Me and Miss Spider

by wantedthehighway

A mysterious entity with a god complex lures a lonely little boy in New Orleans into her web; Alastor's relationship with his mother is unlike what anyone had imagined; Charlie's philosophy is tested by her trying new client; the troupe tries not to be duped in a face-off between two con artists; and surprising family secrets come to light. (CW: abuse, racism/sexism)

12. The 'Grand Dame'

Note: Choosing the best way to cut back and forth between what the characters are doing is a PAIN. Hope I made it flow okay. Since the story was less developed before, I couldn't do much in previous present episodes besides character interactions, but now the lore picks up.

[X]

[May 2020, Hell]

After Wednesday's blowout, Terri was reserved. Thursday morning, she feigned being engrossed by 2020 Earth news (highly rated reality TV in Hell) but bristled when Alastor passed. The deer demon's eyes flitted to the screen, but he briskly departed, unwilling to stay near Terri to enjoy the show. They'd have laughed at this together once.

The program activated one of Terri's sore spots. Charlie peered into the dayroom as Terri jealously clicked her heel like a woodpecker at clips of impassioned political supporters at a rally. "He has worshippers! It's not fair!" Changing stations didn't help. At a snarky 'motivational' poster in the background of a CHERUB commercial ("Surround yourself with people who will lift you up…so ditch your loser friends who you can't use! -God"), Terri lolled her head back in tired disgust. Click. She caught the end of a rainbow-tastic Happy Hotel ad, flew off the couch hand-flapping like an angry goose, and asked Charlie, "That's the logo?!"

"It's the…symbol of forgiveness? …You and Dad been talking?" the princess tried joking, but Terri wordlessly retreated, hopefully not off to angrily knit into her leg. Alastor, rising through a portal in the couch cushions with a bowl of popcorn, claimed Terri's spot to laugh at the Earthlings' failure circus. But Charlie interrupted his well-needed mood-booster to ask about Terri's 'worshippers' comment and inexplicable rainbow hatred.

"Her grandiose delusion is that she's some exiled goddess queen," Al explained, rolling his eyes. "It may be fabrication to impress prey, but certain things suggest it's a wholehearted fantasy." Alastor wrapped his thumb and forefinger around his collar. "That red silk ribbon she wears, for one," he noted of the accessory historically associated with executed royalty. "She so rabidly envies your Grandfather, she grows irate over any symbol related to Him and manufactured a silly knock-off Heaven to steal His children!" He manually drew data to play a laugh track through the prop cane's speaker, pretending he had the real one.

"That's rather sad," Charlie acknowledged. "We don't know how old she is, or how socially isolated she was even before...stuff. And she was food-insecure? All that could make someone foggy. Maybe we shouldn't laugh?" Alastor stubbornly played a louder laugh track. Charlie withheld her scolding; Terri had seriously hurt him. "If she believes it, claiming to be human was a lie?"

"Oh, yes. To be clear, I'm confident she was neither a human nor goddess, nor queen of anything."

In retrospect, Charlie had seen Terri facing windows, drumming fingers furiously against her thigh while glaring at Heaven's haloed sphere in the night sky, or the eyes in the atmosphere that monitored Heaven, Earth, and Hell. "Does she act like...they have history?" Even if not, it seemed real to Terri. Worth approaching in therapy.

"You think she was cursed after challenging God's authority, and that's why her theatrics are mostly constrained to her sad little den?"

"Not what I said."

"No. Seems a very one-sided contest she's in. You're overthinking, Princess. She's a complicated individual. It's sorely tempting to try decoding her." Fondness and longing tinged his voice. He erased it and advised abruptly, "But ultimately not worth your time. Now, why assist someone with no human soul to redeem?"

"Her goal isn't related to going to Heaven. I said I'd help because…I like to."

'Could Charlie help Mother?' child Alastor piped up, peeking out unwantedly from the deer demon's subconscious. 'Phht! Charlie can't help anyone! We're here to laugh about it, remember? You will be much happier once you stop believing in fairy tales,' Alastor preached at the child. "You can't possibly believe she'll respond to therapy," Al chuckled to Charlie, "but if you're eager to be made a fool of, do as you wish."

"Any tips on how to engage her, at least?"

Alastor shrugged. "She enjoys crafting." Then, as if unbothered, he laughed boisterously at the Earth news, and Charlie quietly excused herself. Al was acting more upbeat than usual but showing his face less, as if performing in short bursts and recharging… Well, surely having Terri around was exhausting for him, and Charlie didn't want to push his personal boundaries again too soon.

[X]

Vaggie's anxiety grew. She now knew enough to be more uneasy around the shady woman, but not enough to feel prepared. Seeing nothing to lose by acting as a double agent, she baited Alastor by sharing Terri's claims about him in the business office, while other tenants tepidly engaged in Charlie's art therapy in the dayroom.

Alastor laughed heartily at the 'he's not very self-aware' line and noted, "Mimzy would find that retelling…creative. It's Terese who has the habit of ruining others' endeavors. She's spoken about having a family that dissolved after some project went downhill, leaving her with none of the proceeds. It's clear who they blamed for the failure. Then she wormed her way into Mimzy's venture with Mother's Moonshine—"

"Mimzy's own? Terri said it was the family's."

"It belonged to her brother. The ownership…transferred to her."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, nothing interesting. Anyway, she was friendly with Miriam for years, and when we courted, Terese claimed she wanted it to become the family business. When Miriam inherited, her brother's suppliers wouldn't work with her. Way of the time. But her dear big sister figure, Terese, sold her a potent, cost-effective supply for pennies. Miriam profited greatly and achieved more local celebrity as a moonshiner than she had as a lounge singer. So, Terese decided little sister owed her something."

"…A family?"

"Correct. But Miriam wasn't interested in children—" He nodded in agreement. "—or marriage." His smile flickered at the edge. "Terese lost her temper, destroyed Mimzy's livelihood. Spoiled a barrel, sickened people, drew attention to the speakeasy. Got Miriam investigated, knowing she'd face charges as the distributer, but Terri couldn't be identified as manufacturer. Her still wasn't even on Earth. Disappointing. Perhaps we'd all have stayed friends otherwise…for a while, at least. She broke Mimzy's heart, I think. …We don't discuss it."

"Sorry to hear..." Even while wondering impatiently, 'And what did you do about it?' Vaggie felt too awkward to ask for the subsequent events, and Alastor didn't offer them.

"Mimzy would entirely corroborate this, of course. Not that I encourage raising it," Al added hastily. As Vaggie's good eye narrowed suspiciously: "Unless you'd enjoy watching two brutal madwomen spilling blood on the hotel upholstery, I wouldn't draw them to one another's attention."

"Could you give Charlie more details?"

"I've said the woman is a child killer. If Charlotte has no standards for her clientele, I can't do a thing."

"Why won't you give Charlie m—?" Vaggie specified, but Alastor had teleported away by the end of the sentence. (He'd nearly overshared and embarrassed himself, so left before he could word-vomit anything else.) 'Shit,' the moth thought, 'he's scared of Terri. I seriously messed up.'

Vaggie knew asking her girlfriend to turn away a patient might lead to an argument, but kept diligently at her requests that Charlie be more forceful, and shared Al's remarks that Terri seemed to be a black cloud over others' businesses. Still, as they ate lunch together at noon in the courtyard—a drab area Charlie hoped to rehaul—Charlie only half-listened, frowning at her phone, punching numbers into the calculator. What could be more thought-consuming than a child-killer in the house?! When Charlie did respond, it was with: "I still want to hear her out, unless she endangers us."

"If Alastor's intimidated enough to keep his gigantic, toothy mouth shut, I think endangerment is imminent. Just investigate? By now, she probably knows more about us! And I'd like to see—" Vaggie coughed while replacing 'you enforce' with "—her respect your requirements." Charlie sensed Vaggie's gear shift and dropped her eyes uncomfortably. The moth demon immediately softened and took her hand. "Oh, babe. I don't mean to be critical! I just get frustrated when people take advantage of the sweetest person in the universe," she assured, kissing her girlfriend's cheek.

Charlie seemed soothed, and mentally agreed obtaining more information was critical—particularly after what she'd learned earlier. Sitting in the same spot near the kitchen window a few hours ago, reviewing therapy notes, she'd overheard an exchange. As part of his unaffected front, Al had teased Terri for her clothes being 'too young,' and she'd replied, "Still a judgmental prude, I see. Not enough to persistently cock-block me when you were alive?"

"I'll always try to beat my record, although I suppose it'll be a challenge to outdo 90-some years."

"Mmn. Only a few decades, really," Terese had corrected casually.

Al, who'd been sipping coffee, choked and entered a surprised coughing jag before scolding, "Terese, the prisoners?"

"Grown adults, who were not complaining!" she'd retorted, oblivious that soliciting a prisoner is always sleazy.

Charlie—frozen with 'THE WHAT' meme face in full effect—couldn't focus on the rest of the bickering.

Present Charlie promised, "I'll find some way to get her to talk today. Promise."

[X]

Vaggie was correct. Terri had learned a lot.

The princess' relationship with her parents and reputation amongst her countrymen was public knowledge, and the hotel housed some revealing photos. Images of Charlie exchanging smiling death glares with family frenemies. An old prom photo with an ex who looked down his nose at her like she was vapid arm candy. The hotel's Grand Opening picture (taken by Nifty, judging by the upward-tilting angle) showed Vaggie looking chagrined and Alastor too amused by his own 'Hazbin' sign, while Charlie cut the ribbon, smiling fakely through the lack of respect by partners on either side. Portraits of Charlie with her parents, subjects' gazes all fixed on different points. Even a candid photo catching Lucifer face-palming in the background as his graduation-capped daughter stood with her psychology and social work degrees.

