The novelty of shopping didn't wear off on Alastor as much as it did on most overlords. No one wanted to waste the time going through regeneration, and it was usually a heartwracking experience to come across a lord's wrath. No surprise, decapitations, limb tears, and a number of other gruesome executions came easily to the higher class. So, the common folk would never bother resisting or trying to stop a lord from taking what they desired. For the Radio Demon, however, it was some semblance of humanity left still. He could remember the shopping trips he took with mother, still, until she couldn't walk anymore. She'd provide grocery lists then and entrust things to him. All the way to the point where he had to do things all by himself.

'This coffee will keep you awake for 666 nights straight!'

It never really changed from then on, the tradition still alive in some way. Upon descending into hell, a place he knew he was surely headed to, he wondered if by some error his mother would be there. That, initially, had him hoping. But that was such an impossibility... and if that were to become true, he probably wouldn't have beeen able to muster the strength to face her. He wasn't scared of her disowning him, or estranging herself. He could just imagine the disappointment... the fading of an innocent boy to some murderous maniac with little tells of previous humanity. Perhaps they were even looking down right now, weeping at the loss of her son.

Placing the can of coffee into a shadow, a handy alternative for a cart, he headed to the registers, focusing on the clacking of his brogues against the white, tiled floor. There'd been commotion a few moments ago, and through the darkness, from what little came in the brightly lit store, he could see them; thugs, poorly disguised in masks, and awkwardly hiding the traditional assortment of weapons. Alastor felt his stride turn into more of a prance as he emerged from the aisle calmly, twirling his microphone. There'd been three of them, holding up the lonesome register. No one else was in the shop, so it was a great time for a robbery. Though, the Radio Demon must've eluded them somehow, as they looked surprised to see him.

One of them, pistol in hand, took aim as a threat, and headed for the exit. The other two, finishing up with the poor old imp, let them go in pursuit of the exit. But, the automatic sliding doors were not looking so automatic anymore, as they stayed seal with black permeating off the hinges, courtesy of Alastor, of course.

It used to be fun. At times, it still was. Though as actions fell into routine, routine had a habit of turning into dull, unentertaining motions, all brainless and automatic. Alastor's smile had been a prime example of it, every step, every cut, and every screech so natural. What was once a practiced, recalled act had become a pure extension of him, where everything was so... blank. Before he knew it, all said and done, he was in front of the register, who smiled thankfully at his presence. Blinking, he shook his head at their gratitude.

"Thank you... please, take whatever you need. Without you, I would've-"

"Please. It's all in a day's work." The deer's toothy smile lowered as licked the blood from his teeth. "This is entertainment."

"Thank you... um...?"

"Just Mister Radio Demon," Alastor stared into their eyes for a second. "but you can drop the mister."

Not to say he felt like a hero, he thought, this must've been what superheroes felt after a while. With all that power so common and part of their lives, at one point do they begin to 'settle down?' As lonely as he was a human, he felt even more alone in this place. No one understood. No one wanted to understand. Nobody even knew his real name... perhaps the stigma of a lord was enough to keep everyone away, anyhow... much less one with a constant existential crisis undergoing in their head.

Thanking the lone employee for their kind gesture of giving the can of coffee grounds for free, he strolled out, minding the new section he'd decided to provided the store with: assorted freshly minced demon, an arrangement of limbs and heads pooled into a crate. It was fairly cheap, too.

Alastor could've teleported straight back into his beautiful home. Isolated, cold, and as silent as pins dropping, he oddly felt the desire to walk home. His walk, bombastic as ever, was burned into every muscle's fiber. Smiling and bright-eyed, he looked about as happy as anyone could ever be. The aching hid quite well. Cars didn't pass, and the few blocks seemed so lifeless. Subtly, his posture sagged. His smile slowly cracked down. Hell's orb was covered by hard to discern reds, blocking whatever version of sunlight it had. And rain, highlighted by the hues of the sky, dropped like blood.

'Tip, tip, tip, tip...' His brogues sounded.

The pattering of the rain was a mockery. An applause for his performance. Another day in this hell living, but not really.

'Tip, tip, tip..."

He wasn't sure if he was even headed in the right direction. Deep into his thoughts, he'd failed to hear a second pair of footsteps behind him. Finally, a passerby. He ignored it as his mind kept him sulked, steeped into self-degradation.

'Tiptiptiptip-!'

The impact from behind startled him, but made him chuckle. Looking straight into the sky as he let whatever was pulling him do what they wanted, he was pushed up against bricks, his head whipping into the concrete. That wouldn't even leave a bruise. Closing his eyes, letting the rain patter over his face, he took a deep breath. His arms had been constricted, restrained against the wall. He was aware of what was happening, and if he so wanted, he could've given this fellow the very same treatment he had given to others just moments ago. Perhaps the blood had washed off of his suit already.

