evergreen boughs, dotted with red berries and golden ribbons, drape elegantly over the banisters and doorways. Wreaths hang on each door, their rustic charm enhanced by pinecones and plaid bows.

Charlie really went all out for the holidays. You were truly lucky to end up here, in this little haven of warmth and festivity amidst the chaos of Hell.

Hell celebrated the holiday oddly enough. While the religious aspects were entirely ignored, the party and feasting parts were embraced with enthusiasm.

Demons of all sorts reveled in the opportunity to indulge, gathering for grand feasts, exchanging gifts, and throwing elaborate parties.

Quietly, you head over to the living room area of the lobby and flip on the old TV, hoping to find some Christmas movie or something to start the day on a cheerful note.

The TV is a vintage model, its wooden frame polished to a shine, and it crackles to life with a satisfying hum.

You settle down on the floor in front of it and scroll channels. Most of the channels are p*rn or hell produced shows but you manage to land on one playing earth classic movies swipe a pillow off the couch and get cozy as the early morning light slowly fills the room.

"Are you ready for the ultimate gamble? One week before the Extermination, join us at the Vee Tower for an event unlike any other."

"Welcome to the Soul Stakes Showdown! The high-stakes event where your soul is on the line."

"Do you have what it takes to win big? Test your luck and skill at our exclusive tables and games."

"The rewards are beyond your wildest dreams. Win riches, power, and influence... but beware, for the stakes have never been higher."

"Will you walk away a legend... or lose it all?"

"Only the bravest and the boldest will dare to play. Are you in?"

"The grand prize awaits. One night. One chance. The Soul Stakes Showdown at the Vee Tower."

"Mark your calendars: one week before the Extermination. Be there."

"Soul Stakes Showdown. Play for everything. Lose nothing."

"See you at the Vee Tower... if you dare."

A gambling event for souls?

Wait.... if you could lose your soul could someone also win it?

Could someone win their souls freedom?

An idea forms in the back of you head...

The movie resumes, and the soft murmur of people shuffling down the stairs pulls you from your musings. The familiar sound of Angel's footsteps grows closer.

"Good morning, toots," Angel says, his voice smooth and relaxed. He saunters over, exuding an air of casual confidence.

His tousled furry hair and sleepy eyes suggest he’s just woken up, yet he carries himself with an effortless charm. He drapes himself onto the couch behind you, sinking into the cushions with a lazy grin.

Slowly, everyone else makes their way downstairs as well. You smile to yourself, shaking off your previous thoughts. The room fills with the comforting sounds of friends waking up and greeting each other.

Alastor heads to the kitchen, and soon the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the entire room, mingling with the lingering scent of pine from the Christmas tree.

Charlie and the others engage in light-hearted chit-chat, their laughter and conversations adding to the festive atmosphere.

As you finish watching your Christmas movie, the anticipation for the gift exchange begins to build. You glance at the neatly wrapped gift you prepared for Alastor, your fingers fidgeting with the ribbon nervously on the brown paper package.

The man himself sits on the couch casually sipping his coffee legs crossed regally. Despite the holiday cheer, a small knot of anxiety forms in your stomach.

Before you can give it to him, Husk approaches you and thrusts an unwrapped box in your face.

You blink in surprise but take the box and mumble a few grateful words. “Uh, thanks, Husk.”

Opening the box, you’re met with several items made of light pink yarn.

A hat, a scarf, and mittens?

The hat is a bit oversized with a pom-pom on top, the scarf is long and plush, and the mittens look incredibly cozy. The craftsmanship is surprisingly delicate, each stitch uniform and neat.

Husk grumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “Read the card."

Pulling out a crinkled card, you read: To keep you warm during flying lessons.

You glance upwards quickly and he grins wryly, "I don't think I can watch you fall on your ass again, kid."

He flairs his wings behind himself, "I'll get you squared away."

He was going to give you flying lessons?

Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes and you wrap both your arms around him.

He accepts your hug for a moment and mumbles something about it not being a big deal.

Their truly were good people in hell you think with a smile.

Wrapping the fuzzy scarf around your neck, you take Alastor’s present and hold it out to him.

He sets his coffee down on the table, quirking an eyebrow as he accepts the package.

“A gift for me?” he asks incredulously, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Yup, I drew your name,” you reply with a smile.

He opens the package gently, his long fingers deftly unwrapping the paper. You watch as he takes the book from the box, his usual confident demeanor giving way to a flicker of surprise. His scarlet eyes widen, and for a moment, he seems genuinely taken aback.

The cookbook’s aged cover catches the light, and Alastor traces the embossed letters with a reverence you rarely see from him. He flips through the pages slowly, the faint scent of old paper wafting through the air.

His expression becomes unreadable, and you feel a pang of anxiety.

Did he not like it?

Without saying another word, he rises and heads toward the kitchen, the book clutched tightly in his hand.

Your heart drops, and you frown slightly. Did it offend him?

The rest of the morning goes by quickly as you try to distract yourself with other activities, but the nagging doubt lingers. Had you done something wrong? Alastor had been in the kitchen for several hours now, and you hadn’t heard a peep from him.

Quietly, you peek into the kitchen, swinging the door open just a hair. You see Alastor pulling something from the oven, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his strong, lean forearms.

His back is to you, and the item he pulls out is a circular pastry, shaped like a giant "O," golden-brown and glistening with a light glaze.

The smell is intoxicating, a blend of butter, sugar, and spices that make your mouth water. You lean in just a touch, and the door creaks, giving away your position.

Alastor's head snaps around, and you grimace, feeling like a kid caught sneaking a peek at presents.

"Darling, you can come in, you know," he says, a hint of amusem*nt in his voice.

You step into the kitchen, the warmth and fragrant aroma enveloping you. "Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Nonsense," he replies, setting the pastry down on a cooling rack. "You're never a disturbance cher." He says his eyes meeting yours, "Besides, I could use a second opinion."

You approach the counter, eyeing the pastry. "What is it?"

Alastor, without missing a beat, dips a spoon into a small bowl and practically shoves it into your mouth. The taste is sweet and slightly maple, creamy and rich. It's some kind of frosting, smooth and delightful on your tongue.

"That's the glaze," Alastor explains, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches your reaction.

"A little something extra I added to the Cajun Kringle recipe. Enhances the flavor, don't you think?"

You nod and smile, " A Cajun what now?"

He begins smearing the glaze over the pastry, "A Kringle darling."

You spy the cookbook open on the counter and read over the recipe. It has a note about the woman who sent it in—her name was Adélaïde Boudreaux.

There's a faded black-and-white picture of a woman with a radiant smile and kind dark eyes in a plaid dress.

The accompanying note mentions her as a beloved cook in her community, known for her sweet treats and warm hospitality.

It seems like the book was a collection of recipes from locals in New Orleans at the time.

Did this mean he liked the gift?

Glancing over, you see him watching you and freeze up, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

He chuckles lightly, the sound surprisingly gentle, and cuts a slice of the pastry, placing it on a small saucer. Handing it to you, he watches with a bemused smile as you take the plate.

You pick up the slice immediately, taking a bite, and nearly swoon. The pastry is perfectly baked, with a flaky, buttery crust and a rich, sweet filling that practically melts in your mouth. The icing adds a delightful touch of sweetness.

"How is it?" he asks casually, though his eyes are keenly observing your reaction.

"Delicious," you say between bites, wolfing down the warm treat with little shame. Each mouthful is a burst of flavor, and you can't help but savor every bit of it.

As you finish the last bite, his hand reaches out, and you go absolutely still as he gently wipes a touch of icing from your bottom lip with his thumb.

The gesture is unexpected and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine.

"There," he says softly, his thumb lingering just a moment before he pulls away.

