Chapter 53
Honesty is Rough
Husk just stared at the bracelets at his post behind the front desk. It was such a stupid idea to buy them; would Angel even like the idea? Why did he buy them in the first place? Damn it, he really was an idiot.
But should he go for it? It's been a long time since he's cared to be in a relationship; what could he even give the guy? He's just a drunk veteran with gambling debts who belongs to one of the most pompous overlords in Hell. Nothing special here.
"Hey, hot stuff."
Shoving the bracelets into a cabinet with a blush, he shook his head vigorously before dragging his claws down his face. "Oh, uh, hey." Turning around after pulling a dirty glass off the back wall, he started cleaning it as he turned around. "Just cleanin' the place before the day starts."
The porn star leaned on the bar with his top set of arms, resting his chin on his hands as his second set rested on his hips. The grumpy cat couldn't help but notice the bags under his eyes that even his powders couldn't hide. "Mm-hmm."
Husk cocked an eyebrow. "What?"
"You just gotta cute lil' blush goin' there, big boy," he purred in a sultry tone. "Thinkin' of little ol' me so early?"
"Speakin' of early," the cat deflected with a grunt, "what're you doin' up already?"
"Never got ta sleep," the spider sighed. "I only got back an hour ago."
"The fuck?" Husk snapped, his eyes wide. "Since when do you work that late?"
Leaning forward slightly, the spider hid his mouth with one hand as he whispered, "Since a friend o' mine asked real nice ta hang out at 'er place durin' this stupid house arrest shit."
His expression flattened. "Oh."
Standing up, the spider told him loudly, "Yea, so I ain't gone ta bed yet. Workin' this hard outta be a sin, ya know?" When the veteran just grunted and turned around to grab another glass, he sported a mischievous smirk as he quickly and quietly stepped around the counter, standing right behind the cat as he bristled. When Husk whipped around, Angel was right in front of his nose, cupping his face in two hands while the others rested on the cat's waist. "How 'bout a good night kiss from my favorite kitten?"
When the spider puckered up, Husk shoved a paw in his face and pushed him over the counter with a snarl. "Get outta my face, idiot!"
Laughing, Angel Dusk stood up quickly, grabbed his paw and licked the back of it with half-lidded eyes. Every hair on Husk's body stood on end as he yanked it back, shaking off droplets of saliva with a hiss. The porn-star laughed as he turned on his heel, his hips swaying as he blew a kiss back at the still prickly cat. "See ya later, Husky~!"
When the spider walked around the corner, Husk stopped shaking his paw as he looked at it. It was a nasty move, but at the same time, he already kind of missed him. Glaring at the cabinet where the bracelets were hidden, he just growled and decided to walk away from the counter for a bit, leaving them in their little hidey-hole. Stupid things, why did he even…
Quickly turning back to the bar and grabbing them out of the cabinet, he stormed off to the back of the hotel and went to his room. They'd be safer there, and Angel would be less likely to see them by accident.
Damn sentimental bullshit.
Sure enough, the very next day, a letter addressed to Alastor arrived in the mail. Vaggie was originally going to drop it into the letter holder on his door like usual (she still wasn't sure when he put it there, but it was great for avoiding antagonizing conversations), but then she saw the return address.
The Sisters of Pleasure.
Her eyebrow rose so high into her hairline it disappeared. That name alone left very little open to interpretation; it was obviously some sort of sex group. But their resident deer demon supposedly hated that sort of thing, so what's he doing getting letters from them? If this was the new 'financial opportunity' he mentioned, it might explain why he wanted to keep it low-key. She couldn't help smirking to herself; did she find his guilty pleasure?
"That would be mine, my dear."
When a clawed hand reached over her shoulder and plucked the letter out of her grasp, she started and whirled around to see Alastor standing behind her. She thought he was in his office! "I was just about to leave this for you."
"Before or after you interrogate me about it?" he asked with a wide grin. When she glared at him, he cackled. "Oh, trust me, darling; I know the look of a woman who thinks she has something to hold over someone's head." Looking at the front of the envelope, he read out loud, "The Sisters of Pleasure! I can see why you looked so smug; it is a rather condemning name, isn't it?"
Looking slightly embarrassed, she stated, "I thought you weren't into things like that."
"Yes, I suppose such an association is rather novel, isn't it?"
Vaggie eyed him suspiciously. "You're acting weird."
"You mean I'm not as angry as you hoped?" he asked, leering over her in that condescending manner of his.
Vaggie bristled. "Back off, asshat."
When he patted her on the head, she nearly bit his hand. "You're such a treat, dear. Now run along." As he opened his door and stepped inside, he turned his head around just as the door was closing and said cheekily, "The grown-ups have work to do!"
