Chapter 15
Spontaneity
Later on that night, Alastor walked through the halls, humming a little tune. He liked to go on patrol every now and then, just to see if he could catch someone awake. While startling guests was a lot of fun, he often craved normal conversation, and anyone here would have nowhere to run if he decided to greet them. People running away before he finished his first word got very tiresome.
Apparently tonight would bear fruit, as he came upon the dining room and heard noises within. As it was 2am, he wondered who else would be awake at this ungodly hour. His reasoning was obvious; he hardly slept as it was. When he entered the room, it was empty, except for some papers and pens on a table. There was only one person he could think of who would be up and working at such a time of day.
Eliza.
Still, for her to leave her work on the table seemed strangely sloppy of her. That is, until he took a look and realized that the pages were blank sheets of lined paper. He cocked an eyebrow, wondering if perhaps it wasn't work she was working on after all. Then he took a sniff, and realized that she was in the kitchen cooking. He knew that she had been helping Niffty in there for a time, but he had never actually seen her cook by herself.
The door opened behind him, and he turned to face the startled therapist, who froze. She carried a plate of what appeared to be fried rice, as well as a cup, though its contents were not as easily seen.
"Can I help you?" she asked once she recovered her senses. She moved past him to set down her things. "I apologize for not making more, I wasn't expecting company."
"Fear not, my dear, I know my way around a kitchen when it's necessary," he soothed. "Would you be bothered by my company?"
She suddenly looked rather embarrassed; an uncharacteristic expression for her to wear. "...No." She cleared her throat and sat down, taking up a pen and glancing at him uncomfortably. He took it as his cue to disappear for a bit into the kitchen, where he made his own rice dish; Cajun dirty rice.
Upon his return, he watched her write for a moment before approaching. It seemed as though she was struggling with something. "If it's not work related, may I ask what you're working on?" He sat down, carefully placing himself where the pile of papers blocked the sheet she was using.
Eliza sighed, looking downright frustrated. "You're from the 20's, correct? Or around that time period, at least. I've heard you mention the Stock Market Crash a couple times."
"You're correct, my dear," he confirmed, unsure where that question was leading.
"Back in your day, cursive was commonplace," she continued. "But currently it's being removed from curriculums across the states. Private institutions still teach it, and some prestigious colleges still require it on occasion, but everything is digital. As such, I started learning how to write it late in life."
Suddenly, he understood the point she was working towards. "And now you wish to take the time to practice. Is it really so embarrassing? Being a product of the times is not entirely under one's control, my dear."
"It's annoying," she growled. Then she blinked for a moment, and took a calming breath. Alastor had noticed that she had been doing this with increasing regularity as of late. "I apologize, it's not as if it's your fault I'm having difficulty with this."
His smile shrank slightly. He didn't like seeing her withdraw whenever she felt exposed. That calming breath she takes is always an indicator that she will return to her cold, stand-offish demeanor, and it was starting to irritate him. "Well, I am from the 20's," he said, cheekily. "Far be it from me to call myself a teacher, but I doubt a little tutoring is beyond my abilities."
She turned to him with a confused expression. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm offering to help you," he stated. "If you're willing, I'll try to assist you in bettering your writing skills."
Now she looked suspicious. "Forgive me, Alastor, but I have never seen you do something out of the sheer kindness of your heart. At the same time, I can not imagine what you'd want in return. You don't seem at all interested in money, and I don't have much else."
He smiled at her skepticism. "So distrustful!" He tsked. "But you're not entirely incorrect, I suppose. I guess my request would simply be that you honor me with casual conversation and, maybe, a few answers to more personal questions, should they not pry too deep into something sensitive."
"What could you possibly want to know?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"Let's start with the writing portion," he deflected with a mischievous grin. "I'll think of a couple questions as we work. Now, let me see what we're starting with." He held out his hand for the paper she was currently working on. Taking one last uncertain look at the page, she reluctantly handed it over, and he took a careful look. At first he simply studied her penmanship, which he agreed left much to be desired. She focused too much on its legibility, and was forsaking the artistic aspect of proper handwriting. Then he took note of what it said. 'I am who I choose to be. Genetics do not control me. My past does not define me. My heart will not deceive me. My mind is my own to shape.' From there, the pattern repeated until he reached the point where she stopped to talk with him.