"Can't have you looking a mess cher."

His posture stiffens suddenly and he pauses confusion written across his face.

Your heart races, and you swallow hard, unsure how to respond.

The kitchen feels suddenly smaller, the air thick with a tension you can't quite place.

He blinks and turns snapping the tension as he runs his hand over the picture in the book, "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. It was my mother's recipe."

Your eyes widen, and you nearly choke on the bite of pastry.

"She was so excited when she sent this recipe in and it got published," Alastor continues, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

"She never got a dime from it, but she bought up at least ten copies to share with the neighborhood."

You listen intently, struck by the personal revelation. The image of Alastor's mother, adds a layer of warmth to your understanding of him.

It's a side of him you rarely see—vulnerable and sentimental.

It was rather human...

He turns back to you, "Thank you for this gift. I'd forgotten this recipe completely."

"Of course."

The two of you bring out the Kringle and everyone has a slice.

A knock at the door interrupts your afternoon, and Charlie answer's it but calls for you.

Standing at the door is surprisingly Clara, accompanied by her blonde sister whom you remember meeting before.

"Merry Christmas, Andi!" Clara shouts cheerfully, handing you a long sleek black box.

You take the box from her hands, a curious smile on your face as you lift the lid.

Inside the box is something rather surprising, a sleek metal blade.

What?

The blade itself is a work of art, forged with evident skill and care. Its edge is keen, hinting at its sharpness with a subtle glint as you tilt it slightly.

The length of the blade stretches to match the span of your forearm, giving it an elegant and formidable appearance.

Your mouth gaps open and you stare blankly at the girls in front of you.

"It's an Angelic weapon." The blonde add with a smile pushing up her circular glasses.

Clara nods enthusiastically, "Mom wanted you to have it."

You stammer out a few grateful words and the two take their leave and your stuck holding a near sword.

What a Christmas.

Chapter 43: It Happened With A Bang

Chapter Text

The wind whips around your face, burning your skin with its icy touch.

Did you really have to start your flying lessons on such a miserably cold day?

It’s clearly winter in Hell.

Husk takes a swig from a dull metal flask, the smell of strong alcohol reaching you even through the biting wind.

You suppress a shiver as you look over the edge of the roof, your wings twitching with nervous anticipation.

The roof of the hotel stretches out below you, its sharp edges and jutting features suddenly looking much more intimidating. Was the roof really the best place to do this?

You've been practicing summoning your wings for the past few days from the comfort of your room, and you could do it now... well, most of the time.

It was like you had to hold on to a certain emotion, one you couldn't quite place. Once you took hold of it, you had to let it take over.

It felt like grasping onto a delicate thread—once you had it, you had it, but it could be hard to find.

Your black wings stretch out behind and you feel the wind flutter through your feathers it feels foreign but oddly right.

The morning sun glimmers across your wings, casting an iridescent shimmer that makes them look almost magical.

The chill in the air feels sharper up here, but the sight of your wings sparkling in the sunlight gives you a surge of determination.

"Alright, kid," Husk says, moving beside you.

"The key is to trust your wings. They know what to do, even if you don't. Just lean into it."

You stare at him blankly, your mind racing with doubts, but you try to trust him.

Letting the wind roll across your feathers, you feel a strange sense of connection to the currents and eddies of the air.

Husk stretches his own wings out, the large, dark appendages catching the light as they extend fully.

He crouches down, his muscles tensing in preparation. You mimic his position, adjusting your scarf a little more securely around your neck to keep the biting cold at bay.

"Just follow my lead," he says, giving you a reassuring nod. "On three. One... two... three!"

He springs into the air with a powerful push, wings flapping to gain altitude. You hesitate for just a heartbeat, then follow, your wings beating against the wind.

The roof drops away beneath you, and for a terrifying moment, you feel like you're falling. But then your wings catch the air, and you begin to glide off and over the roof.

"Keep your wings steady!" Husk shouts over the wind. "Feel the air under them! Let it lift you!"

You try to adjust, but the sensation of freefalling makes your heart race. Panic threatens to overtake you as you wobble unsteadily.

Every time you think you've got it, a gust of wind throws you off balance again.

Husk circles back towards you, his wings moving with practiced ease. "You're doing great! Now try banking left!"

Taking a deep breath, you shift your weight and angle your wings. The change in direction feels awkward and unsteady. And you find your self gliding well but your gliding straight into a tree.

Husk calls out to you but a gust of wind flings him up higher in the sky and away from you.

The branches snap and scrape against your skin as you crash into the tree. You flail, trying to regain control, but the dense tangle of limbs is unforgiving.

The sharp twigs and leaves scratch your face and arms, tearing at your clothes. The impact knocks the breath out of you, and you feel yourself getting tangled in the branches.

With a final, undignified thud, you come to a stop, wedged awkwardly between two thick branches.

Your wings are splayed out at odd angles, caught in the foliage. You try to move, but your limbs are tangled in the branches, pinning you in place.

“Dammit,” you mutter, wincing as a branch pokes you in the side and you close your eyes in a frustrated sigh.

Your upside down and try to wiggle free but are stuck tight. When you open your eyes, you're met with two red ones staring at you a few feet away but at eye level.

It's Alastor. He's seated comfortably on one of the hotel's many verandas, looking absolutely pleased as he sips his morning coffee from a pink mug that humorously says "Oh Deer" in curly, whimsical letters, accompanied by a cartoonish deer illustration.

His grin widens, and he tilts his head slightly, savoring the moment with a sip of coffee.

"Well, well, what a delightful spectacle to start the day!" he drawls, his voice dripping with amusem*nt.

"I must say, I've never seen anyone get quite so... entangled in nature before. Quite the unique landing technique."

You glare at him, still trying to maneuver your way out of the tree. "A little help would be nice, you know."

He chuckles, setting his mug down on a small, intricately carved table beside him.

"Oh, but darling, you're doing such a splendid job on your own. It's quite entertaining. And might I add, you look absolutely splendid in this position."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Hilarious," you mutter, feeling your face flush with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

You wiggle your arms, trying to gain some leverage, but the branches hold you firmly in place.

Your sweater is rolled up, revealing your freckled stomach, and you struggle to tuck it back into your pants.

You hate being vulnerable in front of Alastor. He's made you feel so off-kilter lately.

The way he effortlessly dances between unsettling and charming, between menace and playful banter—it's disorienting.

He's still a creepy bastard who wants your soul, but sometimes, just sometimes, he's bearable. And when he is, it's kind of scary.

Truly scary…

Because for a few moments, you find yourself actually enjoying his company. His wit and charm draw you in despite your better judgment.

His laughter, though tinged with a hint of mischief, is infectious. And sometimes, just sometimes, his smile feels genuine, not just like a mask he wears to keep everyone at bay.

It's annoying, exciting, and a problem.

Because he's an overlord, and you should not trust this man.

You have to remember that.

You can't give him an inch, or he'll take it all, and you have plans.

Big plans. You're going to catch your killer. You're going to help Angel out of his deal with Val.

Then, you're going to heaven because that's the thing you need to do. You can't just stay in hell, can you?

Can you?

Warm hands swipe across your stomach, and you're jolted to the present.

Alastor is perched on a nearby branch now, wielding a pair of comically large hedge clippers.

He's snipping branches willy-nilly, and you should be worried he'll cut you, but you're not.

You don't think he wants to hurt you at this point. Honestly, you're not sure what he wants exactly, but it's not your death most days.

His laughter echoes through the branches as he continues to prune the tree, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger of his actions.

"Just a bit more, darling," he calls out cheerfully, as if he's gardening rather than rescuing you from a tree.