Unlocked attic storage offered childhood drawings, an excellent view into prey psyche. Crayon scribbles showed Charlie with her parents, who were both unusually tall, even for a child's drawing (Charlie rose to the height of a small dog, proportionally) and disregarding her. She'd also drawn the many eyes in the atmosphere. Their gazes all fell elsewhere. No eyes in the pictures looked at Charlie. Sometimes Charlie looked at the eyes, despite their disinterest. Showing young Charlie's perceptiveness, occasionally Lucifer looked at the eyes. As Terri skimmed a childhood diary, one entry in sloppy scrawl stood out. Charlie addressed her Grandfather: She thought He wanted to know everyone, so why didn't He reach out to her?

Voices in Terri's head simultaneously whispered, 'Perfect prey,' and, 'Surely she'll consider me an improvement. I'd make a fine Nanna.' But another disjointed part of Terri wanted to throw everything back in the box and slam it before— Ugh, too late, there it was: empathy. Yuck. Terese initiated a staring contest with the eyes through the attic window, but none fell on her either. They'd stopped acknowledging her ages ago. She sneered. Soooo preoccupied with watching, and unable to see valuable resources!

Terri scried and spied for other interesting finds. There was a ring hidden in a sock drawer. Not where one hid an engagement ring when confident, but a sad grave after a crushing failure. Maybe she wouldn't need to play nice with Vagatha for long? More importantly, she noticed the princess checking her bank account excessively, as if awaiting a late payment. Hmmn...

Terri had studied Alastor's daily routine before their confrontation and snooped while distracting him with dial spinning. The covered reflective surfaces hindered scrying— hilariously, he'd even Scotch taped his protective glass eye covers to reduce their sheen—but a sliver of shiny object beneath the bed was exposed. It was surrounded by layered chalk protections and yet, contrarily, hexes to foster…infatuation? Excessive guilt? Selective memory? Ooooh, drama! 'Tsk, tsk, Mr. Ethics!' Replenishing power was easier with more food available, so Terri freely data pulled, watching Alastor repurpose the box that once held her as a protective mechanism—for said object and voodoo dolls of the two servants, himself, and two others. Thursday, while Al and Charlie chatted in the dayroom, Terri invaded his hotel room. Her computer-like processing power and hands made for lock-picking easily defeated the barriers, and now she took a closer look.

Husker's doll was housed in a large bottle. Aha, the cat was hexed! Probably clever enough to worm his way out of service with counter-bargains unless Alastor kept his brain moving slow with alcohol. The Nifty doll seemed untouched, but the adult Alastor doll clued her in. Nifty's doll bore an incision mark in the upper chest region, and Alastor's a fine mark on the left palm. No wonder the red-headed elf was abnormally loyal! One doll she didn't recognize. No hexes, apparently just under protection. Data fishing revealed her name was Rosie, and…phhht, really?! He'd replaced Terri with the first other singing cannibal seamstress he met, when he'd likely criticize her for treating children interchangeably? Rich. Charlie had joined the elite group deserving protection. The beldam mentally eye rolled. She didn't intend any harm to precious Charlotte.

And Terri now saw the shiny object was…an urn? In Hell? Well, what else might Alastor's hired help have brought back when he retrieved the trunk? She bubbled over with laughter as she correctly inferred. Terri wondered if Al had put some of Miriam's ashes in his doll's palm with the Nifty doll's heart, or if he'd adopted a less direct route for a more complex game. Perhaps he fixated on her choosing him, not just trailing him under a spell? Terri understood that desire; it was why she didn't tamper with the adult Alastor doll now.

In the closet, she noticed, were dolls of other tenants, some victims of sabotaging spells, or strategically crossed against one another. He likely had no emotional attachment to this business succeeding. (Most of the misleading tale Terri had told Vaggie was projection.) Still, he'd want to stay in the princess's good graces for political leverage, so this seemed an odd choice. Huh.

Anyway. Alastor had marked up the urn to replace the chalk spells; she cleaned it all off. Terri left almost everything in the trunk for now, but disabled all but the first barrier; this would draw no suspicion of tampering but leave only weak protection. She took the Rosie doll, musing that she might make a special delivery. The voodoo collection set her up for an easy one-and-done strike that could lose him favor with his allies and employees quickly if he didn't cooperate when she pitched her idea. It still confused her, though, the nebulous purpose of those other dolls...

Eh. Wasn't a mystery that needed solved immediately. A more interesting one: why was a 'Mr. Roger's Neighborhood' tune playing in Hell?

[X]

That afternoon, the princess sat at the piano in her study, pondering how to engage Terri. That morning's art therapy was a failure with most tenants, but Charlie felt encouraged by Terri's explanation of her cute snow globe needlepoint: "There's a family in there with no desire for a large, elaborate world. Just a cozy home and each other."

Charlie felt emotionally invested in Terri. Although the woman had no literally redeemable soul and the hotel needed a success, she'd happily make a meaningful difference for anyone. Even one person would do… Preoccupied, Charlie played 'Mistake'—a song from 'Mr. Roger's Neighborhood' the mellow stuffed tiger sings about feeling like a screw-up. Few in the house would recognize it, letting her evade taunting. Mid-bar, Charlie realized maybe Terri would recognize songs from children's programming. Al had warned not to engage her in musical activity, but it might tempt the con woman into an appearance, she thought, smiling slyly. Musing on Terri's fury at her son's dubbing her a 'nothing' and her desire for worshippers or family, Charlie switched to 'It's You I Like.' Terri soon lurked quietly in the shadows, as her son sometimes did. Charlie baited her further by singing.

Seeing the intent, Terri baited back, morphing into a button-eyed Lilith and singing along as she sat near Charlie on the bench, to limited reaction. Would an Other Father get a stronger response? Halting the song a few notes early as fuzziness clouded her head, Charlie turned and flinched. "Wow. What a trick. You even got the voice right," she laughed uncomfortably, staring at Other Lucifer's glinting buttons. "That's, uh, terrifying." Her mouth flattened into a stern line. "And rude."

"Relax, dear, I'm only playing." As Terri transformed back, she wagged a finger and chided, "Doesn't feel good to be baited, does it? I see you play games as well."

"I've been forced through a lot of games in my day," Lucifer's daughter remarked with a wry grin. "You'll have to construct something sophisticated to beat me, Lady Elaine." She winked to clarify the teasing was gentle.

The doll-like entity chuckled at the wordplay, then probed, "Your parents are both musical. You must have played together a lot?"

"Not often, actually."

"I'd love to," Terri ventured. She played the counter melody in 'Mistake,' which Lady Aberlin sings back to the tiger about liking him as he is.

Charlie knew she was expected to play the first part of the duet and felt strangely pressured to, but resisted. "How do you know these songs?" She hoped to investigate the child-napping accusations.

Ugh, time to establish rapport and pretend to use the service. "Dolls sitting in living rooms. I noticed how convincing the acting was. Sounded so sincere, like he believed what he was saying. I almost believed him. So, I studied it, and it helped. They warmed up faster."

Charlie felt cold prickles down her spine. Terri finally admitted to stalking and luring children. Alastor boasted of his murders, but Terri spoke of it casually, like discussing the weather, like it was all she knew how to do. It made Charlie feel sort of sorry for her. "What if Mr. Rogers did believe what he was saying?"

"You believe in it?"

"Unconditional positive regard?"

"To be less technical...'true love,'" Terri added with air quotes, then formed a heart with her fingers.

"I do," Charlie said with conviction. "Maybe you think I'm childish, but I just like to stay positive."

"I'm starting to see that." Terri tapped out more 'It's You I Like' with one hand. "Your girlfriend and business partner worry too much," she said with subtle accusatory notes. "You're not easily influenced at all, are you? You must be a free thinker to develop your beliefs in this environment. I respect that."

"Glad someone does."

"This isn't your parents' cup of tea, hmmn? Does your Grandfather appear to have noticed?"

Charlie's face darkened. "Not at all."

"How strange. I'd expect Grandpa to like you. You're so like your cousin. Uncle? Whichever you'd call it. Nice boy, but not naïve, just patient, like you."

Terri suggested she'd had the gall to stalk JC? If true, it corroborated Al's theory that she'd existed for ages with meager personal development. Unsettling, since Charlie's belief that anyone was redeemable rested on the premise that they had an eternity to improve.

"What would you do if Grandpa reached out? You can't be happy with Him when He's waging war on you."

"I'd take it as opportunity to win Him over."

"Doesn't sound like someone easy to win over, or your country wouldn't be so overpopulated. Your heart's in the right place, but why tether your ideas about forgiveness and self-improvement specifically to Heaven?" Terri subtly played the piano riff to 'A Million Dreams.' "You love your country. Why send your people away?"

"They're miserable here. And without alignment with Heaven, the Exterminations won't end."

"Why not focus on making Hell less miserable the rest of the year?"

"Overpopulation is a big part of what makes it unpleasant."

"But things could be done. I think you'd be effective at improving welfare in this dump, Wishing Apple, if your father only worked with you. Perhaps he would if Heaven weren't featured?"

"Pretty sure he thinks I'm incompetent."

"Take his criticism with a grain of salt, love. Your father famously thinks he's best at everything, even after face-planting. You could run this country better than Sir Hiss." Terri's smile broadened as the music, now playing hands-free, transitioned into Monty Python's 'Brave Sir Robin Ran Away.' Charlie's eyes widened into pie plates, smile tremoring as she, a huge Disney fan, registered the wordplay. Sir! Hiss! Laughter erupted from deep in her chest so forcefully it felt foreign. A long grey balloon sword slipped out of Terri's sleeve. Then it wiggled, colors changing as it became a balloon snake, which zig-zagged through the air, deflating with a squeal of defeat. "Brave Sir Hiss slithered away!" she sang of Lucifer's impotent tolerance of the Exterminations.

Tears rolled down Charlie's cheeks. Her chest ached. But she composed herself and wagged a finger. "That was hilarious, but if anyone asks, I'll deny it. You quit that."

"Well, think, Charlie, do you want to be another Sir Hiss?"

