Alastor's not one to celebrate a certain once-Saturnalian day in December; nor is he one to augment the red theme of his wardrobe. This is Hell, after all.
Exceptions can be made, however.
Crimson. Scarlet. Maroon. Garnet. Burgundy.
(̶͉͆̆ḃ̴͉l̷͙͐ǫ̵͍o̷̙̜̔ḓ̶̞̈́̕)̴̬͖͋
Call it whatever you fancy; red is the dominant hue on the canvas that is Hell. On the canvas that is Alastor, the Radio Demon, as well.
And it suits him just fine and dandy, for red was his preferred colour in life. His clothes, the flickering 'on air' sign at his studio…
…̵̡͝t̷͙̚h̶̥̆ę̴̉ ̶̢l̴̬̽į̶̍f̶̞͑e̶̦͂ ̵͚̚l̶̙̚e̵͍̍a̴̰k̴̡̑ȉ̴̳n̵̤̓g̸̫͐ ̵̧̊ô̵̻ȗ̷̗t̶͚̂ ̴̝̿ơ̴̢f̵̖͂ ̷̧̈́h̸͔͂į̶̅s̷̮̎ ̴̧̓v̶̝͊i̸̟̾c̶̜̒t̶͔́i̴̖͂m̵͇̉š̶͍
̵̞̔ŗ̴͘ạ̷̾w̴̻̿ ̷̧͊h̷̘̉ů̸̼ń̷̮k̶̬͘s̸͍̽ ̶̹̒o̴͚̚f̴̫͗ ̴͍͐f̷̺͘r̵̤͊ë̴̩́s̴͔̈́h̶̫̋l̵̛̪ý̷̱-̴̺͊c̵̝ű̵̥ṭ̸̔ ̶̥̐f̶̰͘l̵̪͘e̵̢̅s̶̙͋h̶͉͑ ̶͙̆i̶̞͛n̸̟̾ ̵̟͊ḩ̸̒i̷͈̒s̶̪͌ ̴̩̅ḫ̷̄a̴̟͊n̶̯̉d̶͎̈́s̷̜͝
̴̣̋t̷͇̆ẖ̷̄ẹ̶ ̶͎̂i̶̼͌n̷̙̍t̶͇̉o̵̟̓x̶͉͂i̸̡̛ć̷̟a̴̢̛t̷̝͝i̵̗͛n̴̩̋g̸̖̔ ̶̪͠p̷̘͝ö̷̡́ẘ̶̻é̶͓r̶̭̈́ ̸̢̓c̶̨͐à̸̻s̸͚̊ṭ̸̄ì̴̟n̸̼͗g̷̝̈́ ̶͜i̴̛̩t̷̰͒s̶͇̓ ̵̦́s̷̳̄h̴̻̉a̵͔͌d̷͂ͅō̸̝w̶̦̍ ̴͇͠o̴̗̐v̷̙̒e̴̘͝r̸̡̐ ̸͍̈h̷͐ͅỉ̵͇m̵̟̈́,̵̢̏ ̶͉̍t̴̛̥ḧ̷͜r̶̝̓ò̴̙ū̵̮ǧ̴͜h̵̹͋ ̵͇̈h̸͇̅i̵̢͠m̷̓ͅ,̷̘̕ ̶̙͊w̸̽͜i̵͔͑t̷̜͘h̵̰͘ị̴̎n̸̨͠ ̴̠́h̵̭̓i̷̲͌m̵͇̈́…̸͈̈́
But when everything's red, it can sometimes become a tad monotonous to the eyes.
It amuses him that the Princess of Hell even attempts to celebrate the day marking the birth of her opposite, her nemesis – what would her father think of that?
But he's fond of Charlie, enough that he permits her to enter his personal space, fluffy hat and all -
- she's flinging trinkets and ornaments and things all over him. No, this will not do, he does not permit being trussed up like a tree, literally.
Alastor turns, makes to whisk himself away -
- and catches a glimpse of Charlie's handiwork in the new lobby mirror.
For all her chaotic whirlwind energy, she's done a most tasteful job. Baubles and bows affixed symmetrically to his jacket; a scarf of tinsel draped over his shoulders.
All these additions to his ensemble are eye-catchingly, contrastingly green.
Green, like the trees that grow in the bayou. The bell peppers his mother chopped up for her jambalaya.
Green goes well with red.
Alastor pivots back, extols Charlie's additions to his outfit, throws in a quip about her finding a whole new career path as she beams.
Then he watches her whizz away, to subject their fellow Hotel residents to her ironically festive adorning accessories.
A/N:
Merry Crisis/Chrysler/Christmas!
Alastor's a tricky character for me to try and write for, especially from his POV, and especially regarding his relationships with and empathy (or apparent lack of) for other characters.
While I don't ship them, I think there's a heap of opportunity for a complex Charlie-Alastor friendship. He openly doesn't share her beliefs about morality or redemption (and I suspect there will be some antagonizing, manipulation, and sabotage going on on Al's part); yet they share common interests in music, dance, spectacle. To play the two dynamics against each other would be interesting to watch, especially if Alastor eventually becomes genuine friends with Charlie over his time at the Hotel.
Looking forward to a hella exciting 2022! ;-)