You watch him for a moment, struck by the surrealness of the situation. Here you are, stuck in a tree with an unpredictable demon, and yet there's a strange sense of camaraderie between you.

It's moments like these that blur the lines between adversary and something, reminding you that in hell, alliances can be as transient as the shifting winds.

As he finally cuts away the last obstructing branch, he steps back to admire his handiwork, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"There, all clear," he declares with a flourish, as if he's just completed a grand performance.

You manage a half-smile, grateful to be free from the tree's clutches.

"Thanks, Alastor," you say, your voice tinged with a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty.

He hops down from the branch and lands gracefully on the ground, the oversized clippers dangling from his hand and he snaps them away with a poof.

"Anytime, dear," he replies casually, as if freeing people from trees is a regular pastime for him.

With a soft plot you glide down and join him safely on the ground.

You both stand there for a moment, the morning breeze rustling through the leaves, before he gestures towards the hotel.

"Shall we?" he asks, offering you his arm with a mockingly gallant gesture.

You hesitate for a brief second, then link your arm with his, knowing full well the dangers of trusting him.

But in this fleeting moment, as you walk back towards the hotel together, you find yourself oddly grateful for his unexpected assistance and the strange companionship that seems to be developing between you, against all odds.

"What is this, some weird friendship developing?" you muse silently to yourself, a mix of uncertainty and curiosity swirling in your mind.

Could you ever be friends with someone like Alastor?

Husk lands down beside you with a heavy thud, breaking the silence.

"Might take a few lessons, kid," he remarks, glancing at your linked arms with a raised eyebrow. His expression quickly shifts to one of concern or disapproval, and you suddenly feel a pang of shame for allowing yourself to get so comfortable with Alastor.

Without warning, you pull your arm free from Alastor's grip, your sudden action surprising even yourself.

Alastor gives you a quizzical look, his scarlet eyes narrowing slightly in confusion or curiosity, but you avoid his gaze, focusing instead on the ground as the three of you make your way back inside the hotel.

What were you doing Andi?

The anniversary of your grandmothers death is approaching and its wearing on you even here in hell. You'd think your own death would make the thought of death easier but it doesn't.

The loss of your grandmother was a pivotal moment in your life that changed you completely for better or worse.

A few days later…

Once again, the hotel buzzes with frenetic energy as Charlie orchestrates tonight's New Year's shindig.

Alastor surveys the bustling activity with a hint of amusem*nt flickering in his scarlet eyes.

He leans casually against a pillar, arms folded, exuding an air of nonchalance that belies his keen interest in the proceedings. Alastor decided to wear one of his newer suits tonight, it’s a deep burgundy with black accents. It suits him well he thinks.

The atmosphere is festive, with decorations adorning every corner of the lobby. Strings of twinkling lights dance above, casting a warm glow over the gathering crowd.

Just another desperate attempt to rally up souls he supposed.

He's not quire sure how the princess is affording it considering the current finances of the hotel but he isn't particularly worried as he was independently wealthy from his various business ventures.

The princess was financially independent from her parents for some reason and was rather dreadful at managing money.

Alastor had made a few cost cutting suggestions here and there but she took to money management like a cat to water.

There was really only so much he could do he was only a man.

You walk by and Alastor observes your New Years outfit. His scarlet gaze fixes on your shimmering metallic pink dress, the fabric catching the light in an iridescent display that accentuates every move you make.

Your hair, elegantly swept up in a bun, adds a touch of sophistication to your ensemble.

As you approach Husk, Alastor notes the easy camaraderie between the two of you. You're animatedly chatting, laughter dancing in the air around you like the festive decorations.

Husk, engrossed in polishing glasses, seems to be regaling you with some anecdote, punctuating his story with exaggerated gestures that make you chuckle.

Alastor's lips quirk slightly as he watches the interaction. He appreciates the way you carry yourself.

It's not just your attire that catches his attention but the effortless charm you exude, drawing others into your orbit with ease.

There's an undeniable appreciation in his scarlet eyes for the way you brighten up the room with your presence.

Did you realize the way people gravitated towards you?

His eyes narrow as he watches your little band come in, of course you had invited them tonight...

When Jester, the flower-peddling sop, approaches you eagerly, Alastor's amusem*nt fades slightly.

He watches as you greet Jester with a warm smile and a small hug, acknowledging his presence graciously.

The sight causes a faint curl of annoyance to twist Alastor's lips; he finds Jester's attempts at monopolizing your attention rather pathetic.

With a subtle shift, Alastor pushes off from his leaning position against the pillar and begins making his way toward the ballroom.

His interest in observing the scene wanes as he decides to immerse himself in the festivities instead.

Despite his initial intrigue in watching your interactions, the sight of Jester and your affable response seems to have soured his mood momentarily.

As Alastor glides through the crowd, his presence commands an aura of authority and curiosity. Attendees warily observe the Radio Demon, intrigued yet cautious. While he relishes the attention, it’s rather tiring, he thinks, as he slips on his signature smile and adopts an at-ease posture.

He flips through songs and settles on one of his favorite tunes, letting the sound fill the space around him and further assert his position. Glancing around, he takes note of the sinners in attendance, but none seem familiar. It's a pity Rosie couldn't attend tonight; her presence would have made things more bearable.

So, he spends his evening observing and making light conversation with a few notable demons and a couple of lesser overlords. The conversations are rather dull.

A female overlord—a blonde peaco*ck-like demon named something or other started with a J or H—keeps flirting shamelessly with him, throwing coy glances and pressing herself a touch too close. It’s a bother, really, but he doesn’t want to seem perturbed.

He only struck up the conversation because they held territory adjacent to his currently borrowed domain, hoping they might have some useful information.

Unfortunately, they turn out to be quite useless.

As midnight approaches, Alastor feels the urge to extricate himself from their company. The peaco*ck demon's advances grow more blatant, her laughter grating on his nerves.

He attempts to politely excuse himself and starts to head to the bar, but the annoying woman persists, wrapping her hand around his arm and pressing herself against him.

Utter revulsion rolls through Alastor.

Just who did she think she was, throwing herself at him and having the gall to touch him!

Static dances across his skin as his hackles begin to rise. He hadn’t intended to make a scene, but he feels his anger growing. As the woman caresses his shoulder, he suppresses a shudder of disgust.

Alastor loathes this kind of touch from people he doesn’t know. It feels like a violation, a wrongness.

The static builds, and nearby demons step back, feeling the force of his power. Yet the vermin clinging to him seems unaware of his growing discomfort and the danger she is in.

He forces a smile, the edges sharp and menacing, but the woman is oblivious. “Miss” he says, his voice cold and barely masking his irritation, “I must insist you remove your hand.”

She giggles, a sound that grates on his nerves, and tightens her grip. “Oh, come now, don’t be so cold. It’s a party! Let’s enjoy ourselves thoroughly.”

Who did this woman think she was dealing with?

A melodic voice cuts in, and a flash of pink enters his field of vision. You grab his other arm, and your touch feels like a balm against his skin, relaxing everywhere you touch.

“Sorry, Miss! But I need to borrow Alastor for a bit, for, umm… important hotel business!” you say, your tone sweet but firm.

The woman huffs and stomps her foot but releases her grip, muttering curses under her breath as you pull him away towards the outdoor gardens.

“You okay? It looked like you might tear her head off,” you whisper to him as the two of you head outside. Your speech is a bit slurred, and your hair is a bit messy, betraying the effects of the evening’s festivities.

You'd been enjoying yourself it seems.

Enjoying yourself without him he thinks.

Alastor lets you pull him along, his eyes adjusting to the dark night sky. Your shimmering dress catches the light from the pearly gates in the sky at odd angles, making you look nearly ethereal.