"Just get it over with," she muttered, not looking forward to the criticism. She was getting antsy about him reviewing her work, and he wasn't sure why exactly she was so on edge. It couldn't be his reputation, because she never seemed bothered by it before.
"It's crude, but so are all things when freshly started," he began, deciding to choose his words carefully. "It's good that you focus on making it legible, but do not forget that cursive is also a form of art, much like proper calligraphy." He then took to writing a sentence of his own, handing the paper back to her to read. She seemed to flinch away from it, causing him to lower his hand. "My dear, why are you so put off by me? Have I offended you somehow?"
She didn't want to say it, but she felt compelled to give an honest answer. "I… don't take well to criticism. When it comes to this sort of thing, I mean."
"Does my offer of help truly offend you so?"
She was quiet for a moment, then carefully took the paper from him without answering. She couldn't say it. She couldn't tell him that she always heard her Dad's critical remarks whenever someone offered help or advice. It wasn't his fault. Still, it made it difficult to read his writing. Her father would always tell her what she was doing wrong, and then do it correctly and leave without any advice or encouragement. It made her feel worthless. When Alastor wrote a sample sentence for her to inspect, she felt a very similar sense of dread. She didn't want to see how much better his writing was.
Still, she humored him and read the sentence. It took her a moment to read it, as she found cursive as troublesome to read as it was to write. Alastor watched carefully, noting her struggle with his fancy penmanship. Once she did read it, however, she blinked in surprise.
'Do not deny yourself for an ideal.'
She shot Alastor an inquisitive look. "Excuse me?"
"Your little mantra," he explained. "Seems rather idealistic, wouldn't you say?"
There was a moment's pause. "No, I wouldn't. It's far from idealistic to believe someone has the power to change themselves."
Now his laugh seemed a bit harsh. "Hardly, my dear! If that was the case, these poor slobs wouldn't have need of this hotel!"
"I doubt anyone who comes here will truly want to change," she argued, "they just want to get out of Hell, and that requires them to change."
He smiled. "How pessimistic."
"Realistic," she corrected.
"But still, who can forever repress the need for release?" He leaned forward slightly. "Drugs to make them forget, sex to make them feel... Even something as simple as spontaneity! A compulsive decision can be enough. Tell me, my dear: Don't you feel that need?"
Pulling her head back, she leveled him a distrustful look. "What are you getting at, Alastor?"
"I'm telling you to do something unexpected!" He threw his hands in the air excitedly. "Enjoy the moment, and seize an opportunity that would otherwise never present itself. Cards on the table: If you decided to do something right now, even if just to sate your curiosity, what would it be?"
He watched as she looked down at the table, as if to inspect the metaphorical cards he mentioned. He was anxious to see what she would do. Would she withdraw and call him out, or would she humor him?
He wasn't sure why, but the thought of her playing his game excited him to no end; far more than any other sinner he spoke with. He wanted to ask what she was hiding behind those intelligent eyes and that small, misleading smile. 'Show me who you are,' he thought eagerly.
As he watched, she stood up, but didn't bother to push in her chair, suggesting that she wasn't actually getting ready to leave. For a moment she simply stood there, taking a long look at her right hand before walking over and offering it to him. Normally, a deal leads to an unnatural glow, much like his own green that carried a menacing buzz. Hers, however, caused a thorny vine to extend from the rose over her heart, which wrapped loosely around her arm down to her hand, forming a rounded cage.
He was fairly certain that, if he shook that offered hand, the vines would clamp down and seal the deal in blood.
"What is this?" he asked, feeling strangely breathless at such a bold move.
"A deal," she answered with a shrug.
"No written contract? No details for me to contemplate?"
She studied his face for a moment before smiling, but this smile seemed more open than usual. There was a modicum of excitement there, and it made him very curious. "No."
He chuckled. "Only a fool agrees to such a deal." His voice dipped into a venomous purr. "Will I ever know the details?"
"I will tell you after you accept or deny it. Once you know what it is, however, the deal will not be offered again. All you need to know is that it's fair."
