Challenge

When Alastor slept, he often slept deeply. Only for a few hours though.

He'd been an early-to-bed-early-to-rise sort of person for as long as he could remember. This was advantageous considering how early his radio show started. And then he added a new occupation alongside it all.

Books, music, food, the bustling streets of New Orleans, his radio show. All of it was very entertaining and he would never stop enjoying those activities. But that's all they were…Activites. Hobbies. So, he realized very quickly that simply doing something to pass the time just wasn't enough.

He wanted to be challenged, as well.

His radio show filled that void during his first year of doing it. He was raised to be a calm and respectful gentleman. Talking loudly and acting boisterously enthusiastic wasn't something that he was used to. Nor was it something that he realized he craved. When he saw an ad for the need of a radio show assistant, he was surprised out how quickly he jumped at the opportunity. He was equally surprised at how naturally it came to him.

What started off as assisting the already-existing host with the show, turned into him taking it over completely. And what fun it was! It took nothing for him to be able to control all of it. All he had to do was manipulate his voice, and then for the town to become putty in his hands.

He was social only when he wanted to be, but now even more so. People would pass by him on the streets and rave about his most recent show, vehemently saying that they couldn't wait for the next one. Radio, in that moment of time, had become one of his biggest passions. He couldn't put a price on the thrill of infamy and being able to manipulate the masses.

…Until that thrill wore off.

Don't get him wrong, he would always adore his radio show and he would never stop if it were up to him. He'd enjoyed practicing the inflections in his voice and the charisma in his tones. It took a year to perfect it all, due to their radio station not having that many listeners, resulting in infrequent schedules. Once Alastor took over, it only took a matter of weeks for people to start listening. Then, by half a year's time, the owners of the radio station gave him more and more slots on the schedule. By the end of the year, Alastor's radio show was the only one talked about in New Orleans.

But where was the challenge now?

The thrill was still…sort of there, he supposed. But now there was no spice to it, no zeal of accomplishment. He needed something else.

Due to the popularity of his radio shows, he'd often come home much later past his usual bedtime, having been spending more of his time at the radio station. He had nothing else to do, so why waste his time on sleep. His routine when he got home was always the same: He'd cook up some meat he'd gotten from his local butcher, read the paper as he ate, wash up, and then head to bed.

With the newspaper, he'd read the obituaries first. It was a close-knit town and he wanted to be updated on who all was no longer kicking. Then, he would read the front page, and then decide whether the rest of the pages were worth his time.

One night, he skipped the obituaries entirely to focus on the main article. Local murders and deaths weren't abnormal really, especially because Alastor knew just how incompetent their soft-hearted law enforcers were, but this particular murder caught his eye.

He'd always enjoyed reading these types of articles. It was like reading a thrilling adventure novel or a murder mystery, and he'd let himself get engrossed in the plot. He enjoyed this particular one even more so because it involved the butcher.

Alastor snorted as he read through it. The narrative solemnly talked about how the beloved local butcher, with the highest quality meats, met a tragic end at the hands of a woman who'd sloppily stabbed him multiple times, and who happily pleaded guilty.

Alastor laughed as he reread it, but clacked his tongue disapprovingly by the time he was done. That man had always been sleazy and had absolutely not class. The way Alastor saw it, he had it coming, and the world certainly wouldn't be at a loss. But what he thought was shoddy was the overall execution.

He laughed again, rolled his eyes, and put the newspaper in a trash bin. As he headed for bed, he couldn't help but continue to think about how clumsy it all seemed. Why, he could do a much better job if you asked him!

…And he decided to do so.

Just like how being a radio show host came naturally to him, so did being a murderer. He no longer spent long nights at the station. He would leave work just before dark, play with his latest victim, and go to bed at around midnight. Gone were the days where he'd go to bed at a reasonable time. And gone were the days where his hometown could sleep peacefully. There was now a serial killer on the loose.

Alastor had found his thrill once more.