"Hey, I'm not resisting change to—" Kiss ass to keep her position. "—keep peace. I'm trying to sell Grandpa on a better method!"

"If He shot you down? If Daddy won't help find alternatives?" Terri leaned forward like a seagull over a fry, awaiting confirmation that Charlotte would accept other assistance.

But the princess pounced before Terri could sneakily spin this into Charlie's therapy session. "Let's talk about you. Have you been quiet because you're embarrassed about the other day? I still want to work with you," she assured. "Can you start by explaining what exactly you eat? That seems important."

Ugh. Fine. "Respect. It's literally my sustenance."

"So, when Al socially isolated you, he starved you? But he said something about believing you could find food without leaving your home. You'd done it before? Have you always been reclusive? "

"I settled for hunting outside sometimes. Fear works."

Hunting? "Then you did not go out to make friends?" Charlie translated.

"No?" Terri looked genuinely confused by the prospect.

"When 'hunting' from inside, how did you obtain...positive attention? Assuming it wasn't all fear?"

"Not all fear. They came because they were lonely. If I wanted to meet them, I…steered things to encourage fighting with whoever was making them feel lonely, so they'd come to me instead." At Charlie's withering look: "Bear in mind, I wanted to make them feel better, too! I gave them anything they wanted. But eventually they tired of me."

"So, they left?"

"…I offered to be their friend if they stayed forever."

"Define 'offer.'" Nothing. "If they wanted to leave?" Crickets. "Okay," Charlie sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. "To summarize: You need respectful interaction to survive. To get it, you hid in your house, lured prisoners, placated them with presents or terrified them into submission? Before being confined, you never went out and met people? You couldn't let people come and go? Why would you resort to trapping—?"

"It's the only way I've ever—!"

Charlie softened at the revealing interjection as Terri cut off. "...When they 'tired of you,' what happened?"

"The ones who weren't afraid laughed." As she listed random things, Charlie worried Terri was having a stroke. Then it clicked—punishments for fairy tale villains. Crocodiles, burning shoes, defenestrated, baked, axed, eyes pecked out by birds, crushed by a house. "Because terroristic threats are hilarious."

Terri suggested those villains were based on her? "Didn't you actually try to kill them?" Charlie inferred.

"It was a game! Children enjoy rough-housing now and again!" Terri insisted with hilarious sincerity, hands flying to her hips. "And note the wily deviants I played against!"

"You talk like it was evenly matched. They were children, and you were the adult," Charlie reminded as Terri's foot tapped angrily. "What game were you trying to win?"

"I wanted them to win. Then we'd be a family, at least for a while, ideally forever. If they lost…I had to consume the fear before it became hatred." Crickets. "And I suppose it was more like a three-player game. Us against the Thing. The Hunger."

"What did you do to help them win?" Terri fiddled with her hair and dress while Charlie sternly tapped out the 'Jeopardy' theme. "Then you feel like a non-player character?" Silence. "It's a two-player game? The child against the Hunger? Terri… You do realize, even if they're gifted, it's not appropriate for kids to rescue parents?"

"Is. That. So?" Feeling defensive, Terri snatched the well-used '#projection' flashcard poking out of Charlie's blazer pocket and gestured widely at the hotel in general. "So, this has nothing to do with your father at all?"

Terri's enragement superpower unlocked an achievement. Charlie heard white noise. She stood from the bench and took a few steps away to cool down. When her vision un-blurred, she retaliated, "If you want so badly to be rescued that you refuse to leave my facility, why refuse therapy?"

As if a spell were broken, Terri rubbed her temples and said awkwardly, "I'd rather not fight."

"Then you're great at sabotaging yourself."

"I tend to get into arguments wherever I go. I suppose, I'm…not like anyone else I know."

Charlie softened, cocked her head, and entered peak therapist mode as she sat next to Terri on the bench again. "Are you so used to playing the bad guy that you've become the antagonist in your own story?"

"It's too early to bludgeon me with something like that."

"It's well after noon."

The beldam grumbled. Then, to re-establish warmth: "It's a shame your family ignores your efforts to help. I've had a similar experience."

"I thought you couldn't remember." Charlie crossed her arms. "All this lying is worrisome."

"You work with Alastor."

"Yeah, and I don't like how you two use each other as props to make yourselves look better."

"I am better," Terri argued. "You'd prefer to have a partner who truly believes in you, correct?" Her head ticked slightly left to right, like her motionless button eyes were looking both ways. "I understand you're under financial duress right now. Does anyone else know? Not your business partner? Not your girl?"

Embarrassment crushed Charlie's airway. "Maybe people get turned off by the spying, Terri. …Anyway, I can't accept money."

"I'll render funds unnecessary. I have plentiful amenities, in my home, now that I'm not starved."

Definitely Alastor's mom! Charlie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Mayyy I ask how this benefits you?"

"With the appreciation of yourself and your customers, I'll be fed without resorting to methods that displease you, and you'll have a fully funded and operable hotel. I'm sure you can make a difference in peoples' afterlives without sending them to Heaven. You have a special gift." (Indeed, very special. The scent of Charlotte's unconditionally caring aura nearly caused the beldam to salivate.)

"I admire your, uh, confidence," Charlie began, brow wrinkling, "but would this pitch have gone better if you hadn't just openly admitted to luring people?"

"Charlotte, I'm surprised at you, talking like you don't believe people can change!" (Canned laughter.)

Charlie's face barely contained her wide grimace as she thought, 'Eventually? Sure. Within days? No.' "Terri. Before we go too far off topic, let's revisit you cooperating if you want to stay. You said you came to make amends. I'd like you to talk productively with Alastor. Today."

"Come see my home, and I will. We'll craaaaft togetherrrr!" Terri trilled, dialing up her siren voice. "I saw your disappointment when the others weren't enthused. I'm probably the only one who loves it like you do!"

Charlie stopped short of insisting that this be on her terms, not Terri's, wondering why crafting sounded absurdly enticing. Wait—more importantly, that 'prisoners' bit she'd heard earlier… Would this give her the opportunity to investigate? Should she first consult Vaggie or Alastor? …No, they'd only mock her for considering it. "…Okay." Charlie forced a friendly smile. "Crafting it is. How do you intend to get me there?"

Terri was already opening jars of glitter from Charlie's craft station and sprinkling them on the floor like pixie dust in complex patterns. "Working on it!" Humans could only access Terri's home via the special doors, but demons/souls were more portable. It was indeed harder to connect directly between Hell and the Other World, but partly because it triggered alarm bells; the hotel's shield might avert that. A portal opened. Terri waved her through. "Well? Go on." That moved quickly. Charlie swallowed, stepped in, and paused in confusion. This…looked like the hotel, like the room they'd just left, but in an 'uncanny valley' way. She soon realized it was a model, like a dollhouse.

As Terri led her down the hall, Charlie noticed the photos, all showing the same events as those in the real hotel but with key changes. Photos in which her parents had been unengaged or absent now depicted them regarding her with proud warmth (judging by the rest of their body language anyway—their eyes were buttons). All traces of the Von Eldritch family had vanished. Vaggie—arm around Charlie's waist—and Alastor—hand on her shoulder—stood alongside her, beaming supportively in a Grand Opening picture with an unaltered 'Happy Hotel' sign. It was shot from a regular angle because it wasn't a cell phone pic taken by Nifty but a press photo clipped from a newspaper…suggesting the city took unironic interest?

The model hotel was better kept—all due respect to Nifty—as if it had a full maid service and was remodeled more recently. Every room was marked 'occupied,' and she heard tenants happily chatting, although she didn't see any. Charlie was keeping her eyes peeled, after all, for signs of captives in the den.

"As you can see, I like making visitors feel at home. …Come see outside, that's more interesting," Terri said, opening the courtyard door.

The 'grass' crinkled distinctively under Charlie's foot. The whole (vastly more attractive) courtyard was made of crafts. Confetti grass; popsicle stick benches; colorful felt flowers in a new, lush garden; stone-surrounded pond with plasticene 'water' and origami koi underneath, 'swimming' on their own. Showing off, Terri cycled through seasons. A Japanese cherry blossom bloomed, then exploded into a confetti cloud of pink petals as its paper leaves turned from green to oranges, reds, and browns and fell, to be gusted away in a sudden breeze. Tiny, intricate paper snowflakes fell. When Charlie caught one, it crumbled and vanished as though melting.

"Everything in my home was like this, once. The target audience found it more novel. But eventually, I stuck with hyper-realism. The children needed to feel like they were still on Earth."

"Hyper-realism?"

"The front door will make a better view for this."

Walking past, Charlie saw the entryway's Morningstar family portrait had changed, too. Lilith and Lucifer gazed at Charlie, but the princess still looked straight ahead, now smiling as if something more appealing lied the other side of the frame.

When Terri opened the front door, there was nothing but darkness, as if they were floating on an asteroid. Startled, Charlie gasped and clutched Terri, who wrapped two spidery arms around her from the side. Then the blackness, which had lacked definition, flattened against a new horizon. From this base, like a pop-up book, buildings made of paper and cardboard erected themselves; tiny glow sticks formed neon signs; little string lights lit windows and cast enough glow to 'light up' a 'starry' sky made of sequins and glitter. As Charlie recognized Pentagram City's skyline, in a blink, the craft scenery became real. The city's replica had the same layout, skyline, and landmarks for as many blocks as she could see, but it was clean. It wasn't all concrete; patches of green had cropped up. Once-shuttered businesses were open. She saw stars sparkling and realized the pollution was diminished. No smell of smoke. No echoing gunshots. "...It's my city."

Terri finished Charlie's thought. "Buuut it's not your city. Not exactly. Is it?" She touched the princess's shoulder and said eagerly, "Tell me where we are, Charlie."

"Heaven," Charlie whispered emotionally through hands folded over her mouth.

Terri clicked her tongue. Yes. "It's not a place in the sky, is it? It's where your heart is. Home, when you picture it at its best, is always where your heart is."