The tension rolls off of Alastor in waves, and he registers that you asked him a question. He takes a deep breath, the cool night air helping to clear his mind.

He's a bit out of sorts tonight—nearly broadcasting a guest at a party would have lost him some favor with Charlie.

Your intervention was rather timely, he supposes.

"Darling, I'm golden. What made you think otherwise?"

You give him a pointed look, your skepticism evident. “You were practically sparking, Alastor. And not in your usual charming way.”

Charming?

Did you find him charming?

He feels something akin to pride swell a bit inside him at the thought and his smile is suddenly less forced.

The alcohol has made you bold he wonders what else he can get you to admit tonight.

He laughs, “You’ve become quite perceptive. But truly, darling their is nothing to fret about.”

You roll your eyes, clearly not convinced. “You can drop the act sometimes you know. ”

Alastor freezes up a bit at that but keeps his smile neutral and stares down at your form, your deep blue eyes boring into his own.

He raises an eyebrow, his smile turning slightly sardonic. “Ah, so you want the exclusive behind-the-scenes tour? I'm flattered, really. But I assure you, the show is far more entertaining.”

You step closer, your breath warm against the cool night air. “Maybe. But sometimes, the backstage view is worth more than the performance.”

Alastor doesn't know what to say to that, an unusual situation for him, and you step back, tugging him gently forward. He lets you lead him, his curiosity piqued. You walk through the gardens where the firework show will start soon. Demons are gathered here and there, some chatting, others looking for the best spots to watch the display.

You appear your normal self but their seems to be an underlying tension in you demeanor that he hadn't noticed earlier in the night. Your shoulders are tense and your gaze a touch distant.

Something was a bit off about you.

Alastor thinks about pointing it out but decides not to no use in riling you up tonight.

His gaze flicking to your connected hands.

There's a strange sense of warmth and grounding in your touch its rather unsettling.

He thinks back to the gift you gave him just a few days earlier and the joy the recipe brought him and finds himself returning your hold gripping your hand firmly in his own.

But as you near the group, you spot the effeminate spider and the rest of your bandmates and release his hand to wave at them.

His hand feels colder after the fact oddly enough.

“C’mon, Andi, we’ve got a spot over here,” Angel Dust says, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the rest of the group."

For whatever reason, you glance back over towards him and motion for Alastor to join you as well.

He raises his eyebrow but chooses to follow, as you were the most entertaining individual here.

The others note his presence, and he watches the florist tense up a touch, which brings him a touch of satisfaction. He finds himself straightening his bow tie and standing a bit taller. He enjoyed looking down on the man.

Niffty scurries over, her one eye wide with excitement. “Hey everyone! Isn’t this just the best party ever?” she chirps, her energy infectious as she begins tidying up the already clean area around her.

Husk joins the group as well, his eyes narrowing slightly at Alastor. He takes a long swig from his flask before muttering, “Great, the whole gang’s here.”

Some upbeat tasteless pop song plays, and sinners start dancing under the light as the fireworks start.

The song must be one you recognize because you jump up and start dancing along with Angel.

God, what have you done?
You're a pink pony girl
And you dance at the club
Oh mama, I'm just having fun
On the stage in my heels
It's where I belong down at the

Alastor watches you with a mix of amusem*nt and curiosity. You seem to have dropped the tension he saw earlier and your carefree nature returns and it's a stark contrast to the controlled demeanor he usually exudes.

He finds it fascinating, and perhaps a little infectious.

Niffty twirls around with glee, her small frame moving swiftly through the crowd as she joins in the dancing. Husk grumbles but taps his foot to the rhythm, unable to resist the infectious beat entirely.

Alastor stays on the periphery, observing the joyous chaos. His usual sardonic smile softens just a touch as he watches you.

There's something about the way you throw yourself into the moment, unburdened by the usual weight of the world—or in this case, Hell that draws his attention. You always manage to keep him entertained after all.

Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club
I'm gonna keep on dancing down in
West Hollywood
I'm gonna keep on dancing at the
Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

A bell tolls as the fireworks pick up, casting bright lights in deep maroon sky. He glances out at the revelry before him and finds himself grinning at the chaotic collective.

This place did have its perks he supposed. It was often entertaining.

The tall man with bat wings whispers to the florist who looks over towards you frantically and starts to wobble towards you like newborn fawn on shaking legs.

Alastor’s amusem*nt quickly turns into a burning annoyance.

Husk, standing beside him, takes another swig from his flask and murmurs, "This should be interesting."

As the clock strikes twelve, Jester stumbles toward you. He stammers out a few words that Alastor can’t hear over the noise of the celebration, and then, in one swift motion, he ducks down and presses his lips to yours.

Alastor freezes, his smile dropping entirely. The scene unfolds so quickly that it takes him a moment to register what has happened.

But when he does, an indescribable feeling overtakes him—an ache, a stab directly into his very being. It is a sensation he cannot comprehend, let alone control.

Why did it feel so uncomfortable? So unpleasant...

You were being kissed by the man, and Alastor has never seen something more wrong in his life.

A primal urge to tear Jester apart, to make him double dead, rises within him. His respect for Rosie is his only restraint.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

The florist pulls away, and you look shocked, your eyes blown wide as you take a step back.

For some reason you start crying and that Alastor simply will not stand for.

Alastor finds himself walking over before he can stop himself and steps in-between the two of you.

Jester stammers an apology, his face turning red with embarrassment. “I—I thought... I’m sorry, Andi, I just...”

You hiccup, between sobs "I-It's ok I j-ust uh... umm it's just a hard day for me and this w-as so surprising an-"

Alastor looms over the florist.

Jester’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back, sensing the danger. “I... I didn’t mean any harm...”

Alastor’s smile returns, but it’s a sharp, predatory grin. “Meaning no harm and causing it are two very different things. Perhaps next time you should consider the consequences before acting like a bumbling fool.”

He takes another step closer, forcing Jester to retreat further. “And if you ever overstep your bounds again, you’ll wish you’d never looked in her direction.” Alastor whispers the last part and takes pleasure in the way the man trembles at his words as he disappears into the crowd.

You mumble out some excuses and apologizes and run back towards the hotel.

Alastor watches you go, his expression unreadable. The predatory aura around him slowly dissipates, replaced once more by his usual facade of calm amusem*nt. Though he feels anything but in this current moment.

He straightens his bow tie with a flick of his fingers and glances around at the remaining revelers, his scarlet eyes catching the flickering light of distant fireworks.

The spider takes off in your direction and Alastor decides to give you your space. He hardly thinks himself capable of offering you any comfort right now in his current state.

His shadow tugs at his consciousness urging him to follow you but he simply can't and he lets it split apart from him to observe you.

While he melts into the shadows and heads off into night, broadcasting some useless scum will lighten his mood and settle his racing thoughts.

Chapter 44: Not Just a River in Egypt

Chapter Text

You wake up around three a.m. with a terrible taste in your mouth, the remnants of the night's revelry and stress mingling unpleasantly on your tongue.

Groaning, you force your groggy mind to rouse itself, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and planting your feet on the cold floor.

The dim light from the hallway seeps under the door, casting a faint glow across the room. Stumbling towards the bathroom, you flick on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness.

The mirror reflects a weary face, hair tousled and eyes bleary. You grab your toothbrush and squeeze out a dollop of toothpaste, the minty scent already making you feel a bit more human. As you brush your teeth, you let your mind wander. New Years is the anniversary of your Grandmothers death and you'd been a mess all day.

Angel stayed with you for a couple of hours until you fell asleep but you sadly woke back up.

Memories of your life play back against your will.