Sleep seemed even more insignificant now. He'd go to bed late, and then wake up as early as usual to start his day all over again, eagerly anticipating the night. He'd never known a time where he'd slept in. And for a long time, he never knew of something that could thrill him or challenge him more than the art of killing.

Alastor shifted as he stirred awake. He could feel Hell's dim morning light against his eyelids. He huffed irritably through his nose.

He'd slept in.

How?

He didn't even know he was capable of that!

As he shifted, he was reminded that his arms were wrapped around something warm, to which he involuntarily tightened his hold on. No, not something. Someone.

As irritated as he was at waking up late, he couldn't help but press her back flush against his chest. Giving in to a lazy and content feeling that unexpectedly washed over him, he pressed his face into hair against her shoulder.

Despite her being born here, the scent of blood, decay, and chaos didn't cling to her like it did the rest of Hell. In fact, he smelled…nothing. She smelled like nothing. Not even a hint of fire or smoke, as he recalled from when she'd first spent the night in his bedroom. As odd as that was, he found it incredibly refreshing. He buried his face deeper.

He should be getting up. He should be encouraging Charlie to get up as well, so that they could both get to work and start their day. He should want to get up and do something to fill the usual pre-day boredom.

Aside from the fact that he was feeling far too lazy to move, he also didn't feel bored. He hadn't felt bored since meeting Charlie. Why was she the cause of all this? Why did the act of nuzzling her like a love-struck fool seem to fill whatever void he'd had? Why did he crave it? Would it last? He sighed tensely against her. Most of his usual thrills never did. Not unless there was a challenge alongside it, something to keep his attention.

But Charlie didn't challenge him…

…Did she?

He tilted his head, his cheek brushing the pillow. He couldn't recall ever feeling challenged by her. Thrilled, yes. But not challenged. Nevertheless! He was in love with Charlie and wanted nothing more than her company. Would these enamored feelings pass if he didn't find a challenge and soon?

As Charlie shifted and hummed contentedly…He desperately hoped not.

"I didn't mean to wake you, dearest," he murmured, loosening his grip so she could turn around in his arms. "I would suggest you should go back to sleep, but I'm afraid we've both slept in too long."

"Yeah," she grunted around a yawn. "We probably should," she sighed as she rubbed her bleary eyes with one hand and attempted to tame her messy hair with the other, all the while her smile a silent 'good morning'.

He leaned in, and smiled as well against her lips. He was getting better at initiating physical affections, if he did say so himself! Charlie always responded to his clumsy, hesitant efforts with an odd sort of calm enthusiasm that he absolutely welcomed and appreciated.

When they pulled back, Charlie broke down the plan for today. All renovations. The first one was simple, some minor changes to the living room.

A former yoga instructor had recently joined the Hotel, and she was more than happy to do classes and sessions with the other residents. Yoga had just started to become popular in the United States when Alastor was alive, so he had a rough idea of what was needed. He set up that area, conjuring a few supplies, while Charlie rearranged the movie area of the living room to accommodate more seating.

After that, they moved on to the dining hall.

"No longer satisfied with the common areas," Alastor asked curiously as he watched Charlie lean contemplatively against a wall. "I enjoy them. They have such a homely feel to them."

"Exactly," she nodded. "Whereas this-" She paused to gesture vaguely at the imposing table and ornate chairs. "-doesn't. We're running out of space in the common areas for when people eat. I want to make this one big common area. I want to make it feel welcoming."

Suddenly, she gave an awkward little giggle. "Wow, I feel stupid. I've been wondering for weeks now how to make this more welcoming. How can I transform it into something cozy like the common areas? And, well…I guess that's my answer. We'll get some couches, some comfy chairs, some low tables, and…yeah! I think that'll work!"

Alastor flexed and stretched his hands as he smirked mischievously at her. "Of course it will. Isn't that why you hired me? To bounce ideas off of someone? Thank goodness you asked me to help, my dear!"