Hearing the moth raging in Spanish on the other side of the door sent a nice, tingly feeling up his spine. Sometimes, her temper really was the highlight of his day. Sitting at his desk, he used his claw as a letter opener and pulled out a piece of paper, as well as a small satchel tied in a ribbon. Raising an eyebrow, he set the strange addition aside before sitting back and holding up his monocle to read.
Greetings to Alastor, the Radio Demon. It has been decided that your demands are quite agreeable, and as such the first payment will be within the week. Thank you for your cooperation; we are sure that it was not easy to let such an offense go, and we would not have you think us ungrateful. As such, you may consider the satchel a sign of goodwill between us. We hope it will cover any damages you may have incurred.
While we have been informed that our primary area of expertise is of no interest to you, be aware that it is far from our only resource. Should you ever need assistance in secrets or other similar matters, know that you are always welcome to do business with us.
The Sisters of Pleasure.
Alastor eyed the satchel warily. While fairly certain they wouldn't be foolish enough to pull something after everything that occurred, a fair dose of paranoia never hurt. The small parcel hovered in the air just above his palm, the ribbon slowly coming undone. As soon as it did, it swirled quickly around the satchel, and the items were replaced with a rather sizable wad of cash.
The wendigo sighed; how boring, merely buying him off with money. Did these women truly lack creativity? Then again, his demand had been money for the hotel; perhaps they thought he was easy to buy off. Well, he had no need of it, but he knew someone who could probably put it to better use.
Besides, if this was compensation for damages, Eliza was the one that needed it the most. Even so, it was probably for the best that they didn't know who she was; anonymity provides its own protection, in a way. He could be the face of Jorōgumo's failure; any assassination attempt against him would have to be well planned and executed to perfection. His little dragon, however, did not share such a favorable position of power, and could probably use whatever edge she could get.
Well, this made an adequate excuse to check on her. Or, more to the point, gave her a reason to open the door and let him in. Perhaps he should humor her desire to speak in the therapy room this time; the safer she felt, the more open she'd be, and he still had a few unpleasant questions to ask.
The all familiar knock sounded at Eliza's door, and she honestly just sighed into her tea-cup before putting it down. "I'm about to meditate, Alastor. Unless you want another shower situation, I suggest you not come in."
That bumped microphone sound of his almost made her laugh. "Ah, I see. Then perhaps, when you're finished, we could speak in the therapy room? I have something for you from the North Point; a form of recompense for your injuries, and I would also like to speak with you on other matters."
Since Eliza was already sitting cross-legged on her couch, she sat straight up and took a deep breath. She usually liked to take an hour, but perhaps it would be wise to take longer today in preparation. "I'll be ready in two hours. Will that work?"
"Excellent!" he responded cheerfully. "I will see you then, my dear."
When the clacking of his boots faded away, Eliza focused on her breathing. Her stitched-up wounds weren't screaming in agony, but her ribs still interrupted her concentration several times, forcing her to sit back and rest while she waited out the pain. At this rate, meditation wasn't going to do a damn thing for her. Should she just take a shower and call it now? She gave herself plenty of time; maybe that would be best.
She lingered in the hot water more than usual. In some ways, it felt like it was washing away a very different kind of dirt; something unseen, but definitely felt. It may also be a good idea to give herself a scrub; while her scales were easy to manage, they did itch on occasion, and sometimes she noticed that dirt got caught between them and needed to be picked out. It was a somewhat uncomfortable process to clean, but once she did it was like scratching an itch that's been bothering her for days. She wondered if there were places specifically for scale care, like how on Earth there are hairdressers, massage therapists and so on. Actually, conventional wisdom suggests that those are probably down here too somewhere. Angel would probably know; maybe she'll ask him later if he's around.
When she flipped on the cold, she ran through her mantra three times before finally shutting it off. The last time she spoke with Alastor, she got too emotional for her liking, and this time she was going to keep herself under control if it killed her. There was no doubt in her mind that there were going to be many questions, and she had a few of her own. And this time, if she felt he was being dishonest, she was going to move on. Maybe she wasn't good at friendships in life, but now she's lying more than she liked because she didn't feel like she could be honest with him, and she didn't like that one bit. If their friendship was going to undo all the work she put into her current self, then maybe it wasn't worth holding on to no matter what her emotions said.
If she wanted to put stock in emotions, she wouldn't have buried them in the first place.
Don't go playin' games wit' a woman's heart, Alastor. You do, an' I'll beat the fear o' God into ya.