Why are your lips so chapped, and why does this dress feel so itchy on your skin? The wool is too scratchy, the collar too tight, and the dark color too stifling. Speaking of your skin, you wish you could crawl out of it today. Everything about this situation is wrong. She can't be gone...

This cannot be real. Your grandmother, Maeve Lynch, was an indomitable force—nothing could stop her. Especially not some illness you couldn't even see.

Yet here you are at her funeral, in a dress you want to rip off your body, and everyone is looking at you with pity.

You can hardly stand it. The pastor is saying something up front, something that should bring you comfort but doesn't. Nothing does, and nothing will. How are you supposed to exist in a world where you don't get to hear her laugh or eat her spaghetti casserole?

The memory of her laugh, a deep, hearty sound that could fill a room, echoes painfully in your mind. You remember her hands, always warm and comforting, whether they were knitting you a sweater or holding yours during a storm. Her presence was a constant, a pillar of strength that seemed unshakeable.

How are you supposed to walk back into that house on the edge of the forest and be okay? The house will feel empty without her bustling around, making tea, tending to her garden, or telling you stories about her younger days. The old rocking chair by the window, where she used to sit and read, will be just a piece of furniture now, devoid of her warmth.

You glance around at the mourners. Some faces are familiar, family and friends who knew and loved Maeve. Others are strangers, probably acquaintances who were touched by her kindness in passing. All of them share that same look of sorrow, but none of them can understand the gaping void her absence has left in your heart.

Your lips feel like sandpaper, cracked from the cold and from the tears you’ve shed. The dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, every movement reminding you of your discomfort. You want to scream, to rip it off, to run away from all these pitying eyes.

Returning to school is difficult. The bustling city, the crowded classrooms, and the endless assignments feel overwhelming. But you push through, finding strength in the memory of your grandmother’s unwavering support. You throw yourself into your studies, determined to make her proud.

Liam ends things with you and you don't batt an eyelash, you knew it was coming who'd want to be with you in this state.

Not long after you talk it starts raining and you rush to hide under an awning under a window. Another girl one with long colorful braids joins you and you make room for her.

She cracks a joke and you laugh for the first time in several months. She offers you an earbud and you listen to some indie band you've never heard of and you swear you see color for the first time.

In one of your darkest moments you met your best friend and your dreams were reignited.

Grandma would have loved her...

Jade started the second phase of your life.

After brushing your teeth, you wash your face, the cold water refreshing against your skin. You sigh, leaning over the sink for a moment, letting the memories and the alcohol-induced haze settle.

You’re okay... you tell yourself, though you don’t entirely believe it.

The memories and the alcohol made you feel raw and emotional tonight. Then Jester had kissed you and that had totally surprised you.

It wasn't that you hated it or him, but it had all been too much, and in the moment you had been overwhelmed. Jester was sweet and cute... But did you feel that way about him? Honestly, you'd never really thought about it.

Jade said you were a bit oblivious when it came to things like that. You just got so caught up in things that you tended to miss emotional stuff.

You glance at yourself in the mirror, your eyes still a bit puffy from the night’s events.

Did you even want to date in hell?

The thought brings a bitter chuckle to your lips. It’s not like you had a grand plan for your love life here.

Most days, it’s about surviving, not falling in love.

Relationships seemed so... trivial compared to everything else you were dealing with.

Yet, the loneliness is undeniable. The longing for connection, for someone to share the burden with, even in this damned place.

You'd been in a bit of a dry spell romantically before you died.

Jester is kind and attentive. He’s made you laugh more than once, his earnest attempts to cheer you up bringing a rare smile to your face. But tonight... tonight felt different.

His kiss had caught you off guard, thrown you into a whirlpool of emotions you weren’t ready to face.

Could you see yourself with Jester?

You shake your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts. Dating in hell seemed like a bad idea. Too complicated, too risky.

But at the same time, wasn’t everything here complicated and risky?

Was it so wrong to want a piece of normalcy, a semblance of what life used to be?

You pad back into your bed and flop over on your back.

As you lie in bed, familiar red eyes slip into your mind, and you blanch a bit at the thought. The way Alastor had stepped in tonight between you and Jester had been intense, almost possessive ?

You hadn't heard what he said, but the fear in Jester's eyes spoke volumes.

What had Alastor been doing?

Why did he react so strongly?

You replay the scene in your mind: Jester’s awkward approach, his stammered words, and then the kiss that left you stunned and overwhelmed.

And then Alastor, appearing like a shadow, his presence dominating the space, his words low and menacing, scaring off Jester with a few whispered threats.

Your heart pounds as you recall the look in Alastor’s eyes. It was more than just anger or annoyance; there was something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place.

You turn over in bed, trying to push the thoughts away. What had you done to deserve his attention? Why did he want your soul so much? That was it, right? He just wanted your soul…

You pull one of your spare pillows over your face and scream into it, the muffled sound a small relief from the swirling confusion in your mind. Your heart races, and you try to gather your thoughts.

Suddenly, your radio clicks on, and you go still as you drag the pillow off your face. Static fills the room, followed by a familiar, sinister chuckle. Sitting in the corner is a dark, familiar mass with gleaming red eyes, fiddling with your radio.

You throw your pillow at him, and it simply goes through his incorporeal form. He co*cks his head, his grin widening in amusem*nt as he finds the perfect radio station.

"Does Alastor know you are here?" you ask, your voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

He nods and then, to your horror, melts into the floor, only to reappear at the edge of your bed, his form looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Do you not have any sense of decency? This is a lady's bedroom. Did your mother not raise you right?" you snap, trying to assert some control over the situation.

For a moment, he looks struck by your words, glancing towards the door as if considering leaving.

But then he smirks, deciding he was, in fact, not raised right, and starts rifling through your nightstand with gleeful abandon.

He finds your notebook with your various game plans and goals, flipping through it with an almost childlike curiosity.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he murmurs quietly his voice so alike and yet different than Alastors own, skimming through your meticulous notes and sketches.

You jump up, trying to snatch the notebook back, but he holds it higher, just out of your reach, a grin stretching across his face.

“Please, give me my notebook back? I’ve had a really long night,” you say, your voice strained with frustration and fatigue.

He glances down at you, and for a brief moment, something resembling pity flickers in his eyes. With a sigh, he sets the notebook back down on your nightstand.

“Still planning on going to heaven?” he asks, pointing to one of your unchecked boxes on your list.

"T-that was unintentional..."

The shadow lets out a contemplative hum. "But is it unwanted?" His question hangs in the air, probing and insistent.

You sigh, feeling exasperated. "Is that really any of your business...?" You pause, your voice softer. "Honestly, I don't even know. I never thought of him that way."

The shadow’s eyes glint with something akin to amusem*nt. "For good reason, I'm sure you could do so much better."

You cross your arms and give him a look, a mix of frustration and defiance. "And what makes you the expert on my life choices?"

"Darling, I simply recognize your inherent value!" he retorts smoothly.

"And that timid sop would never truly appreciate or understand you. He'd never know how to handle a wily woman such as yourself." The shadow trills happily.

For some reason, you find what he's saying absolutely hilarious. The absurdity of this situation—a small piece of Alastor in your bedroom, rifling through your things in the middle of the night and giving you relationship advice—is too much.

You burst into laughter, not just a little chuckle, but a full-on fit.

You even snort once or twice, tears of a different variety streaming down your face as you try to compose yourself.

The shadow watches you curiously, its red eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Oh, have I said something amusing?" it asks, tilting its head slightly.

You finally manage to catch your breath, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. "It's just... this whole situation," you say, still giggling. "It's so ridiculous."

The shadow's grin widens, and it settles down a bit, leaning closer as if sharing in your amusem*nt. "Well, I do aim to please," it says with a playful lilt. "Though I must admit, I didn't expect this reaction. Your always surprising us darling. Laughter suits you."