Charlie snorted and rolled her eyes. "Right. I asked you to help. That's definitely what happened. You didn't barge in or anything callous like that."

He laughed, his smile growing. "Me? Callous? Perish the thought!" She laughed with him.

Once Alastor had made the table and chairs disappear, he conjured the furniture Charlie deemed appropriate and helped each other move things around.

"A plus that I just thought of," Charlie mused as they positioned another couch. She nodded to a set of doors. "The kitchen is right over there. Nobody'll have to walk as far anymore to get food."

She exhaled as she looked at the remaining furniture they needed to move, and then looked at the rest of the room. "I'm really happy we're doing this," she said as she went to retrieve a small end table. "I've never liked this room. I always felt stifled in here. Every time my parents would want us to eat in here, I would take my food someplace else to eat it. It's great turning it into something we'd actually want to use."

Alastor tilted his head, immediately interested. "You used to live here?"

"When my parents had many different homes," she answered. "There was a time where they liked bouncing between one ostentatious mansion to the next. They thought it made them feel important, or something arrogant like that. Now, they just stick to the one mansion, leaving the others to fall apart."

He didn't take his gaze off her as he said, "You've been talking about them more often."

Charlie didn't say anything for a few long moments. Then, she shrugged. "I guess."

Her tone was neutral, but not forced. She was simply focused on the task at hand, and currently considered her parents to be a fleeting thought. Alastor pursed his lips, thinking carefully before deciding to just ask what he wanted to. "Tell me about them."

Charlie stopped what she was doing altogether. He opened his mouth, ready to say that it also wasn't necessary for her to do so, but he stopped himself when she calmly sat down. She nodded once at him. Taking the silent invitation, he sat down next to her on the couch. He serenely placed his hands on his knee, patiently listening.

Charlie inhaled, then exhaled evenly. "I had a better understanding of my mom than with my dad. She was – I don't know – pretty overbearing, I guess. She was a woman who always thought she could bend the universe in her hand. Not because she was arrogant, but because she genuinely thought she could. And also because you couldn't tell her what to do. No one could, not even dad. Mom and I understood each other to some extent. She's really independent, and I think she might've sensed that I was…gonna be as well…From them, that is." She grimaced harshly. "Detached, I guess," she muttered.

She then shook her head and groaned bitterly. "And dad…God, we never saw eye to eye. Not once! Everything was his way or the highway…When mom wasn't the one in control, that is. The sad part? He never knew when he was being a jerk. He was arrogant and vain and he didn't care about others."

She sighed, something reluctant passing over her facial features. "But I also take after him the most. I got my mom's bit of independence, but my dad… He was really theatrical. He always liked to make a big scene, but only if he enjoyed himself in the process. Otherwise, he wouldn't even bother. He introduced me to all kinds of music and dance. And…"

She swallowed, a lump beginning to form in her throat. "And whenever I wanted to learn about something new, he'd immediately drop what he was doing to teach me…Um, while boasting about how good he was at whatever I needed help learning. But still. He even taught me angelic languages alongside the demonic ones. Mom's been a demon way longer than him, but even she never bothered teaching me her own language."

Charlie finally turned her attention off the wall to give Alastor a small smile. "What about you," she asked. "You said you knew French, right?"

"I did, yes," he nodded. "It came with my heritage, so to speak."

"I tried learning French," she said. "I can't get the whole 'feminine' and 'masculine' parts right, though."

He laughed. "Oh, I'm not surprised. Most consider it to be a convoluted language to begin with. I think that's why I enjoy it. The bewilderment on peoples' faces as they try to articulate it!"

Charlie leaned further against the seatback, chuckling with him. Then, she curled her knees to her chest. "I love them," she muttered. "I...I'm okay now, I think. And I know I don't need them. I don't know why I still love them, but…I do."

Not knowing what else to do or say, Alastor carefully extracted both of Charlie's hands – both of which had been grasping tensely against her pant leg – and he clasped his fingers over her skin, encouraging her to hold something else. And she did, instantly lacing her fingers through his.