Oh, his mother would be so angry with him if she saw his afterlife. Not that he ever went too far with any of the women he met, but he certainly had no problems playing games with their hearts. How many did he charm whenever he had the chance? He had quite the following among women, especially in the colony, and he enjoyed their amorous attention greatly. Being an idol was quite enjoyable. After all, they knew who he was; what he was, yet they swooned at the sight of him nonetheless. He felt no guilt plucking the heartstrings of his adoring fans. They kept their distance and admired him from afar, and that was just how he liked it.
It was a terrible idea playing games with someone capable of getting so close to him. Now he's stuck walking on eggshells to fix all the mistakes he keeps making. And now there was that fox's advice to consider.
Be honest.
How should he do that? Walking in and announcing everything from the get-go just didn't feel right, but she picked up on his lies almost as well as Rosie, who could literally see insincerity bleeding from a sinner's aura. He was not above a clever or convenient falsehood; if it got him what he wanted, he could easily lie through his teeth, though he preferred being in situations where it wasn't required. Honesty is so much simpler and doesn't require too much thought or effort to remember. But something about this whole situation made honesty so very, very uncomfortable. What should he do?
Will she actually give him a chance if he comes clean about recent events? Could she forgive the fact that her death was once an option for him? Could she understand his paranoid response to her seeing Vox? Would she even listen if he tried to explain the strange things he feels at times? If she did, would she be able to explain it to him?
Would she even do it if she could?
Be honest.
Does that lazy healer have any idea how frightening that concept actually is?
Knock, knock knock knock, knock…
"Come on in, Alastor."
Swallowing his nerves, Alastor pushed open the door with as much gusto as he could muster. "Glad you could fit me into your busy schedule, my dear! Ha!" He paused when he was met with an icy mask that tempted him to turn right around and leave. It's been quite a while since he's seen her so guarded, even with others, and it gave him the impression that she wasn't going to listen to anything he said.
Eliza was sitting on her straw-colored couch, which he only just realized gave her a full view of the room, including the door to the hallway. Motioning to the brown couch across from her, she said, "Have a seat, Alastor."
Suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable and a bit self-conscious, he fought the urge to growl as he replied, "I'll stand, thank you."
"As you wish," she acknowledged, that sickly-sweet tone of hers undaunted by what could be seen as a slight. "I thought it would be more comfortable to speak in a more formal setting."
"Then I'm afraid you have the wrong idea," Alastor stated, bluntly. "This is far less comfortable than our usual chats, I assure you."
She tilted her head curiously. "Oh? Even after everything that's happened?"
The overlord glanced at the couch warily. How could she find this more comfortable than their usual, informal encounters? When his eyes slid back to her, his smile stretched thin. "Yes."
"Very well," Eliza sighed. "But this is more comfortable for me, so I would prefer to remain here if that's acceptable."
"Quite," he agreed, trying not to flex his claws as his anxiety started to rise. A quiet moment passed as the two found themselves unsure how to proceed, and Alastor decided that, perhaps, a gentle start was in order. "My, my; conversation seems to grow more troublesome by the day! It wasn't so long ago we could sit in the dining room and speak freely."
'Don't get emotional,' Superego reminded her. 'He might be baiting us.'
"About 4 weeks ago," she told him, matter-of-factly.
"Keeping track, are we?" the overlord teased with a light laugh. "Regardless, it's amazing how quickly things can change, isn't it? Although, perhaps you could solve a small mystery for me."
"I can try," the therapist offered, folding her hands on her lap as she waited patiently.
"When, exactly, did speaking with me become difficult?" he asked, missing his microphone as he previously decided that bringing it with him would be most unwise. "I know you have always been reluctant to share certain details, but when did casual conversation become so strained? Even when you avoided me after a certain… unfortunate incident, you were able to be open in our written correspondence."
"Is that a long-winded way of asking me what you did wrong?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He appraised her for a moment, his temper flaring a bit as his claws flexed in spite of him. How is he supposed to keep his composure when she keeps surprising him with her unrepentantly blunt observations? However, to his surprise, she spoke first. "You always fidget with your hands when you're nervous or holding back. Did you know about that?"
His claws stopped moving as he quickly put his hands behind his back; a typical stance that he had never felt self-conscious about until that moment. "I do, though usually it intimidates whoever's making me uncomfortable, so I don't bother hiding it during confrontations. For what it's worth, that is not my current intention." When her shoulders dropped slightly, he realized that his fidgeting had apparently been working just as well on her as it did others.
"That is good to know," she stated. "I was worried it was a sign of an oncoming assault."
"I assure you, it is no such thing. And in answer to your question… In a way, yes, that is exactly what I'm asking. You see, any other person would likely tell me it was the moment I tried to eat them. You, however, tend to view things a bit… differently than others, and it leaves me wondering what exactly started the real downward spiral we find ourselves in."