You shake your head, still smiling. "I guess it does," you say, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks for that, I suppose."

The shadow dips its head in a mock bow and you roll your eyes.

You settle back down in your bed, "Can you be a gentlemen and let me sleep now."

He taps his chin with a shadowy claw, "I suppose it's what mother would have me do." He whispers as he seeps into the floor boards and you close your eyes and try to salvage some sleep. You'll have to face your problems again when morning comes around.

You'd need to talk to Jester...

You drift off, hoping for some clarity to come with the dawn.

Alastor paces the city, his mind buzzing with the adrenaline from two successful broadcasts last night. It had settled him a bit, but there was still a lingering sense of unease gnawing at him.

The loathsome sinners he'd dealt with, particularly the member of the Loan Shark gang, had provided a tasty tidbit of information.

Apparently, the Vees had withdrawn their financial support from the gang. That might create some opportunities if he played his cards right. Financial desperation often led to mistakes, and mistakes were where Alastor thrived.

He swings his cane with a jaunty rhythm as he walks aimlessly through Pentagram City, his thoughts a mix of plans and schemes.

The city is alive with its usual chaos—demons shouting deals, sinners getting into scuffles, the general cacophony of the damned this early morning.

Before long, he finds himself in a familiar area. He'd wandered into Cannibal Town damningly enough, he spies white bricked store front an feels his teeth grit.

That pathetic florists shop…

"Al? Whatcha doing in town so early?" Rosie says stretching her arms up freshly dressed for the day.

He looks down and straightens his bow tie, why was he here again?

She takes in his current state and takes his elbow gently, "Lets get you some coffee and breakfast. I don't want to say it but you look a bit messy right now. "

Alastor straightens his bow tie again, feeling a twinge of annoyance at Rosie's comment about his appearance. He takes a seat on the terrace, the morning light casting a crimson hue over the city.

A cup of coffee is quickly placed in front of him, and he takes a sip, feeling the warmth seep into his bones and settle his restless mind.

Rosie sits across from him, her eyes sharp and observant. "Want to talk about what happened?" she asks, her tone gentle but insistent.

Alastor takes another, longer gulp of coffee, buying himself a moment to think. "Rosie, whatever do you mean?" he replies, his voice smooth and measured, masking the turmoil within.

Her eyes narrow, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Alastor Louis Bourdreaux," she says, using his full name with a hint of sternness, "don't play games with me. You've got that look. The one you get when something's really bothering you."

Alastor's grip on his coffee cup tightens slightly. He had always prided himself on his composure, but Rosie had a way of seeing through his facade. He sighs, setting the cup down with a delicate clink.

"I do suppose I have been feeling a tab bit unsettled lately."

"Unsettled?" Rosie questions, raising an eyebrow as she sips her morning tea.

He stares at the woman in front of him and lets out a sigh, his usual smile faltering. "Yes, unsettled. It's not something I’m accustomed to feeling."

Rosie sets her teacup down gently. "Go on," she prompts, her voice calm and encouraging.

Alastor leans back in his chair, gazing out at the morning light in the crimson sky. "It's difficult to put into words, Rosie. There's a... restlessness within me, a disquiet that I can't seem to shake."

"Restlessness about what?" she asks, her eyes never leaving his face.

Alastor starts to try to explain the feeling and when it crops up he goes into what happened last night and different events the past few months. He talks about you and your persistence in resisting him and his deal.

She listens intently adding in questions here and there.

Her onyx eyes widen and she busys herself eating and sipping her tea.

"So, what do you think, Rosie dear?" Alastor inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of anticipation, his scarlet eyes searching her face for insight.

She set down her empty tea cup with a deliberate clink, her expression unreadable for a moment.

"I don't think you want to know what I think," she replied evenly, her tone betraying a hint of guardedness.

Alastor's head co*cked slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. He set his cup down with deliberate force, the sound echoing slightly louder than usual in the typically composed atmosphere of their conversations.

Across from him, Rosie tapped her clawed fingers against the metal table in a rhythmic beat.

"Fine, honestly Alastor," she began, clearing her throat before continuing, "I think... I honestly think your sweet on the girl."

"Sweet on her?" Alastor repeated, his voice carrying a hint of incredulity mixed with a touch of shock. "Rosie, you must be jesting. Me, sweet on someone? Preposterous."

"Just calling it as I see it Al, I'm just a surprised as you. Frankly I didn't think you capable of it." She says putting her chin in her palm and leaning forward.

Alastor just shakes his head and brings himself to his feet his hands not as steady as they should be.

Sweet on you.

The phrase rolls around in his head uncomfortably.

"Rosie, you know I cannot stand sweet things."

Rosie eyes him, warily "I'm aware."

He lets out a small laugh and fixes his suit, "Well I think I should be going, I do appreciate you listening to my dilemma."

His friend lets out a sigh, "I'm here if you need me Al."

He nods to his delusional friends and swings his cane back clacking it loudly against the sidewalk as he starts to make his way back to the hotel.

Sweet on you...

Really what was Rosie thinking.

Alastor wanted her sure but he wanted you for his own purposes.

He wanted you on his show, wanted your opinions, wanted your talents, wanted you presence, your attention. He found your appearance pleasing as well.

But that wasn't being sweet on someone that was different...

Being sweet on someone meant you wanted someone in a different kind of way. That he wanted you in a more intimate way.

Alastor had never wanted a person in that capacity. He bristles a bit at the idea the very notion.

That was weakness, his mother the strongest person he knew had that weakness and it had been her down fall.

She loved that despicable man his father with every fiber of her being and he had been a plague a disease on their family until his untimely demise at Alastors hands when he was a lad on the cusp of adulthood.

He'd never allowed himself that.

He couldn't he simply wouldn't.

No Rosie was mistaken... She had to be...

Alastor feels his shadow return to him and he feels it bristle at his current train of thought when it rejoins his being.

Alastor lets himself melt into the shadows and emerges inside the hotel. Inside of your room.

The radio he had gifted you softly played a jazzy tune from your desk. You lay sprawled on your bed, seemingly oblivious to the daylight that had already filled the room for hours.

Your breathing was soft, a small smile gracing your face as you slept peacefully.

A scowl threatened to form on Alastor's face, but then he noticed the necklace he had given you, snugly fastened around your neck.

Despite himself, he couldn't deny a twinge of something unfamiliar stirring within him.

Sweet on you...

The thought rippled through him, causing him to stiffen.

No, he wasn't sweet on you.

He merely desired your soul... You had proven to be his greatest challenger yet.

He imagined himself holding the golden chain of your soul, envisioning you signing 'Andromeda' across a contract.

The image should have brought him satisfaction, yet his smile strained.

No, this was about the deal, about winning it had to be.

If he succeeded, perhaps then he would finally understand these unsettling thoughts and feelings.

He'd win you fair and square all would be right again...

Once you were his he'd have some clarity.

He couldn’t like sweet things.

Chapter 45: Tough Conversations

Chapter Text

Chapter 46: Karaoke

Chapter Text

Alastor had been somewhat distant the past few weeks, a subtle shift in his demeanor that you couldn't quite pinpoint a reason for.

It gnawed at you as you worked through the hotel's newest redemption activity: "Roleplaying."

The activity was designed to help the residents engage in therapeutic exercises through immersive storytelling, but today's scenario was a bit... unusual.

"Would you like to buy some crack?" Angel Dust asked in a flat, unenthused voice, holding out a small bag filled with powdered sugar.

"No! Drugs are bad, and definitely not for me!" Sir Pentious chirped happily, his enthusiasm almost infectious. He actually seemed to be enjoying the roleplay, his dramatic flair fitting right in.