Alastor couldn't deny the strange temptation. This was not something he'd ever been offered before; a deal with no spoken understanding. Could he also add his own clause? If he reached out and accepted, could he take her soul right now? What if that was her part of the deal? It seemed unlikely; no, she adored fair deals. Or, at least, he thought she did, but he recalled that bluff...
She tricked the Radio Demon and an experienced, cheating gambler without blinking an eye on one of her first ever card games, and that's assuming she had been honest about never playing before.
He reached out with his right hand, but instead of taking the deal he slipped his claws under her wrist and, with his left hand, closed her outstretched fingers. As the vines withdrew, she quickly brought her hand back with a small blush, not expecting such an intimate refusal. "I would like to call your bluff."
Her eye twitched. "What?" Her tone turned cold, and he felt a draft.
"I believe you're lying," he stated, shrugging with his hands up. "I believe that, in spite of your fairness in the past, this deal will not benefit me in the slightest. No matter what, I have the upper hand only if I refuse."
The temperature in the room plummeted further, but her face returned to its polite, neutral state, confusing him greatly. "Such a shame," she said, sweetly. "If you had taken the deal, neither one of us would have been able to take any further deals that would directly harm the other. In short, I couldn't hurt you, your business or your friends by taking deals with any of your enemies. Likewise, you couldn't do that to me, either, though I have far fewer enemies than you."
The overlord couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open slightly. Had that truly been the deal she was offering? No, it couldn't be. If it was, then that made it a deal that, while fair in concept, would have actually been a boon to him. His rivals couldn't use her against him in any way. 'What is this woman?' he thought.
"However," she continued, picking up her extra papers and pens, "I do feel rather offended by that statement, so I think I'll just leave. Good night, Alastor." With that dismissal, she turned around and left him in silence.
Alastor watched her walk away, unsure what to think at that moment. By calling her a liar, he had both turned down what could have been a very secure deal and offended the woman into leaving. Not only that, but he genuinely regretted chasing her off; he had been looking forward to enjoying her company for the evening. There weren't many people who didn't flee his presence the instant he arrived, and most in the hotel who stuck around either openly disliked him or tormented him with highly inappropriate humor, making him incredibly uncomfortable. She had also honestly caught him off guard: Who makes deals like that on a whim? That, and why was she so hard for him to predict? Despite what he knew of the woman, he had not seen that coming.
Had Husk made that kind of offer, it would have probably been to keep Alastor at arms length at all times, preventing him from invading his space or stealing his fancy drinks. Had it been Angel, it surely would have involved sex. Charlie would have asked him to make an honest effort towards redemption, and Vaggie would never make a deal with him unless it allowed her to shove that spear through his skull. No, he was missing something.
He looked down at the single sheet of paper; the one thing she didn't take back with her. That and the plate of fried rice she abandoned, which he would put in the fridge before he left. Grabbing the parchment, he took a different look at her writing style. She favored legibility over art; practicality over beautification. Being able to read it was more important than impressing someone. This was not the approach most took to writing, as they either favored writing quickly without care for the reader's challenge or a beautiful scrawl for all viewers to marvel at.
So... what ideal did she pursue that would cause her to be so easily offended?
A few days later, it was time for Lakavi's first appointment. Eliza was not looking forward to this encounter, but she hid her nerves well. She did, however, leave Alucard back in her room. She didn't need him deciding to attack because his master felt uncomfortable.
Lakavi showed up late to the appointment, which she had anticipated. She had done the same thing at the Reception, after all. She was not a timely individual.
"Have a seat, Lakavi," Eliza instructed. The green demoness obeyed, but laid out over the entire couch, stretching out her long, avian legs and holding her head up with one hand. She was trying to look seductive, which Eliza noted on her notepad.
"So, what're we gonna talk about?" she asked.
Eliza looked up at her, her polite facade bolstered by a meditative session beforehand. She knew this wouldn't be an easy first session to get through. "Let's start with the basics. When did you die?"
"Ain't that, like, rude?" Lakavi asked, clearly trying to dodge the question. "Demons don't usually talk about life before Hell, ya know."
"I'm here to help you figure out where to go from here. The end goal of the hotel is redemption of sinners. Time and cause of death give me an idea of both the expectations you grew up with and the kind of life you lived. Both are essential to move forward, even if you decide to forgo redemption and leave."