Feeling a sharp poking sensation at his belly, he looked down to see a knife pointing and the two gloved hands keeping him in place. Then, he looked up to see an arrangement of eyes. The two larger ones, however, caught his attention. One was white, , and the other was steeped in black. They stared harshly, trying to look as aggressive as they could. Their beauty betrayed them. Just with a glance, the question of a threat had gone.

"Gimme yer fuckin' wallet."

"Are you not going to use that fourth hand to check yourself? And you didn't tell me. Is this a robbery?"

The demon, who clearly was a spider, did a double take, and pressed harder, clearly agitated by the quip. "Shut the fuck up. Play nice, or yer gonna be havin' a few extra holes you'd prefer not to have."

They still weren't deep enough to penetrate flesh. Alastor, who didn't even realize he was still smiling, widened it. Easily prying off their hand, they stared in surprise. Then, redirecting their hand down to the knife, he pulled it into himself. The other demon, however, was resisting... quite odd for a robber who was just threatening to stab them. Try as they might, however, they couldn't stop the blade from plunging straight into his side, that sharp, metallic taste arriving in the deer's mouth. Keeping their hand steady over the blade, he stared, watching those lovely orbs dart between his own, and the wound.

Alastor wasn't bothered at all, the sting akin to a needle, a sigh as the entry pushed through and through, stopping at the handle.

The rain kept on falling. The blood didn't look too different from the rain, though was distinctly a deeper red. Though, as the rain kept up, mist formed too. It was a habit of the weather, the heat naturally evaporating. For some reason, Alastor felt satisfied, just watching the sky for now. Without looking, he could tell the other demon had scampered away to the opposite wall of the alley, hearing the cowering.

Alastor spoke quietly after a short while. "Were you not going to stab me?"

"N-no! I just... I just needed...!"

Alastor found it comical. What kind of demon would feel this bad after all that talk? Yes, it had been a bluff, but usually there was an intention to follow through regardless. It wasn't like law enforcement was a thing down there. Was it fear from recognition? No... if they knew he was the Radio Demon, they would've run off by now. So, that just left the former. In another sense, it was adorable.

"What were you looking for?" Alastor spoke after a long observation, the other demon refusing to look up.

"...Some money... souls... haven't eaten in days..."

"Ah. Of course."

Alastor felt a little awkward in only saying that. Continuing to observe, he felt something was off. It wasn't anything dangerous, a mild discomfort settling. As they began to look up, seeing those eyes peer cautiously, his gaze pierced right through theirs. The rain seemed to get louder, and his heart began to pound. This wasn't right. Standing up, he walked towards them quickly. Perhaps it was too quick, as he saw them quickly stand up as well, raising their hands up.

"No, no..." The deer's eyes narrowed as he brought a hand to collar, though not aggressively. His tug on their neck was light. "...you're much too tall. Bear with me, and just..."

As the lankier demon slowly went down, watching the hand gestures, Alastor did too, going into a kneel. His knees dug into the wet dirt. Their clothes were already muddied, less hesitant to be further so. Their faces close, he could feel their breath through the droplets, fogging his monocle. So, he took it off. Drawing his hands on the brick wall behind them, Alastor stared contemplatively, blinking, his smile reduced to uncertainty. He didn't wear this face so well, nor willingly.

"What is your name?" Alastor spoke softer, though clearer at this distance.

"Anth..." The demon paused. "...Angel."

Alastor's eyes softened.

Angel's heart was beating a million miles a minute, but he'd noticed the oddity. He didn't feel in danger, seeing them look like this. It was a sort of naivety and curiosity. One that felt oh so familiar, but far, far away. Swallowing, he kept eye contact.

"...What about yers?"

Alastor couldn't help but smile at the question, though not a shrill grin; just his lips. "I... am Alastor. Pleased to meet you."

He felt the memories return as warmth filled his chest. It was such an odd thing to remember. He heard this 'Angel' slip... or perhaps it was the rain, or the stab somehow being worse than he thought. But, looking at them was uncanny. It brought him immense joy. Seeing Angel's eyes widen, and their body raise, he wondered if they felt the same... or if they were just scared.

Angel dared to touch their cheek, as if it meant something. He wasn't sure why, but it was his instinct, as if this tactility would unveil something. The boy he remembered from so long ago bore striking resemblance. Looking past the most obvious features, somewhere in those red eyes were ones of hazel, and a smile so much less... tainted.

Alastor learned into the touch. In return, a hand slid down to take one of theirs, a gloved pink. Angel took it off and let it fall beside them.

"Are you...?" Alastor began.

Angel waited for them to finish. As they couldn't, he continued the thought.

"...the one from before...?"