You suppressed a sigh. You loved Charlie, you really did, but her hellborn nature sometimes led to activities that felt a bit out of touch. This script was one of those moments. The scenario was supposed to simulate making positive choices, but it felt overly simplistic and disconnected from an actual humans plight.

You decide to put your own spin on the script, as Angel turns to you and gives you the same spiel.

"Maybe," you begin, your voice softer now. "I get why you'd offer. Sometimes it feels like drugs might be the only way out, the only way to numb the pain or forget your troubles."

Angel Dust blinks, clearly not expecting the deviation from the script. He hesitates, then shrugs, going along with it. "Yeah, but what if I don't have any other options?"

You take a deep breath, letting the gravity of the question sink in. "It's easy to think that, especially when things are at their worst. Drugs can provide an escape, a temporary relief. But I don't think it'll solve anything in the end."

"It's just so f*cking hard..." he nearly whispers, his voice barely audible over the silence.

Everyone is listening, but it feels like it's only the two of you. His usual bravado is stripped away, revealing a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache for him.

"I know, Angel," you say softly, leaning in a little closer to show your support. "It's a tough battle, but you're not alone in this. We're all here for you."

He looks down at his hands, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. "Sometimes it feels like it's too much, like I'm never gonna get out of this hole I dug myself into."

You reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm. "You've already taken the first steps, and that's something to be proud of. It won't be easy, but every day you're moving forward, even if it doesn't feel like it."

Angel's eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of gratitude and fear. "What if I can't do it? What if I mess up again?"

"Then we pick ourselves up and try again," you reply firmly. "Recovery isn't a straight path. It's full of ups and downs, but each setback is just a part of the journey. The important thing is that you keep trying."

A voice clearing breaks the two of you from the skit. You and Angel turn to see Charlie, who steps forward with a warm smile. She wraps Angel in a tight hug, and you watch as he relaxes into her embrace, his shoulders loosening and his expression softening.

"You did great, Angel," Charlie murmurs, her voice full of encouragement.

Angel clings to her for a moment before stepping back, visibly bolstered by her support.

You take a step back yourself and glance over at Alastor, who has been watching the scene unfold. His usual smirk is absent, replaced by a more contemplative expression though he still has a smile. You've never seen him without it.

For a moment, his eyes seem to reflect something almost human—a fleeting vulnerability that you rarely glimpse.

As the two of you make eye contact, Alastor stands and straightens his suit, his familiar grin returning to his face. "Quite the show, darling!" he exclaims, his voice dripping with his usual theatrical flair.

You can't help but notice the subtle tension in his demeanor, though. It's as if the momentary glimpse of vulnerability has left him unsettled.

"Gee thanks, Alastor."

Alastor grins at your sass. "Indeed. A commendable performance by all. It seems our little roleplay exercise turned out to be quite... revealing."

He departs soon after, leaving you to spend your afternoon helping Nifty clean. The small demon chatters away, her energy boundless as she flits from task to task, but your mind keeps drifting back to Alastor.

Why was Alastor acting differently?

The two of you were still working together and he was still a prick, but something had changed.

Afternoon gives way to evening, and as you finish tidying up the last of the common areas, a booming voice erupts into the lobby, shattering the relative calm.

"ANGEL, YOU BITCH, WHERE ARE YOU HIDING?" the loud Australian accent bellows, echoing off the walls.

A one-eyed woman with vibrant pink and blonde hair stands by the open door with her hands on her hips, exuding confidence and mischief. Her demeanor and punk rock attire give her an edgy, rebellious look.

Sir Pentious, standing by the bar, stutters something about "Ms. Bomb" with flushed cheeks.

He seems both intimidated and captivated by her presence.

You can't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight—Pentious, the ever-so-dignified serpent, reduced to a flustered mess.

That’s definitely a thing…

Angel Dust saunters down the stairs past you and embraces the woman in a tight hug. "Sugar tit*, it's nice to see ya!"

The two banter back and forth enthusiastically, their camaraderie evident in their playful insults and easy laughter. As you make your way downstairs, you can’t help but be drawn into their infectious energy.

Angel straightens up and turns to you with a broad grin. "Andi, this is Cherri Bomb. Cherri, meet Andi. She's kept me sane in this dump."

Cherri gives you a once-over, her gaze appraising and not entirely impressed. You keep your smile plastered on, refusing to let her attitude get to you.

"Let's blow this sh*t, Angie, and hit the clubs tonight!" she declares with a mischievous grin.

Angel looks excited, practically bouncing on his heels. "Hell yeah, I'm bored as f*ck!"

Sounds like they'll have quite the night, you muse.

You start to make your way over towards Pentious, who is still stuttering and blushing in Cherri's direction, but a hand grabs your arm and turns you around.

"Andi, why don't you come with us tonight?" Angel suggests, his tone surprisingly sincere. "Ya look like you could use it."

You glance out over the empty room, feeling a sudden surge of spontaneity. "Why not?" you reply with a shrug.

"If she's coming, she needs to change," Cherri says, eyeing your cozy sweatpants and oversized hoodie with a raised eyebrow.

You straighten your back, a bit defensive. Today was supposed to be a home day, and there was no shame in dressing comfortably. "Give me 10," you say, bounding up the stairs with renewed energy.

Once in your room, you quickly sift through your closet, pulling out the blue satin dress you save for special occasions. The fabric feels cool and luxurious against your skin as you slip it on.

You let your hair down from its casual bun, teasing it slightly to give it some volume and a touch of glamour.

A quick swipe of lip gloss adds a subtle shine to your lips, and you complete the look with your trusty black jacket and boots.

You take a moment to check your reflection in the mirror. The transformation is striking. The blue satin dress hugs your curves in all the right places, and the black jacket adds a touch of edge to the ensemble.

Your teased hair frames your freckled face perfectly, and the lip gloss gives you just the right amount of polish.

Satisfied with your appearance, you head back downstairs. Cherri and Angel are waiting by the door, both looking you over with approving nods. "Now that's more like it," Cherri says with a smirk.

The three of you start to head out, the excitement of the night ahead buzzing around you.

Just as you’re about to step through the door, you feel a familiar tingle of static behind you.

Curiosity piqued, you turn to close the door and see Alastor standing at the top of the stairs, his crimson eyes watching you intently.

His usual smile is plastered on his face, but there's an intensity in his gaze that makes you pause. The dim light from the hallway casts an eerie glow around him, making his silhouette appear even more imposing.

You meet his gaze with a rebellious grin and slam the door shut as the three of you race out into the night, laughter trailing behind you.

Cherri calls Hell's equivalent of an Uber, a sleek black car with flames painted on the sides, and you all pile into the backseat. The driver, a grinning demon with multiple eyes, barely acknowledges you as he speeds off into the neon-lit streets.

The energy between Angel and Cherri is palpable, their excitement contagious. Angel's animated gestures and Cherri's enthusiastic chatter fill the car, and you feel yourself getting caught up in their infectious energy. The city’s nightscape flashes by, a blur of vibrant colors and roaring sounds.

“You ready to have some real fun?” Angel asks, winking at you as he nudges your shoulder.

“Absolutely,” you reply, your own excitement building. It’s been too long since you’ve had a night to let loose, to forget about the constant stress and danger that seem to shadow you.

The car comes to a halt in front of a towering club, its facade a dazzling array of lights and the bass from the music inside reverberating through the ground. The three of you step out, and you can already feel the thrum of the club's energy in the air.

You glance out at the skyline, noting the distance from the looming Vee tower, with ominous glow. Averting your eyes, you push memories to the back of your mind.

Tonight is about fun, not worrying about the past.