Charlie turned to face the building. Above the 'Happy Hotel' sign were the eyes in the sky. Unlike those at home, the Other Eyes gazed at her with gentle curiosity. A lump caught in her throat. So, Terri had noticed Charlie looking at the eyes as well… She had great attention to detail, to what people wanted, Charlie thought. It would be a positive quality if her intentions weren't so insidious. 'Don't let her manipula—'

Charlie was distracted when, squinting into the distance, she spotted a horizon where all detail faded into progressively simpler shapes, then dissolved into heavy white mist. The replica still covered an impressively large area, much of which hadn't existed minutes ago. "This…expands?"

"My 'side of the house' is much bigger than people realize. I haven't been able to furnish most of it because I'm often working at an energy deficit. But that can change."

"Suppose Al's right, and it's not possible for demons to enter Heaven. Then I've dumped a bunch of people on your land who have nowhere to go," Charlie fished.

"Who said they must leave?"

"Ohhh," Charlie half-laughed, playing along. "Interesting. Exactly how big can your home get, Terri?"

"If I had more to work with? In theory, it's…" Her fingers fluttered and tapped together. "…limitless."

Charlie's ears registered 'A Million Dreams'—which was playing itself on the piano again, through the open window of her Other Study—and she shot Terri a maximally suspicious glare. Aha. Terri wasn't just offering hotel amenities, but also slyly offering to mitigate the overpopulation crisis by granting the Morningstars a big chunk of land. Of course, that would gain her irrevocable control over the population's quality of life, effectively crowning her de facto royalty.

"Don't look at me like that!" Terri admonished. "Why would I resort to anything nefarious with plentiful appreciation to sate me? Why would I promise this energy investment if I didn't believe you'd make people happier?" But Terri knew Charlie knew what was up and was confident the princess would agree anyway. 'You said I'd need to come up with something sophisticated, darling!' Again, the mother-son resemblance shone through. Alastor had worn the same smug, meta-aware smirk the day he met Charlie.

"I'll have to think about this," Charlie said carefully to appease Terri.

"Of course! It's your decision, darling. Just a proposal. I only want what's best."

Charlie smiled tersely, pointedly walking back inside the Other Hotel and toward the portal. To her relief, Terri followed in a relaxed, agreeable way, with no obvious interest in trapping her...yet. "Now," said Charlie when they were back in her real office, "we agreed I'd see your home, and then you'd apologize to Alastor, correct?"

Terri looked like she'd swallowed a whole lemon, and like lemons sent her into anaphylactic shock. "You requested I talk to Alastor. Productively."

Charlie regretted her word choice. In what way might Terri choose to be 'productive?' "You came here to make amends...right? What are your goals?"

'Everyone's so anal about specifics,' disorganized Terri thought to herself. 'Pick a few targets you'd like to hit, see if you can hit them. Hit the big one, great! Hit more than one, great! Hitting anything wins you something, so just throw darts. Not rocket science, people!'

"I'll help anyone, but I can't work magic," Charlie continued. "You need to take some action. What makes apologizing, specifically, so difficult?"

Charlie's gentle, almost parental tone dug into Terri much like her own siren voice. She clenched a fist and admitted, "I'll show weakness and he won't accept it."

"That's happened before? …With your original family?" Charlie asked, although it practically glowed neon, earning a sigh and begrudging nod from Terri. "Why was the answer to stop apologizing?" No answer. "Please try apologizing to Alastor. But let's also talk more about this."

"My family?"

"I have the feeling a lot of things—like your fear of apologizing—start there, so yes."

"I can do that." Terri's fingers tapped her knee enthusiastically as she agreed, making Charlie worry this request might backfire. "…I'll go speak to him shortly."

[X]

After Terri left, Charlie felt restless. Stubbornly looking past the worrying curveball Terri had thrown, she remained eager to reach a patient she feared would, too soon, be her last. Or maybe she was so eager to reach Terri because, while Terri and Alastor's resemblance was undeniable, she also reminded Charlie of someone else. That perceptive jerk McGyver was right about something…

-x-

The Happy Hotel looks less outrageous to someone long-resigned to working tirelessly to reach the unreachable. In her workaholic mother's absence, even while running a country, Lucifer raised Charlie like a single father. You'd expect this to make them close, but no dice. Their interactions mostly fell short at casual banter—fun, sometimes sweet, but never intimate, and riddled with too many games. Some were literal. Everything became a bet, and she had to wear that stupid cone on her head when she lost. Lucifer didn't resist wearing his cone—which he'd decorated like a clown hat, emblazoned colorfully with 'World's Best Loser'—if she won and teased her for being sour.

Plenty of mind games, too. Child Charlie rarely wanted to go on outings because she thought Pentagram City was scary. She didn't know, then, that he'd intended it to be like an adult play-place and was offended. Uncommunicative, Lucifer pouted internally and told her she 'wasn't any fun.' He proceeded to leave her alone, bewitch her stuffed animals so he didn't have to watch her, and later ask, incredulously, why she spent more time with them. This was one creative iteration of his hair-pulling game of 'I'm ignoring you. Wait, why are you ignoring me?' This game intensified as she aged and hyper-focused on work to forget her loneliness. He'd alternate between trying to entice her away from her rehab proposal with leisure (after all, she didn't have to work) and punishing her with long, dramatic sighs of, "Is this to spite me?"

He wouldn't consider any alternatives to the status quo. "All one can do to contain an aggressive cluster of disobedient children is keep them entertained." He took offense to questioning if they could do more for morale, since Lucifer was the "undisputed expert at keeping peoples' spirits up in hostile conditions" and "really it isn't all that bad here most of the year." If deadpan Charlie swept aside a curtain to reveal terf war wreckage, Lucifer sheepishly tucked in his lips and dropped an electronic blind to replace the violent scene with sunny video clips from a LuLu World commercial.

Eventually, desperate Princess Charlotte indulged his childish whims, offering to bet on it. "Give me a year. From first patient, first visit!" she added frantically as her father's smile pricked up too eagerly.

"Too easy...for me. You know that couldn't possibly be enough time."

"I'm not foolish enough to start with the worst of the worst. That's bad advertising."

"If you make a difference, I suppose you request indefinite funding. If not?"

"I go back to being a regular therapist," Charlie said, stubbornly pretending she'd be content no matter what.

Deal made. But weeks into renovating the building, Lucifer cheated, baiting the media with a smear campaign. 'Mistake' her father called her, and the rehab facility an 'insult.' In public, during lunch (the last time they spoke), so snooping paparazzi might record the dialogue. "If you're offended by the project, why continue funding it?" news anchor Katie Killjoy asked, thrusting a microphone into his face a few days later.

"I, unlike some people, am a very forgiving parent," Lucifer said mock seriously, hand over heart.

"Queen Lilith could not be reached for comment," Katie mentioned, vibrating with cruel glee.

Privately, Charlie hoped her Grandpa would take interest, but no. Why?! Couldn't those eyes glance at her momentarily, considering she was trying to work with Him? Why did her family members all hurt and ignore? Couldn't Charlie have a family whose eyes were always on each other? The Exterminations deeply disturbed her, but this deep-seated personal wish to reunite her family also fueled her passion for the Happy Hotel.

Yet it probably stood no chance. Until the last day, Charlie hoped just once her father would see this wasn't a game to her. But once she officially lost, payments ceased. She had a few months of funds left, tops.

-x-

'I put up with Dad's games… I'm not playing Terri's,' Charlie thought bitterly, before the softer thought, 'I hope she'll let me help her… Somebody let me help them for once?!'

Glitter in the carpet shimmered under sunlight cast through her office window and caught her eye as Charlie paced through it—then tripped and fell, arms pinwheeling to pull herself backward as her as her foot teetered on an unexpected edge. Once stabilized, Charlie's eyes widened in awe as she stared into the Other Hotel. The portal had reopened? Why? Was it a trap? Even if not, what if it closed and she got stuck? Charlie was a powerful master of this domain, but Terri had solid ownership of that pocket dimension. Unable to quash her temptation, Charlie dipped a toe in tentatively. The portal didn't flicker.

Terri had spied on her. This was breaking and entering, but she had probable cause. Vaggie did beg her to investigate Terri. Right? Charlie took the leap.

Terri's home, when not dismantled but under only passive subconscious control, was a jarring sight. The Other Place had warped, reverting to the size of a large house, only parts of which still resembled the hotel. To build a unique environment, Terri mashed pieces of other houses together. Charlie nearly fled before confirming her surroundings were solid and only looked like malleable, melting taffy, as elements blurred together.

Exploring, Charlie realized Terri's mind built a dream for herself the way she did for prey, and it was revealing. Snow drifted outside a window, and there was only pitch sky in the distance, but now, a glass barrier surrounded the house. She was inside...a snow globe? On the narrow snow-blanketed 'lawn' wrapping the building, a snow sculpture of an angel sat near some child-sized 'snow angel' indents in the fluff.

In the dining room, Charlie found a scene that made her quietly 'Oof,' hand over heart—a holiday dinner for a nonexistent family. Green tinsel, holly, and red poinsettias; table trays stacked with every possible dish; scent of cookies wafting from the kitchen and vanilla-frosted fruit cake already placed. Inert posable dolls were positioned around the table, some faceless, others with faces she wouldn't recognize. Several children. An adult human Alastor accompanied by…a human Mimzy Glam? At one head of table was an adult male in a sharp black suit and popping yellow dress shirt, glass raised in a friendly toast. The other head of table seemed meant for absent Terri.

Charlie noticed music playing, presumably on autopilot—a waltz with a vaguely familiar melody she eventually placed as 'All Alone in the World' from 1962's 'Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol.' Had Terri rejiggered it into a waltz for the irony? Double oof.

Why did this person who wanted something so wholesome and intimate push everyone away, behave so barbarically? It was a common issue in Hell, but Terri still struck Charlie as extreme.