"If you say so," the bird teased. "I died in 2008."
"Ah, you haven't been here long," Eliza stated. "Cause?"
"Suicide. Cut my wrists in the tub. Nice way to go, once you get over the panic. Keeps you warm as you drift away…"
Eliza made a note in her file. 'Romanticizes death.' She looked up at the reminiscing young woman. "So you died on your own terms."
Lakavi raised an eyebrow. "Well, yea, that's how 'suicide' works."
"But that's not always the motivation," Eliza explained. "Suicide is often about losing the will to go on, believing that death is the only way. But I don't think you entirely gave up so much as just wanted to take some control."
"Care to explain that one, dollface?"
Snap.
Eliza had snapped her fingers, and the sound was rather sharp. Lakavi blinked as she registered what just happened. "The fuck was that for?"
"Eliza," the therapist corrected. "No nicknames, remember?"
The other demoness pouted slightly, bending backwards to give Eliza a clear line of sight of her feathery cleavage. "But it suits you. You look like a little white doll. Tell me," she asked with a mischievous smirk, "do you break like one?"
The pale demoness took an almost imperceptible calming breath. She continued on her previous train of thought involving control. The conversation turned to previous relationships, where her belief that she pursued abusive relationships was validated. However, the more they talked, it became clear that it wasn't primarily the abuse that attracted her.
"Have you ever felt like you're the one in control?" Eliza asked, taking several notes as she listened to the bird's monologue.
"I'm always in control," she said. "I like people who take charge every once in a damn while. Someone who's ready to call the shots, who lets others know exactly what they want, and doesn't take shit from other people. Wishy-washy bastards make me wanna puke."
More notes in her notepad. "When did you first figure out you were attracted to controlling individuals?"
"This boy in middle school," she sighed. "Real cutie, that one. Had a temper, too. Some kid tried to steal his lunch, and ended up with two black eyes. That was my first crush." It was hard to tell underneath the green feathers, but it seemed as though she was blushing. She also started absentmindedly caressing her inner thigh with her index finger. "Then, a teacher wanted him to use some bullshit process in math, and he stabbed her with a pencil. Never saw him again after that. People who take charge are so fucking hot." Her index finger moved closer to her center.
Snap.
Lakavi jumped slightly after being torn out of her memories. "The fuck… again?!"
"Please conduct yourself with more propriety," the therapist demanded, taking more notes.
"Damn, you're strict," she said, folding her arms and leaning back. "Gotta question, actually. How do ya do the wing thing? Ya know, where they pop out and squish."
"It happens whenever something's happening that I don't like," she said. It was a technical truth, though clearly oversimplified.
"Soooo," she cooed, flipping over onto her stomach. Eliza saw that she was about to make her move. "Since you didn't make me go squish…" She crawled over the table, her legs bridging the gap between the table and the other couch while her face sat about a foot away from Eliza's. "Does that mean you liked it?"
Snap!
The wing grabbed the woman by the neck and shoved her back into the other couch. It was a quick and short-lived attack, but enough to cause the woman to sputter and cough upon release. The appendage disappeared as quickly as it was summoned, and Eliza felt quite pleased with herself. That was the first conscious command it had ever obeyed.
All the while, Lakavi watched as the therapist's polite demeanor never faltered, as if the attack had never happened. She wanted to comment, to say something to get a reaction out of the woman, but her voice failed her. Before she could recover, the therapist stood up, looking down at her with a look that bordered on pity.
"And with that, the session ends a bit early," she informed her unfortunate client. "Still, I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. I expected you to reach three snaps long before now. Perhaps you stand a better chance than I thought."
The green demoness could only listen in confusion. Was this woman actually praising her? She expected anger; sharp words used to cut her down. Or, better yet, soothing words to make the pain feel better, like she should just accept it as normal. What the fuck was this 'perhaps you have a chance' shit?
Eliza clapped a couple times. "Now, if you would be so kind as to show yourself out, I would appreciate it. I have work to do!"