After a few minutes of waiting for the somber silence to become more peaceful, Charlie calmly stood up, informing Alastor that the mudroom was next.

When they arrived there, with a click of his fingers, all of the mudroom's contents disappeared, save for all of the shelving. The solid walls and ceiling turned into clear glass. Charlie was envisioning this room to now be a greenhouse. Nothing was capable of growing in the grounds of Hell, so a greenhouse would be the next best thing.

Alastor highly doubted they would still be able to grow anything. Hell was a wasteland. Nothing was supposed grow or bloom here. He brought this up to Charlie, who half-agreed, but still wanted to try. He nodded, and before Charlie could stop him, had conjured some gardening supplies.

Seeing the oddly frozen expression on Charlie's face, an expression he couldn't make sense of, he slowly lowered his hand. "What is it," he asked. "Do we not have need for supplies right now?" He confusedly raised his fingers again, ready to snap them to make them disappear.

"No," Charlie shook her head. "I mean…Well…" With a slight huff, she rubbed one of her hands up and down her arm, both contemplatively and appearing troubled at the same time. "No," she shook her head again. "This is-This is fine. We needed the supplies for this, so...Yeah."

Alastor nearly frowned as he watched her hand on her arm. "There's still a problem, though."

"It wasn't a problem. I was just gonna suggest that I go…buy the supplies somewhere, but, um…" She suddenly showed him something he immediately despised. A forced-looking smile. "This is great actually," she said, and at least it was her voice that sounded genuine. "We'll definitely put all of it to good use. Thanks, Al."

Before she could walk past him to get a closer look at the supplies, he stopped her by placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Charlie," he said. "What's wrong?"

Her smile instantly faded, resigned. She frowned deeply. "It's nothing…necessarily bad, but I do need to address it. And I know I'm being vague, but…" She took his hands off her shoulders to hold them in her own. "I'll talk to you about soon. Actually, I need to talk about it with the other employees, as well. Please be patient, okay?" She gave an empty chuckle. "I've just never had to deal with something like this before."

He nodded respectfully, but wasn't quite satisfied. "Just…don't ever force yourself to smile like that again, please." He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, feeling it curve involuntarily upward as he did so. "It doesn't suit you, my dearest." He pulled back, happy to see a small but now genuine smile returning to her features.

She answered him by kissing him fully on the lips. Alastor hummed blissfully, prying his fingers off of hers to wrap around her waist. After many breathless seconds, they finally separated. They wanted to get a move on with the new greenhouse so that they could call it a day.

Charlie was surprised. Whenever they were moving the furniture in the living room and the dining hall – now dubbed the main common area – he used his magic to take care of most of it. Now, in the greenhouse, he was doing everything by hand. He prepped some soil by placing it in little pots, and then proceeded to organize them. He put some in direct light and some in the shadows. He had also varied the amount of soil each pot had, with some having a lot, and others a tiny amount.

"I…" Charlie began, making Alastor turn to look at her. "Well, I…didn't take you for a gardener."

He nodded once, and got back to work. "My mother taught me. She firmly believed that one should grow their own cooking ingredients."

Charlie tilted her head. "What about your parents?"

His movements froze, including the smile on his face. Slowly, his mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "What about them?"

"Can you…tell me about them?"

Alastor, who was always happy to have a conversation with Charlie, donned a smile that was hard, almost tense.

Charlie winced. "N-never mind," she said. "We don't have to talk about them if you don't want to."

He was about to shamefully stutter some form of prideful answer to that, until he finally looked at her. She had gone back to her part of the job, shifting the shelves around and organizing for a supply area. At the same time, she wasn't deliberately ignoring him, judging by the way she occasionally faced him. She had simply dropped the matter entirely. Without question, and without a second thought.

Without prying.

Without cornering him.