The princess paced aimlessly and found the Other Entryway, where she noticed a small, framed image below the Morningstar family portrait (curiously still there). This new picture depicted herself opening birthday presents at a table before a large cake. Vaggie, her parents, and the hotel patrons stood with her, smiling. Alastor and Terri stood side by side in the background, grinning sideways at each other as though they'd made up. Through a window behind picture Charlie, unprecedentedly, every eye in the sky watched with an expression of pained jealousy, as though realizing too late what they'd overlooked. Every present on the table was marked from one person: 'Nanna.'

That did not seem good. Not at all.

As Charlie emitted a troubled sigh and hugged herself anxiously, one of the shadows on the wall—peeking out inquisitively from the heterogenous black—sunk back in and disappeared unnoticed.

[X]

Rewind to very early that morning.

When Alastor hadn't emerged, Nifty kindly brought coffee, eggs, and toast to her boss's suite. Al took the meal on the dock of the charming swamp he'd conjured for himself in his second room. There was comfort and familiarity not only in the Louisianan scenery, but also in the small, serene, eternal nightscape. Couldn't help it—that was how he'd been raised. "I had a foolish dream that night, that I freed her and she apologized." Alastor cringed at his own sentimentality as he watched two fireflies circle near the rippling swamp surface. A baby gator swiftly craned its snout out, snapped them up, and sunk back in. Alastor chuckled as Nifty winced. "Now I'm awake again. I'll find a way to handle this as usual."

Easier said than done. The doll was out of reach. Alastor couldn't overcome the princess's barriers; she outranked him too much. Even if it were accessible, he preferred using the doll as a last resort, or he'd feel like she let him win; that was how he'd felt last time. He could weaken Terri by damaging her reputation, but she could do the same. And driving her out—by making things uninhabitable or goading her into attracting enemies' attention—before he reclaimed that cane was risky, as she may leave with it. A tough position. He'd tread lightly for now, but would adhere to routine to keep up appearances. "I'll have a walk and think on it," he told Nifty when she asked what the plan was.

Worried by Alastor seeming strained, lethargic, and uncharacteristically passive, Nifty let her eye flit to his prop cane. He hadn't told her, but she suspected. "Should you go out right now?"

"Whyever not?" Alastor allowed their understanding to remain unspoken as he patted Nifty's head. "You worry too much," he said, secretly appreciating every ounce of it—a good snack. "Simply go on being the reliable employee you always are. …Oh! I do know how you can help!" Nifty's smile lit up. "This request will seem odd, but I have a niche item for you to obtain." She succeeded—efficiently, too. A delight, that woman.

Later that afternoon, Alastor wandered his normal route, soaking up intimidation from passersby ravenously. He thought he'd strike more deals to build a cushion of augmented power, but they mostly fell through. Under stress and without his filter, he was a less effective salesman. Not good. Alastor could (literally) grin and bear it without his filter temporarily, but he leaned heavily on his powers to compensate and was tiring.

In case Terri followed, he was armed with Nifty's specialty item— a natural hag stone, whittled thin and obsidian coated by a jeweler to frame his monocle lens. He was vulnerable to manipulation, but this would help refresh his memory if it lapsed.

Sure enough, as Alastor manually drew music through his prop speaker to fake normalcy, his song choice was interrupted by 'I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire,' punctuated by heels clicking close behind. "Sincerity is not your strong suit," Al said, turning to find no one. Eyes narrowing, he continued to the tiny café he frequented. He'd just begun sipping coffee when Terese appeared across the table, smiling faux-congenially, saying, "You realize you have to talk to me eventually."

Alastor nearly choked. Her face! No longer Mel Jones' but his mother's face. 'How easily affected. Pathetic!' he scolded himself, refocusing through the monocle to find her visage cold and grey, no warmth in sight. 'Of course. Keep your head, Alastor.' He noticed she'd changed into a muted blue 50s-style dress. Ugh. This was her Blue Fairy schtick. She was about to offer him something highly suspect, which felt more ominous than if she'd approached combatively. Well. He had secluded outdoor seating, and the staff knew not to eavesdrop; might as well get this over with. Al still erected a shimmering noise-stifling bubble around their table.

The waiter returned for his 'guest's' order. Terri requested the entire selection of pastries, to criticize how they paled to her baking. Nibbling one, she joked, "I starved for nearly a century. Need to keep my weight up. You're looking rather thin yourself."

"Unlike you, I don't eat just anything. You plan to 'reconcile' by doing this?" Al gestured at his prop cane.

"You put a nail through my heart so I'd level with you. Even. That said, I'll be civil if you are. Let's mend things. You work like me now. We could sustain each other forever, you know," she wheedled.

"Then it's a true feat of your pathology, Terese, that you continue provoking me. What scheme are you enacting under the guise of 'making amends?' You're rarely prosocial without an ulterior motive."

"Excuse me, young man, what about the time I adopted an orphan and gave him a lovely gift?" Terri formed an innocent heart with her fingertips.

Al chuckled low. "Allow me to fix that headline." A prop newspaper appeared in his hand, bearing a cheesily-grinning headshot of Terri and the headline 'Depraved eugenicist bred child like lab rat, abducted to parasitically feed on love and mold into weapon of mass destruction.' A stare-off, as Terri raised her eyebrows at the last phrase.

Once Alastor died and saw the sheer magnitude of power at his command, things clicked. This was a much more realistic explanation for Terri sharing a precious resource. He'd concluded something about her tie to that Thing limited her. Since it was specific to her and wouldn't hinder someone else, she'd selected an ideal partner and heavily armed them to assist with a hostile takeover of Hell, for the immense population from which she could mine respect or fear. It didn't matter that he could barely use it before he died. Lacking Terri's mysterious impediment, Alastor suspected he could even grow the power faster than she could, so their combined strength (perhaps even his own) would always exceed what she could accumulate alone. If he refused to work with her, she could repossess what she gave with interest. Child Al chimed in, 'Quite creative, as plans go.' Adult Alastor scolded, 'You brainwashed little twit, shut your mouth!' seeing Terese's nose twitch at the barest hint of respect.

Slow, silent seconds passed. Al's accusatory, half-lidded eye contact didn't break. Then the beldam ticked her head and added the subheading 'Looked fabulous entire time.' Terri's mugshot animated itself, blowing a kiss to its 'adoring fans.' She'd intended to introduce this as a new idea but was flattered that Alastor deduced she'd always considered it—he knew her so well! Alastor's lip curled. "If it's true, kindly explain this 'I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire' nonsense."

"It's sincere! This started as Plan A, but it morphed into Plan…Z, truly. I hoped you'd show interest, but if you hadn't?" Shrug. "I'd have gotten over it. While we were together, I cared more about building a new family."

"Preposterous."

"Now, Button," Terri said in her most saccharine voice, clapping her hands together, "Of all my options, I chose you. High praise! Several times I meted it out slowly so they'd only earn a big hunk if we were compatible, to ensure they were someone I could work with. You, Star of My Show, were the only one to leave with any. And I loved you so, I was glad to share, even if you weren't interested."

"I won't work with you," Al said plainly.

"Let's talk about it," Terri chirped pleasantly. "You recall we once promised to always make up if we fought, as we are family. One would think you'd consider us even now," she sighed resentfully, clenching a fist under the table as she toed the line of apology poorly and with great difficulty, "but I see you were hurt. I'm known to be brutal when hurt myself, so I will forgive your hostility and try to do right by you."

Incredibly, Alastor was lost for words, opening and closing gloved hands, eyes narrowed, mouth agape. "You can't possibly—!"

Terri's voice elevated to the quirky, musical tone used to engage playmates. "We'll play a game together. Just the kind you enjoy! I remember everything you love."

"What game is this?" Al asked tiredly, straining against the siren voice. (His mind, at odds with him, conjured child Al, who peeked from under the table and blew a paper straw cover at Terri's face, still wanting her attention.)

She whispered, "Mother and Son's 7 Ring Circus?" Alastor broke a second stiff silence, scoffing, and drew the sound of a deflating balloon through the speaker to match Terri's disappointed expression. Her finger drumming became faster, sterner. "Why are you feigning disinterest?" She'd hoped the sweet siren playtime voice would entice him to rant about his real plans like a 6-year-old opining about dinosaurs.

"What convinces you I'm interested?"

"Your hobby of topping overlords? Destabilizing the power structure? Subtly fostering pandemonium, planning to step in and 'restore order,' to earn peoples' favor?"

"Nothing so complex. I simply believe the damned should suffer. Most overlords are despicable."

"Still have that superiority complex?" Terri asked of the glorious irony, earning a rare half-scowl from her son. "Why fraternize with the princess, who's estranged from her father, then?" He'd so clearly been seeking a connection in Charlotte who could help him slither up the ranks either by peace or by war. Right? "Listen," she continued. "I suspect Daddy's cut Charlotte off already, so I've suggested she carry on her business at my place. She hasn't said yes yet, but I am not concerned. She'll realize shortly her problems are solved." Annoyed though he was, Alastor cocked his head with intrigue. Terri's nose irritably wrinkled as she realized he wasn't following. "The more come and appreciate their new home, the more energy I have, the bigger their home gets, the more come… I'll be powerful again, and then—" She cut herself off with a hand wave. "Well. I'll see how I feel when I get there."

Child Al, holding his head, groaned, 'Mother, why do I always have to supervise you!?' Meanwhile, adult Alastor covered his face, guffawing, as Terri stared, mouth agape in outrage. "Terese! Sweetheart," Al began pejoratively, raising his head.

"I am your mother!" she reprimanded, stretching briefly and shrinking again as she tried maintaining composure in public, looking comically like a slinky.

In what may seem a decent plan to others, Alastor saw holes miles away. "You're drained by interaction with a few people at a time! Even if you somehow kidnapped an entire planet, you couldn't sustain it! You grew agitated if I stepped on 'you' too hard, running around your house as a child! You're after billions of the worst-behaved children to exist! You'll have fiery, explosive terf wars—!" Al shook his head. "I almost want to watch this spectacle. Here I thought Charlotte's idea was deranged…"

"Might there be more layers to the plan than you're aware of yet?"