When Angel came back from work that evening, he looked truly terrible. He had a black eye, and bruises all over his body. He had been commanded to stand on a street-corner the night before, and the patron paid well to keep him for quite some time. It made up for what he owed Val, but…
"Angel, I was beginning-" Alastor paused at the sight of him. He knew of his business, but it was rare to see him so thoroughly beaten. The Radio Demon felt something click within him. Angel may be a man, but his feminine persona still made him feel somewhat protective of the whorish spider. Seeing the abuse he suffered made him want to hunt.
Normally he would greet the spider with a hint of spite, or torment him in some way, but tonight felt utterly different. He didn't dare ask him if he was alright, as it was a downright stupid question, but he had another idea. "Husker, my friend!" He turned to the bar, where the cat in question was just opening a bottle of booze, raising an eyebrow at his boss with a 'This better be good' expression. "I believe this man needs a shot! Do be a pal and get something with some kick."
"Yea, that sounds good right now," Angel said, his smile dented slightly by a wince of pain as he walked. "Let me just get changed into something more comfortable." Alastor was grateful for that, because the corset and stockings made him feel disturbed, to say the least, especially considering he grew up in a time where men simply did not dress that way. Although, now that he thought of it, Angel grew up in such a time as well.
"Where's the damn whiskey," Husk muttered to himself, searching the back of the shelves for the good shit. When Alastor called to him, he got a look at the spider. He would never say it out loud, but it angered him to see him that badly hurt. Angel always brushed off his occupation, making lewd jokes and hitting on Husk relentlessly, but it had its very bad days. Apparently, today was one, and Husk had the perfect drink for forgetting everything. He kept it hidden away for special occasions.
On his way to his room, he ran into Niffty, who was going into the empty rooms with her duster. She stopped just before entering the next room and looked at him.
"Woah," she said, her eye looking straight at the one he could barely keep open. "What happened to you?"
"None of your business, shorty," he growled.
"Hey, don't be mean!" she squeaked, puffing out her cheeks. "If you need ointment, we got lots of it in the medicine cabinet. We also have ibuprofen, aspirin-"
"I'll be fine," he snapped. Niffty watched him walk away, glaring at his back.
"Some people are so rude!" she huffed, getting back to work. Alastor's shadow, however, watched the exchange from a distance, having been told to keep an eye on the spider. The Radio Demon would not be happy to see him mistreat his little darling.
He went into his room and shut the door with a sigh. The hotel was becoming something of a safe-haven for him, and this room was the one place where no one bothered him. Well, other than Charlie on occasion, but she was OK. He kind of viewed her as a little sister now, even though he knew she was much older than him. Honestly, you wouldn't know it talking to her.
Fat Nuggets came up to him and bounced around his feet. Angel picked him up with a warm smile, bringing him up to his face to nuzzle his little snout. He really was such an adorable pig, though he was afraid to take him out of the room. Alastor, crazy fucker that he was, would probably try to eat him. Carrying his adorable pet around with his bottom pair of arms, he went over to the vanity desk and cracked open his set of powders. By the time he was done dolling himself up, it looked as though there hadn't been a violent encounter, and he was satisfied. He then put the pig down on the bed and got dressed into something more manageable: his usual pink-striped open-front dress-suit and black bowtie, pink gloves and long boots.
"Alright, Nuggy," he said, nuzzling his little friend one more time. He chuckled and brushed a little white powder off the pig's snout, and was rewarded with a loving little oink. "I'm gonna go downstairs again. Husk's gonna get me something nice to drink, so I'll be gone a lil' while, 'k?"
When Angel went downstairs, Alastor wasted no time approaching him. Despite being angry about how Niffty had been treated, he was rather happy to see Angel look more normal again, so he decided to go easy on him. "There you are! I believe Husk has a drink ready and waiting." He then leaned in slightly, making the spider nervous. Normally he kept a fair distance between them, so this was new. His lower, more threatening tone did not help matters. "And remember something, just for the future: When a lady offers help, it is better to politely decline." Alastor pulled away, returning to a distance that Angel felt more familiar with. "Now, have fun, you two! Try not to make a mess of the carpet; Niffty just cleaned it last night! And we don't need her feeling more irritable, now do we?" With that last statement, he sent Angel a meaningful but mild glare before walking away.