He stopped what he was doing and leaned back against the shelf behind him. "Mother was a wonderful person," he began, causing Charlie to stop. She silently set down the shelf panel and gave him her full attention. He swallowed harshly, audibly. He had to keep his tone neutral and stoic, lest he let his emotions overflow. "She was the kind of person everyone in the world wanted to be friends with. Caring, giving, self-sufficient, social, but none to be trifled with. There were those that would try to take advantage of her, and those same worthless individuals were quick to learn that she was by no means weak."

He paused. "I don't know which parent I take after. I can only hope it's her, though." He grimaced. "My father was something of an enigma. Mother never spoke in depth of him, and at first I thought it was due to some sort of resentment or bad experience. And perhaps it could've been, but she always spoke so calmly, as if he was never a big part of our lives to begin with. As if he never existed."

As he spoke, the shelf behind him creaked, his clenched fingers gauging into the wood. "Fathers were supposed to be the ones to teach their sons everything. That role fell to mother, and she didn't bat an eye."

He was staring at the ground by this point, with absolutely no expression on his face. He couldn't see Charlie, but he could hear her. And he could hear her walking closer, until her shoes came into view. The shelf protested louder as he clenched harder, with splinters stabbing painfully into his fingers and under his nails.

All at once, the tension released when Charlie's arms hesitantly wound themselves around his waist. And when she rested the side of her face on his chest, against his grotesque heart…

His fingers released the shelf and slid away to dangle at his sides. He said nothing, did nothing, didn't even breath. All he did was stand there, allowing Charlie to do what she thought was needed. What he needed.

"I can tell how much you loved her," she murmured against him. "You let me know if there's anything I can do…Okay?"

The damned lump in his throat that he'd been forcefully trying to swallow down finally faded. He could still feel its remnants, its pain, but he welcomed what Charlie was trying to do, he welcomed whatever magic she was using on him. Going over the words she'd just said, he could hear that she didn't have a solution, and that was fine. More than fine. More than he could ask for.

Rather weakly, he wound his arms around her. "This…This is enough, my dearest."

Charlie only nodded against his chest.

They stood there, silently, until evening shadows loomed around them. They were both tired, knowing that the need to rest was approaching, but they needed to finish the greenhouse, or at least get it ready to make it usable.

They eventually began making small talk. They talked more about the languages they knew, and they taught each other how to say a few sentences and words in them.

Charlie talked briefly about her life. She talked a little bit about her schooling and her rivalry there with another royal. He gave her an encouraging and proud smile when she hesitantly mentioned she'd gotten into a brawl with said rival. And on the day of their prom, no less!

Alastor talked about New Orleans, his radio show, eventually moving on to how macabre he made his life. He expected Charlie to be disgusted by how detailed his words had become, so he discreetly left out how he died. Yes, Charlie most certainly disapproved of his escapades, but she listened intently, asking questions here and there, never afraid to give her opinions.

Once again, her dislike for such a thing was very apparent, but she'd already known he was a serial killer long before he'd ever even met her. And she lived in Hell. She had such an upbeat and kind personality that Alastor often forgot that she herself was born in one of the most deplorable places. It made sense that she could run a redemption hotel. Only she could absorb the knowledge of anyone's sins and take it in stride.

"You know," she said, her questions getting bolder. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. So…What happened between you and Niffty and Husk? Why did you have to make deals with them?"

No one had ever asked him the details of any of his deals. They were always too afraid to delve into something like that. Hear no evil, see no evil, and all that. Demons often stayed out of the affairs of others, unless they had something to gain themselves. Charlie, however, had something that not a lot of demons had, and that was curiosity. Curiosity that was genuine, with no ulterior motives.

A wide smile spread across his face. He never even liked the thought of discussing his deals with others, as it was always a private matter for his "clients". With Charlie, though, he could definitely make an exception.

This would be a first for him.

His heart thudded a little in his chest. A familiar feeling of thrill of doing something he's never done before.

It was definitely safe and delightful to say that Charlie did challenge him.