"I think it's half-baked and you're pretending there's more to avoid admitting it. I do know you so well. …Or perhaps not? What does someone with anarchic tendencies, who prefers small environments and social circles, want with a country anyway?"

Terri replied cryptically, "I won't need to keep them forever. I'll use them to secure something else."

"If you think that sounds more enticing, let me correct you. It sounds concerning."

"You'll be safe!" Terri laughed.

"You've used that line before, madam," Alastor said sourly. "What do you want my help with?"

"Millions of people won't come waltzing in through the hotel. We coup this side and move a pile over. The pitch was merely to start a conversation with Charlotte and slowly bring her to our side—"

"Your side."

"Not her father's side," Terri compromised, then bragged, "I got her to outright laugh at him today!"

"Still picking fights?"

"Brew enough drama, and your enemies do your work for you. You know that."

"If you need to steer Charlotte away, seems the king already knows not to accept your help, even though he'd love the opportunity to spite his Father. Why might that be?" Alastor gestured upward. "And what reaction do you expect from Him?"

Terri smiled fearlessly up at the sky, where eyes looked anywhere but at her. "A reaction," she replied saucily, wiggling her shoulders, earning a groan from Alastor, who thought, 'You have gotten yourself cursed doing this before!' "Are you interested or not? Let's make up, do this together, and have fun."

"Not only am I unwilling to throw my afterlife away for this asinine plot, it proves I've always been tool to you—either henchman or breeder. Nothing more." Alastor's smile toed the line of a sneer as he realized aloud, "This isn't even about me, is it? At least, not anymore. Not since you discovered I had connections convenient to your goals. Don't pretend to have any interest in me beyond assisting your nonsense project."

Terri snapped her fingers. 'Rightful queen planned to share spoils with beloved son,' the prop paper said now, alongside the flawlessly replicated sepia image of the two at LooLoo Land. "I've missed you, mon étoile," she said with surprising emotion. "I haven't spent enough years with you yet. And I'm still happy to make you a prince." Dear Satan, this again! But more glaringly prominent in the moment was that picture. Agonizing.

The overlord was spared tearing up in public by something almost as mortifying. When the waiter approached for payment, Terri asked, "If I pay for that, will the chef put it toward taking a class?" At the service worker's unamused look, she shrugged in fake defeat, then slapped Monopoly money into his hand. Alastor laughed, before he could stop himself, not at her but with her. Terri smiled at Al, and the image through the monocle flickered. Her heart, which had been lost to him, glowed a warm, toasty orange. No! The thing was malfunctioning! Or she'd figured it out and was warping his senses to make him hallucinate! He teleported away, but Terri followed close behind, as the waiter seethed, and reappeared next to Alastor in the park he frequented, alongside the rose bushes. "Not done?" he sighed.

"Not until you say yes, Button." Terri traced her own smile.

Alastor raised the sound-proofed sphere again. "Is this a yarn to entice me? Or something you fully intend?" His unusually visible emotions flitted quickly from amused to perturbed. "It's both. You're serious?" Despite his disgust, Alastor's hampered emotional control allowed worry to creep in. Terri's filter removal effectively forced his love for her into the open, but not how she'd hoped. Al supposed she wished he were fawning. Instead, he expressed care as always—fierce protectiveness and tough love. "Terese." Al kneaded the bridge of his nose gently. "Since you refuse to let me—or this idea—be, let's finally discuss that you are not a goddess queen." No reply but Terri's heel clicking. "It's regrettable your self-esteem is so low you conjured this fantasy to bolster it. I never mentioned it as I did not wish to hurt you. But you may hurt yourself with this inane stunt, so I'm being kind in raising it. You've mentioned your family. You've claimed to be royalty. But you've never told me who you think you are. Please. Regale me." Nothing. "Why won't you say more? …Because it's not true. You don't even have the story clear in your head, do you?"

"I don't owe you details of my private matters," Terri growled.

Alastor, an expert on even obscure fairy tales—and knowing Terri had likely helped spread them—had considered implications raised by one character who lived in a well and called herself the 'Queen of Heaven.' Or 'Grand Dame,' depending on the translation. Judging by the number of 'Fall of the House of Usher' retellings he'd heard as a bedtime story, it seemed clear who she believed she was. "What do you plan to do with Charlotte?" he fished curiously.

"I won't hurt her. I intend to be the family she desires."

Al broke the long-frozen ice. "You believe she is your family, don't you?"

Another stare-off. Terri gritted her teeth, then committed to it. "I've returned to her, it seems, by happy accident, and I'm not passing this up. I wasn't sure we'd get along when we first spoke, but I was wrong. I'm glad to be together again, and she will be, too."

"Terese, you are of no relation to the Morningstars!" Alastor snapped with obvious frustration. He collected himself and covered with a joke: "Even if, theoretically, they are the only family toxic enough to be yours. I'm sorry you'd prefer the white roses be red, but it just isn't so," he added, gesturing at the rose bushes. "If you've tried conning Lucifer before, I'm not surprised he banished you. You've hurt many people pretending to offer love, but it seems you've offended the wrong person with Daddy issues."

"You think I'm impersonating a character who doesn't exist?"

"I've literally watched you do that!" Alastor cried, slapping his forehead. Through his speaker, he imitated her voice and tapped his fingers together like her: "'I excel at forgery, but it's easier to invent a fake person—there's no rival paperwork to contest it!' Sound familiar? Any custody battles come to mind?"

"I'm not creating a fake character. But, on that note, I certainly intend to collect my grandniece."

"You can't really believe it? Like some sad orphan child pretending a celebrity is their real parent? Like…some absurd backwards 'Anastasia?!'" he blurted. He'd always hoped she wasn't this far gone. "You're not related. You're a confused old woman who is going to get herself killed." The beldam looked particularly hateful and remained strikingly silent. "Ah, so your trick backfired. You wanted to remove my censor? This is what you get. Things you don't want to hear. Which I'm telling you now because, as I've said, my intent was never to kill you, and I don't want to see you dead now." Alastor coughed and composed himself. "You haven't drawn the King's ire yet, so why not leave before things get out of hand? Let's peaceably part ways. Give me my cane. I'll draw no attention to you." This was too kind for his own taste, but it was his mother.

"Have you voiced any of these opinions to Charlotte?"

"I don't wish to drag the girl into any confusion."

"She's not as simple as you think she is, and you will lose favor with her for failing to notice!"

Alastor willfully buried concern beneath disdain and the safe bet that Terri's plan couldn't get off the ground. He raised his hands. "Fine. Entertain yourself with Charlotte and leave me out of it. Shame you spoiled my game, but that business was destined to fail. I'd need to seek other entertainment eventually."

"You're taking your ball and going home because it pains you to watch me do this faster and better than you?"

"Do what? Pick fights? Cause problems? I'm comfortable ceding the gold medal to you."

"Your plan!" Terri hissed, outraged that he'd abandon his own goal just to spite her. She dialed up her siren voice, pressing relentlessly against Al's impaired impulse control. "The coup," she mouthed. "But I don't understand the other dolls. What are you doing with those irrelevant peons?"

Alastor looked unflustered. "Why… I've been very open about why I hang around the hotel and interfere. It's not a joke—it just happens to be funny."

Terri quietly processed. "You mean to say you were serious about 'watching the scum of—?' You just don't want them to have a second chance? That's it?! If you keep people out of Heaven, I'll applaud you, but your reason is inane!"

"At least I stand for something," Alastor bragged.

"What precisely do you get from that?"

"Fun! But I understand you prefer prizes."

He really did just think he was better than her?! The inclination to win him over peacefully was eroding. Frustrated into a spell of dizziness, Terri held her head. "I tell you we could never go hungry again…have a happy family…be royalty…that I'll return your filter… Instead, you want to continue this grudge match?"

"A challenge to deal with someone so willfully contrary, isn't it?" Al beamed and played canned laughter.

"You've gotten no more mature with age!"

"Oh, dear. I must have gotten that from you."

"Sun and Moon, I'm—" Hand flapping. "—cooperating! What do you want from me?!"

Alastor's one-liners ran out. Hints of wistfulness rapidly morphed into the least-censored hurt and rage he'd shown yet. "…Your respect. But I never had it, and I never will." He walked away.

Terri's circuits fried for a second. 'Tell him he's wrong!' urged a voice that sounded like Charlie. Another voice clubbed the first voice in the head like part of a Punch and Judy skit and announced, 'Sweet talking didn't work, time for strong arming!' Incensed as she was, Terri retained enough self-control to pursue silently until Alastor reached the ideal position. "I wanted you to respect me, too! But you think I'm a doddering, senile old bat and the world would be better off if I died!"

Alastor swiveled around. "ThatwasanaccidentI'vesaid!"

Terri wanted to work him up enough that, in his abnormally emotional state, he'd forget he was within eyeshot of the seven monitors in the Radio Hack window. And she'd succeeded. Tracking the screens with her motionless eyes, she saw flickers of static revealing a silent stalker's face. Jackpot.

"Look here, Mr. Ethics!" Terri ripped open a projection of human Alastor, after binding the doll in twine but before locking it up, hammering a nail into the doll's chest on the Other House's kitchen table, while Terri gasped in pain, magically secured and unable to fight back. She swore she was remorseful and would do anything to be a family again. There was nothing she could do, past Al stated firmly. His heart was broken. He wouldn't be satisfied until hers was, too. Since she was still spinning lies, her heart must not be broken yet, so he'd hammer harder. "See that expression? That's what you stand for!"