With a determined smile, you step into the club alongside Angel and Cherri. The atmosphere inside is electric, a pulsating energy that draws you in immediately. The bass of the music vibrates through your bones, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke and something sweetly intoxicating.

The club is packed with an eclectic mix of demons, each more bizarre and flamboyant than the last. Neon lights flash in time with the music, casting everything in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors. It's sensory overload in the best possible way.

As you make your way to the bar, you notice the bartenders juggling bottles and glasses with supernatural ease, concocting drinks that glow and smoke in a way that would be impossible in the mortal realm.

Cherri confidently elbows her way to the front, catching the attention of a bartender with a flick of her wrist.

"Three Hellfire shots!" she calls out, her voice cutting through the din.

The bartender nods and swiftly sets up three shot glasses. With a flourish, he pours a fiery red liquid into each one, the drinks igniting briefly with a blue flame before settling down.

"To a night of forgetting and having the best damn time!" Cherri declares, handing you and Angel your shots.

As you dance, you notice Cherri subtly slipping something into Angel's hand. He looks at it for a moment before popping a couple of pills into his mouth without hesitation. Your heart skips a beat as you realize what just happened.

sh*t... you think to yourself, a wave of concern washing over you.

You glance over at him and he looks a bit sheepish. "Ah, don't worry, this is light sh*t compared to what I normally would do. I only took two. Just to, ah, lighten the mood."

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the growing unease inside you.

Cherri offers you some too, waving a small bag in front of you. "Want a taste?"

You shake your head firmly. "No thanks, Cherri. I'm good."

She shrugs, slipping the bag back into her pocket. "Suit yourself, nerd."

You like Cherri, you really do, but pushing stuff on people isn't helpful, especially when Angel had been doing so well lately. You feel a pang of frustration and worry. You know Angel is an adult and can make his own choices, but you can't help but feel protective of him.

With a weary glance, you watch the two of them for a moment longer. Angel is laughing, his movements becoming more exaggerated, while Cherri cheers him on, feeding off his energy. You feel a knot in your stomach tighten.

Deciding it's best to give them some space and avoid getting pulled into anything you're uncomfortable with, you choose to slip off on your own. You weave through the crowd, the pulsing lights and pounding music a dizzying backdrop to your thoughts.

You find yourself slipping into a quieter part of the club, a cozy lounge area adorned with plush couches and low tables. The lighting here is softer, casting a warm, inviting glow. A few patrons are scattered around, chatting quietly or enjoying the ambiance.

As you settle onto a couch, you notice a small buffet table nearby, offering a variety of snacks. You grab a plate and fill it with a few treats, savoring the brief moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of the club.

The sound of a microphone being tapped catches your attention, and you look up to see a woman in drag stepping onto a small stage at the far end of the lounge. She has an air of confidence about her, and as she starts singing karaoke, her powerful voice fills the room.

You spy the sign-up sheet for singing and decide to give it a try, scribbling your name down after a couple of other demons.

Taking a seat back on the lounge, you relax and enjoy the performances.

A handsome waiter approaches your table, catching your eye. He has pinkish-red skin, black horns that curl gracefully, and an arrow-like tail that sways behind him. His eyes are a striking shade of gold, and he carries himself with an easy confidence.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, his voice smooth and pleasant.

"Sure," you say, flashing him a smile. "I'll have a gin and tonic, please."

"Coming right up, Beautiful." he replies with a wink, jotting down your order on a small notepad. His name tag reads Zip.

You flush a bit but shake it off.

As he walks away, you can't help but notice the way his tail swishes with each step. You assume he's a Hellborn, given his appearance, though you're not sure what kind.

Your drink arrives back along with some more flirting and soon its your turn on stage. The song is selected automatically for you and its Too Sweet by Hozier.

When you were alive, you almost saw Hozier in concert. You regretted missing the chance back then, but tonight, you were determined to do justice to his song. As "Too Sweet" by Hozier starts playing, you step onto the stage, feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness.

The spotlight casts a warm glow around you as you take a deep breath, centering yourself. The lyrics begin, and you let the music guide you, pouring your emotions into each word:

It can't be said I'm an early bird
It's ten o'clock before I say a word
Baby, I can never tell
How do you sleep so well?

Music really was an escape for you. As you take the stage, you allow the music to wash over you, feeling its rhythm and emotion. The song begins, and you close your eyes for a brief moment, letting the melody guide you.

As the lyrics flow from your lips, you feel a surge of energy, a connection to the music that resonates deeply within you.

You keep telling me to live right
To go to bed before the daylight
But then you wake up for the sunrise
You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

You hear some whistling from the crowd.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake?
Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?
If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great
But while in this world

I think I'll take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me

The remainder of the song flashes by in a blur, and you swiftly retrieve your jacket before returning to your seat. The audience erupts into applause and cheers, their enthusiasm filling the air around you.

Taking a seat the waiter brings you over another drink, "Courtesy of the gentleman in the VIP section." he says dully gesturing towards a red couch across the room.

You see a rectangular shape but can't really make the person out.

"Uh, thanks," you reply, your curiosity piqued.

The waiter nods solemnly, leaning in slightly. "Be careful, sweetheart," he advises quietly before departing, leaving you to contemplate the mysterious sender and their intentions from across the club.

You cautiously take a sip of the drink, despite your better judgment. It's surprisingly sweet, with a hint of expensive liquor. Not your usual choice, but hey, free is free, right?

As you contemplate the drink, a hand suddenly lands lightly on your shoulder, causing your wings to instinctively twitch. A peculiar sensation tingles across your skin, reminiscent of Alastor's presence but distinctly unfamiliar.

Turning to see who's touching you, you're met with a humanoid figure whose entire head is a flat-screen television. Bright blue eyes glow from the screen, giving him an otherworldly appearance that stands out even in the eclectic crowd of Hell. His body, however, is entirely normal, which adds to the surreal contrast.

"Hello, dollface. I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time," he says with a suave yet unsettling tone, his voice emitted clearly from speakers hidden somewhere in his body.

You literally have not idea who this man is...

The fact that he is part electronic is rather unfortunate you think.

"Hey," you reply confused.

He takes that as an invitation to join you and sits down right beside you he's practically touching you.

"Gotta say, hearing you live in person is a whole new experience." He holds out his arm, "Literal chills."

"Uh, thank you..."

"No, thanks necessary doll. The fact is your one of the best singers in this circle of hell."

He waves animatedly his pixelated face full of expression.

"I don't know about that but.."

He cuts you off, "No need to be modest with me. I know talent and you have it in spades."

All this flattering from a stranger is a bit unnerving and you shrink back in your seat.

He practically towers over you the light of his screen casting a bright glow in your face.

With a casual ease he throws his arm over the back of your seat and you feel a bit trapped.

His expression turns a bit more serious, "Too bad your talents being wasted by that Old Hack."

As something in the back of your mind screams a warning, the buzz from the drinks makes you not really care.

"Do you mean Alastor?" you ask, the words slipping out before you can think twice.

The screen on the man's head blinks and flares in brightness momentarily, but he quickly composes himself and straightens his bow tie.

The TV-man lets out a stream of expletives under his breath before nodding emphatically. "That old-timey motherf*cker is the worst!"

"Yeah, he's a huge prick," you reply with a wry grin, finding some camaraderie in this unexpected conversation.

The man's eyes lit up with agreement, and he launched into a tirade about how much Alastor sucked.

Despite feeling a pang of disagreement, your frustration with Alastor led you to nod along and let the man vent.

He seemed to need it and Alastor really could piss people off.

As he continued, ordering a few more drinks, you noticed the waiter eyeing him warily.

Who was this guy?