"He really is protective of her," Angel stated, sitting at the bar and staring at the shot glass, which was promptly filled.
"Yea, he likes the kid," Husk agreed, pouring himself a shot as well.
Angel picked up the glass, swishing it around a little. "How do they know each other?" He knocked it back and downed it in a single gulp.
Husk matched him, draining his own glass and setting it back down. "She owed him a solid for a favor a few decades ago."
"Seriously?" Angel asked with a tone of curiosity. "What'd he do?"
Husk leveled him a look, as if debating whether to keep talking about this. He opted to keep this answer as short as possible. "She had a love affair up top. He got engaged to someone else, she got jealous and killed his fiancé. Then he killed Niffty for revenge, and shortly after that, he died too and ended up down here with her. She felt scared and had Alastor off the guy."
Angel gave a single nod. "That would do it." He assumed that meant Alastor had the guy erased, but decided he didn't want to know how that happened. Some things are better left unsaid.
The two decided to shift to other topics, all of which became more and more crazy the more shots they took. That whiskey bottle was not going to last the night, it seemed, but Husk didn't give a damn. He'd get more, somehow. He always did.
"Then the fucker decided to *hic* reach for a gun, like I didn't see it bulging outta his fuckin' shirt!" Angel said with a laugh. "Three tommy guns later and *hic* he and his friends are red stains on the walls! Asshats neva wanna take me seriously."
"Dumbasses," Husk agreed, his eyes not entirely focused anymore. He was still standing, though, so he did his best to pour himself another drink. He didn't want to spill a drop of whiskey, so he carefully held it over the glass and squinted, trying to see it clearly enough.
Angel laughed at him. "You look like a dumbass," he countered. "Seriously, the glass is, um… Here." He reached out to touch it and missed. He was seeing three glasses now, and wasn't quite sure which was the one he wanted to pick up. "Wait, no, this one… Aha!" He picked the right one, and when he lifted it, he almost hit the bottle, which Husk quickly pulled back.
"Hey, watch it," he reprimanded, nursing it like a baby. "This is good shit, no spilling!"
"Yea, it's good alright," Angel agreed, looking at the bottom of his glass in annoyance. "Another."
"No more for you," Husk drawled, putting the cap back on.
"Aw, coooome ooooon," Angel begged, clumsily trying to crawl onto the bar. "Gimme!"
"No!" Husk caught himself, almost falling backwards as he wildly swung his arm back, trying to keep it out of the taller demon's reach.
Angel, his breath reeking of alcohol, realized after a moment that he was only inches away from Husk's face, and that their chests were touching. He chuckled, looking down at the cat with a face of drunken mischief. "Hey, sexy, I like da viiieeew…"
"Get offa me," Husk slurred, trying to back away but finding nowhere to go. The spider lost his balance and leaned heavily on the veteran's chest. The hand Husk was already using to steady himself was the only thing keeping them from falling to the floor.
"Ya know," Angel slurred, a large toothy smile on his face, "I always find it funny how you're always naked. Like, no one seems ta care, ya know? Just a hat and bowtie. How ya do that?"
Husk tried to find a way to move, but his other paw was holding on to the whiskey bottle for dear life. He had to find a way to put it down, but the counter seemed to move away from him. He grimaced. "Just came down this handsome."
"Handsome?" Angel barked laughter. "You mean sexy as fuuuuck." He leaned in further, and Husk couldn't hold on much more. "Come on, Kitty, let it happen." He moved in for a kiss. Finally, Husk couldn't take it anymore, and he let go of the counter. He pushed himself out from under the spider, but couldn't find his balance and still fell to the floor. The two lay there for a few minutes, winded and dizzy as hell. Angel's legs were pointed up, visible from the other side of the counter, but Husk was on his back, unable to move. He cradled the whiskey and refused to let it go until the room stopped spinning.
The next morning, Lakavi came down into the lobby and found the two in the exact same positions they had fallen into. When she looked over the counter, she saw them passed the fuck out, Husk still holding the whiskey bottle and Angel still face-planted into the floor.
"Damn, what party did I miss?"
Author's Note:
Ugh, I need to stop going back to previous chapters and fixing shit. It doesn't help that I'm at a stand-still on chapter 26. *sigh*