Present Alastor stepped back. He disliked how this looked, but it wasn't worse than what she'd done to him. It didn't even accurately portray his feelings about the event. Past Al looked so gleeful because he'd used his emotional redirection ability to discard all but jubilation over justice served. Otherwise, despite her cruelty, Terri's first cry of pain might have doubled him over in tears of remorse. He stubbornly clung to these thoughts to avoid reacting, but then unfamiliar scenes played. Jumbled and warped by starved confusion came flashes of how frail and emaciated she'd become, and how despairing and desperate, begging her food to rescue her as it escaped her jaws. A pitiable, pathetic shadow of the woman he'd known. Speechless, Alastor stared, static flickering in his eyes as he tried erasing the ghastly visions from his brain. It's common for children to believe their parents invulnerable; clearly, he'd been reckless to assume she could adapt.

"You almost killed me," Terri finally admitted. "The Thing reintegrated me…but I fought my way back out." This admission hit Alastor hardest. His smile flickered and lapsed. "Yes, all that fuss about protecting Mommy from the Thing meant nothing, did it? You stand for getting even," she accused. "You've held it together impressively without your toy, but soon you'll snap and do something unpalatable, upset your food supply, and you'll deteriorate. When you see what it's like to be me, you'll realize you owe me an apology. Which I'll accept because I temper justice with mercy!"

He'd been feeling cooperative, and she'd ruined it with attitude. "Bold strategy for someone who stands to lose their investment savings." Alastor's expression was identical to that of the little boy who'd once ground his heel and spat at his father. Instinctively, he stretched just as she did to intimidate, until he towered over her with dial eyes, antlers exploding into a barrage of twisted, knife-sharp horns.

Failure to crack meant hammering harder. Mouth twisting sharply, Terri gave one heel a hard click, ripped away a big chunk of his power. A few onlookers gawped as the Radio Demon folded back into himself like a pop-up character and blinked disorientedly like an actual deer in headlights. The rush of power was tempting to keep, but she only wished to scare him now. Terri flung it back. Alastor entered high alert, tentacles rising threateningly, as though it could undo the previous mortifying display. The onlookers fled silently, but they'd whisper once out of earshot, get a rumor going. Perfect.

Terri chuckled, satisfied. "I could hang onto some, but I suspect you'll surrender quickly. You've had it on easy street for a long time here, haven't you? You're not so hardened to the effects." She squeezed his cheek aggressively. "And I prefer to go easy on you, as you're my favorite." Alastor looked precisely the right ratio of enraged and helpless. "We'll play a round if that's what you want. But once I win, you'll help me, correct, Button? …Move carefully, now. You're about to start feeling awfully hungry."

Alastor viewed her face and heart area again through the monocle. Cold grey. Yes, of course... Alastor hated that he could think of nothing to retort before teleporting away.

Behind her victorious mask, Terri seethed, so lost in thought that the new voice almost startled her: "Thought I couldn't stomach another Barbie movie, but I applaud the creativity of 'Barbie vs Menopause.'" Competitive moth-zapper, right on cue. Perfect puppet!

"That's how you speak to me after I give you a gift, boy?" Terri asked, doll head rotating like an owl's before the rest of her body as she turned to the storefront's monitors.

So, she had drawn his attention intentionally. "What do you want?" Vox interrogated, knowing to be wary of strangers' offers, even if they seemed weak.

"Same as you. For people to see how ugly and coarse this supposed gentleman is inside." Terri clasped her hands and grinned sweetly like a nanny promising candy to coax a toddler into bath time. "Come on. It'll be such fun, won't it?" she giggled, nose wrinkling adorably.

Something about her voice… Yes, this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Vox accepted the gift.

[X]

Lucifer had been watching.

How silly that McGyver thought she wouldn't be noticed. Certainly, he could see through Charlie's shield—he was higher-ranking. Terri probably assumed he just didn't watch the daily operations of a personal insult. Admittedly, she was correct. But he'd wanted to gauge Charlie's reaction to the funds having stopped.

His first thought, quelling unease, had been, 'Ah. So, I pegged the Radio Demon correctly.' Lucifer could tell one of Terri's kids from miles away. They all smiled, they all dressed like their own personal circus act, and they all had impeccable manners that made you wonder why they were in Hell until the psycho came ripping out. Here she was, still trying to ride others' coattails and force an old toy to play her game. 'Keep calm and ride it out, son,' Lucifer thought at Alastor. Eventually the harassment would dwindle to harmless, passive-aggressive jabs delivered once a year or so, only because she refused to be forgotten entirely.

The packages Lucifer used to receive on Christmas—a holiday distinctly banned in Hell—were a gas. Almost made him wish she hadn't finally stopped about a century ago. They were usually filled with delightfully tacky dancing rats, which sang things like, "We have teeth and we have tails, we have tails we have eyes. We were here before you fell. You will be here when we rise." Any servants present for these displays looked vaguely uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Lucifer chuckled light-heartedly as the rats dissolved into sawdust, joking, "Nobody wants a jack-ass in the box," or (mock-seriously), "There's a dick in this box." And he'd cried with laughter upon hearing a rumor that she'd invested in LooLoo Land just to be petty!

Lucifer didn't expect Terri to coerce Alastor (but was disappointed by her effect on him so far. That was Lucifer's favorite horse to bet on and she'd reduced him to glue!). As much as Lucifer's smile flattened when Charlie laughed at the 'Sir Hiss' burn, he didn't think she'd turn on him, either. But he'd keep an eye out. He wasn't concerned about Terri's aspirations succeeding, to be clear. She was dangerous because of the collateral damage her explosive failures caused for anyone nearby. He'd seen it before.

As for Charlie- had she encountered Terri as a child, he'd have been beside himself. That was one major reason why McGyver had been banished from the Pride Ring. But Charlie's assumption that Lucifer thought her helpless and incompetent was wrong. Charlie as an adult—well-educated in Terri's pathology, no less—may navigate this more capably than most, Lucifer thought with pride.

Overconfident Lucifer didn't stop short at feeling unworried; he began viewing this as lucky. Two misperceptions could be resolved: In a few weeks or at most a month, long before her money ran out, trying to tame the un-tameable shrew would cure Charlotte of her notion that anyone could be redeemed. Then Lucifer and his daughter could finally put this foolish conflict behind them. And once the nicest person in the world cracked on her, the piece of shit McGyver woman, Lucifer thought, yellow snake eyes narrowing with a degree of hatred reserved for very few, would be disabused of the hope that anyone could ever love her, and would JUST. GIVE. UP.

(Insert passionately furious violin shrieking here.)

Anyway! Time to give the old false teeth a rinse and fetch some caramel corn to sticky them up again. This was going to be quite a show!

[X]

Vox's broadcast should play any minute. She'd dropped off the Rosie doll at its likeness's residence with a note. Next, she'd try steering Nifty or Vaggie toward evidence of Alastor's voodoo tampering. With those rapid-fire hits, Terri thought, she might get Alastor to surrender within a day! But even these thoughts couldn't override her visible frustration. When she 'coincidentally' passed Vaggie in a hotel hallway, the moth made a face and asked, "What happened to you?"

"My son…is…a turd."

Vaggie guffawed beyond her control, reined it in. "Well…agreed."

"We were wrong, apparently. I went to my child ready to make amends, and he hammered me over the head with how sinners don't deserve a second chance. Such a cruel, judgmental thing. He was a sweet child—can't imagine how he turned out this way." (Canned laughter.) "Anyway, he insisted he's just here to laugh after all. In fact, he sounded so serious…" Terri began dramatically.

"Go on," Vaggie sighed with a hand-wave.

"Surely that doll of me wasn't the only one? I've used dolls, mostly to generate curiosity, but also to learn about people or cast spells. The boy learned a lot from me. So, I'd advise you keep an eye out for more. If people weren't mucking up their redemption well enough on their own to amuse him, he might get his jollies by hexing them."

"Two shiesters trying to expose each other would be hilarious if I didn't suspect they were both right. You think getting me to trust him less will get me to trust you more?" But the seed was planted. Vaggie grunted in annoyance, because it had given her something to think about, and she didn't want to owe anything to Terri.

The beldam had set her pool ball rolling. 'Go on, hit something,' she thought, scrying through the moth demon's one glass eye. 'Talk to the elf, talk to the—Huh, okay, the cat will do.' Terri watched Vaggie interrogate about dolls and Husk feign ignorance. But his rate of drinking quickened, as though something made him anxious. Surely he knew about most of the dolls, but he'd likely never been permitted to access his own. 'Okay, now you, Fluffy, talk to the elf…'

[x]

"Ever see our dolls?" Husker asked thoughtfully while Nifty meticulously polished the bar. If anyone would be allowed to, it was teacher's pet, he thought.

She answered honestly, "No."

"D'ya know where to look?" He spotted Nifty's eye shifting. "Y'do, doncha?" he pressed, trying and failing to catch her as she hopped down from the bar. "Well, can you?"

"I haven't tried."

"Phht!" Husker raised and lowered his paws in exasperation. "Seriously?! You mean he leaves you completely unattended with access to stuff that important? And you're not even curious enough to sneak a peek, if not suspicious? You? That's insane. You're insane. He's insa—" As Husk facepalmed, he looked through his claws at the whiskey bottle in front of him and thought again. "Actually, this shit is so out there, I think he might be crazy like a fox."

"I'm loyal and he appreciates me."

"Yeah…extremely loyal, huh? Has that ever felt odd to you?"

"I don't see what you mean," Nifty insisted.

"Look, I was eavesdroppin' on Al and Charlie recently. She teased him that Terri is 'obviously' his mother, and he got real bent outta shape. Monologued about how dealmakin's more ethical than regular entrapment because somebody could argue their way out. Which I scoffed at, but then I started wonderin' if he believes that...and if he'd honor it…" He looked at Nifty pointedly and lifted one claw. "Or what barriers he'd throw up to prevent it?"

"Like what he does to the others?" Nifty shook her head. "No, that'd be cheating."

"I think he might like games more than he claims. And we all know he ain't honest."

Nifty sensed a warmth between her, Alastor, and Husker that she didn't see in his interactions with other souls in service. "I just don't think he'd do that to us…"

"Ugh! We're not his friends, Nifty! He calls us that because he's a sarcastic goddamn troll!" Husker snapped. He softened at the sight of her big watery eye. "Look, would you do me a favor and check? 'Cuz I agree with the princess about one thing. I don't think this apple fell far from the tree."

Overcome with nervous energy, Nifty wordlessly departed for a cleaning frenzy, but soon realized her nerves would only quiet if she looked. Soon, after opening the shockingly pliable trunk, Nifty stared, aghast, at the Husker doll's blatant, highly unflattering sabotage. Then she lifted the Nifty doll, which looked remarkably untouched, but she examined every inch and found the incision marks, did the math. He had promised to keep her heart safe as part of her deal...but that was a stretch of an explanation. Nifty tried brightening up. Al had been honest about one thing—He'd said there was no Mimzy doll. If he had one, this was where he'd be keeping it right now, and there was none to be found, just this— Huh. What was an urn doi—? Jesus H. Christ! Nifty's hands flew over her mouth as she connected the dots. Maybe she shouldn't judge; she'd hoarded her ex-boyfriend's body after murdering him. But the relationship between Alastor and Mimzy had seemed so congenial and respectful and this was…YIKES.

She had to ask about this. Maybe since he was more honest than usual, she'd get a clear answer. But…would she believe him no matter what? Nifty felt a chill deep in her chest as she considered Husker's remarks. Her pupil focused intently on that faint incision mark in the Alastor doll's palm. Suppose she…reclaimed it? Just to prove to herself that she wouldn't feel that different? A harmless test… Nifty found some sewing equipment. Within minutes of reclaiming her doll's cloth heart, Nifty's sisterly affection remained, but her blind loyalty didn't. She decided this might be her only chance to rescue these dolls. Sure, the trunk might be partly for their protection, but it could be used for entrapment, too... She'd secure the dolls and urn elsewhere while she decided what to do.

[X]

While Alastor tried walking off his frustration in a different part of town, he noticed people staring at their phones. Well, kids today stared at their phones too much generally. Then he noted their awed silence and stillness. Eventually, he passed another storefront with monitors, where the 'Emergency Broadcast' overriding every channel was visible—Terri's projection, showing a basically recognizable human Al hammering away. Alastor froze, processing, while panicked child Al barked at him, 'Thanks, now we look like a despicable woman-beater!' He fleetingly felt so ashamed he wished to be shot in the head again, but quickly snapped back, 'Do you remember what she did to us?!'

"Sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming," a smug voice emerged through one static-filled smaller screen. Of course. Terri had gotten him so worked up that Al realized only in retrospect she'd harassed him near the Radio Hack. He couldn't decide if he was more furious with her or himself.

Alastor hummed calmly and molded his face into a look of dry amusement, striving to appear unruffled, though the façade took him five times the normal effort. "I know the princess purchased advertisements. Did I get one thrown in for free? Oddly charitable of you to make me look more terrifying than usual!"

"You look like a hypocrite. Seems you're not the gentleman you make yourself out to be. I've been looping that on all the major stations for a few minutes—long enough for the reporters to pick up. Have fun."

A thought cheered Alastor, and he laughed out loud. "You're a fool, you know. You've accepted a gift!"

"I doubt Raggedy Anne can hurt me."

"Perhaps not you. She's drawn to children," Alastor educated, too sassily.

Vox's enlarged eyes squinted at Alastor through the static. Soon, the other demon physically manifested in front of him, demanding, "You're referring to my daughter?"

Could this TV imbecile not parse sentences, even with closed captioning? "Why are you looking me like I've personally threatened Velvet? You're the irresponsible oaf who's endangered her!"

"What did you say, Pencil Neck?!" As Vox shoved him, Al flashed back to Billy. Well. Now he was packing way more than a stick. Alastor normally avoided combat with Vox because it was more problematic than the fun of it was worth, but while he wanted to save energy, it was important to signal power and dominance as denizens of Hell peered around corners and through windows, eager for the street fight. Vox was shortly thrown to the ground hard enough to crack the concrete. Al gleefully watched the other overlord struggle as black tentacles attempted to rip him limb from limb. Radio waves can be used to generate electricity, and as his electronics-themed enemy attempted to do so, Alastor chuckled, "Have your way," and blasted high-frequency waves. Vox violently short-circuited, crackle-glitching eyes projecting fear. Ah! Food! Al gulped it down.

Satisfied by the sea of intimidated faces, Alastor smilingly instructed, "Resume your viewing. I await my Academy Award!" He strode away, effortfully concealing embarrassment behind his usual smile and firm step as people whispered. 'It was a foolish play on her part. This is Hell. Most people won't care. I looked unstable, but that translates to scarier, correct?' Alastor reassured himself. He felt the increase in fear, but something rotten intermixed, making it difficult to swallow.

Alastor was correct; this was Hell. But Vox was also correct. Alastor was renowned as a judgmental p**** who advertised his love of 'watching the scum of the Earth fail' and specific distaste for those who 'weren't gentle with the fairer sex' louder than a bullhorn. This glaring contradiction rendered him a laughingstock…or, depending on the viewer, left a phenomenally sour taste. Alastor encountered one such viewer while passing a bus stop. Her disgust struck him with a stabbing hunger pang, despite his recent meal.

The news had recorded the clip, and viewing it on her phone was a doll demon with dark curls peeking out of a colorful headscarf. She had three children in tow. Her face wore mixed emotions, as if unable to decide which character on the screen disgusted her more; as if her distaste mixed with hesitant satisfaction; as if questioning whether to judge, considering her own sins. She seemed familiar. Alastor's heart thudded again. Why. Of all times, why now? Both of them, one after the other, after years of never crossing paths? No, it couldn't be right. His luck couldn't be that dismal!

One of the kids saw Alastor and tugged the doll demon's dress. She raised her head, spotted him, and gasped, brushing them behind her. Al called in a gentle voice, "Ma'am! One moment!" But she pushed the kids in the opposite direction, and they all broke into a sprint. "Don't!" she called over her shoulder, with a look of profound disappointment. That was the only word he'd ever clearly remember his birth mother saying. 'Don't.' While she ran. He'd worried correctly—she'd been here all along and didn't want to speak to him. Alastor watched Camille and the kids fade away, quashing envy to pleasantly hope they were a happy family.

Alastor realized Bert was probably chucking a remote control at a screen, yelling, "You couldn't have done that sooner?!" Greg was probably chain smoking enough cigarettes to spit fire, drawling acridly, "Oh my, did things go wrong? If only someone had warned you." The Sigfriends and Marcelins would've watched Al punishing Terri with joy, had it not obviously occurred after years of cooperation with the enemy. He'd be forever branded as a family traitor.

His chosen family seemed similarly unimpressed. When Alastor passed Rosie's, he caught her watching surreptitiously from her apartment window above the emporium, dropping blinds as he made eye contact. Her look wasn't of disgust but wariness. Rosie was cautious in allyships because of where she lived; now she questioned her judgment. She was especially uneasy given the unexpected package she'd received, containing a voodoo doll resembling herself—the type she knew Alastor made—and a note reading, 'Fair warning, from the first singing cannibal seamstress. Love, Ms. McGyver.' The doll didn't appear harmed or hexed in any way, but its purpose was unclear. She reminded herself plenty of people had motive to malign Alastor, but…she'd consider before reaching out. Rosie twisted her blinds completely closed.

Alastor felt kind feelings being ripped away. His stomach ached, and his smile felt painfully stapled on. But all that meant was he couldn't give up yet; he'd never given up before. While he planned next steps, he'd recharge by visiting the only person whose view of him might improve with that video—Mimzy.

[x]

Al knew this would work. Years ago, he'd tested it after surviving an Extermination Day battle that should've been fatal. Woozy, dripping with blood, he'd gone straight to Mimzy when the departure sirens sounded, knowing positive regard would heal him faster. Aside from almost being exterminated, it was a fine day. As he hauled the four deadly weapons that had pierced him over his shoulder as if shrugging off a sprained ankle, passersby stared in awe. He'd relished learning and showing others that he was a tremendously powerful being, not because of how much damage he could cause, but how much he could take!

Grouping spears like a floral bouquet, Alastor had knocked on Mimzy's door. He snickered victoriously like a child at her squawk of horror at his visible injuries, and underplayed their severity, joking, "I've been trying to shock you for years! This is what it takes, eh?" and "Don't you want to get these beauties in a vase first?" while she steered him to the sofa. When asked why he'd prioritized coming there, Al quipped, "It's so unbelievable that I needed a hug?" and enjoyed her doting while he healed.

He'd offered her the spears to melt into holy bullets. "Please accept them. My blood and tears went into them. Actually, there's still some on there… Sorry I didn't have time to wipe them down." (Canned laughter.) "Now you can defend yourself even better than you already excellently do, my vicious little pixie. I can't wait to see you throttle something with them."

"Don't you think you oughtta keep some?"

"I'll give one to Rosie. You keep the others. It appears I can both cause and take considerable damage, so let's prioritize you. You're forbidden to ever leave me again, darling." Her dying first had been terribly painful.

"You're not allowed to leave me either, asshole," she shot back, pulling his head into her lap to pet his deer ears. "How are you healing so fast?"

Like a carnival barker claiming he could show her a mythical beast, Al asked, "Are you wondering what I am?"

"I know what you are. You're a show-off! …I'll take them if you promise you'll never test how many of those you can take for shits and giggles, you grandstanding loony toon."

Alastor had chuckled, "Sounds like a deal."

Hopefully things would go just as well this time.

[X]

Note: Alastor and Terri's relationship was one of the 3 main reasons I decided to make the crossover universe, so, to confirm, that won't take a backseat. But I'm also keen to explore the Charlie-Terri relationship and Other Mother's drama with God and the Morningstars.

Citation: The song the rats sing at Lucifer, plus Terri's "I temper my justice with mercy" and "Let's talk about it!" lines are direct quotes/callback's to Neil Gaiman's original Coraline book.