She didn't even hesitate. "When I realized that you don't trust me at all."
Alastor blinked down at her. "What led you to that realization?"
"First, when you lied about how you would have dealt with my friendship with Vox," she began, raising her hands and counting on her fingers. "Second, when you lied about how you feel about my friendship with Angel."
"That has very little to do with trust," he defended, quickly. "That is merely a rather uncomfortable topic that I... wasn't quite ready to discuss."
She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "Then why didn't you just say that?"
"It was on the spot, darling! And that's not exactly an answer other people tend to accept. If you don't know, people tend to continue asking until you give an answer whether it's true or not."
"Well, it's an acceptable answer to me," she told him, bitterness seeping into her tone. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and paused to rein in the rogue emotion. "I understand the concept of not having an answer the moment someone else wants it."
Alastor chuckled. "Yes, I'd imagine that would be a very familiar concept to you." After a quiet moment, he looked off to the side. "How exactly do you maintain your devotion to honesty in those situations?"
"I refuse to answer," she replied simply. "Or I preface my answer with a disclaimer that whatever I'm about to say is either an educated guess or pure speculation. People seem to find that acceptable, though they tend to conveniently forget it afterwards and take your word as gospel. It requires less critical thinking on their part to just accept whatever answer you give them, factual or otherwise."
Tilting his head, Alastor asked, "Then why bother being honest in the first place if that's the case?" For a long moment Eliza was silent, and Alastor decided to bring up a question he hasn't addressed in a while. "Tell me, my dear; why are you so committed to this ideal of honesty? While I have a preference for it myself, I've always found lying to be a very useful tool, and you have a talent for it."
"I don't necessarily take that as a compliment," she informed him, coldly.
"So I've noticed. But while my exposure to that particular talent is limited, what little I've seen is still rather impressive. Why does that offend you?"
"Because it's not what I want."
In that moment, Alastor realized that, perhaps, he's been asking the wrong question. Taking a moment to choose his words, he finally asked, "What makes honesty more desirable?"
Feeling hesitant, Eliza actually stood up and walked away from the couch, causing Alastor to become very still as he watched her. Standing in front of the picture of a rose surrounded by thorns, she stared at it for a long while. Then… "Because it's a better weapon."
The wendigo's head recoiled slightly as he looked contemplative for a moment. "It is?" When she remained quiet for a bit, he asked, "And when did you discover that, my dear?"
Her interlaced fingers tightened considerably as she maintained her even tone. "When a friend of mine died." She could feel him watching her closely as she waited for him to ask. It was always at times like this that he pestered her for more, and it made her terribly uncomfortable.
He wanted to ask; the answer was right in front of him, hidden from view but just within reach. But maybe, at least this time, a more tempered reaction was called for. "I would very much like to hear that story someday, but for now, perhaps you could describe what exactly honesty is to you?"
Eliza blinked in surprise when he didn't ask about her friend. It was unusual for him to resist the urge to probe, and it made her feel strangely comfortable with what she was about to say. "I watched as someone built an entire life on lies. And I realized at that moment that if I exposed those lies, everything could crumble underneath that person."
"If I may ask," Alastor began, his tone low and rather coy, "would this be related to those four years of planning someone's ruin that you mentioned?"
"Yes."
Alastor felt a chilling breeze caress his face, and strangely enough, it encouraged him. "So you crushed this person with the truth, then?"
"Admittedly? I don't know." The chill vanished as her shoulders and head tilted down a bit. "I didn't stay to find out. All I know is that I made sure the entire situation was as condemning as possible."
"What was the ideal outcome?" he asked, his eyes glowing with anticipation.
"Ideally?" she echoed, thoughtfully. "No family, no job, no prospects and no credibility. Also the idea of being run out of town comes to mind."
Letting out a dark chuckle, his head tilted down slightly as he said, "How thorough. I do hope you'll see fit to tell me some day, my dear. It sounds positively delightful. But please tell me one thing; why didn't you stay? Would it not have been wonderful to see all your hard work come to fruition?"
"Because I was tired of it all," she sighed, turning to him at last. Alastor was surprised; there wasn't a trace of pride, shame or disappointment on her features. Instead, she looked rather drained. "I spent my first years lying to please someone else, then more years than that fighting for control, and then four more years biding my time. By the time I finally got there, I was so done with it all that I couldn't stand to remain a moment longer. I left, putting a lot of distance between me and everything I knew. I remade myself, and for me, that was the end of it. And now, it seems that everything is trying to drag it all back to the surface, and it's becoming so tiresome."
"No one truly escapes their past, dear," he stated, gently. "I know you believe that a person can change if they will it, but in the end, we are still who we always were. What you see in the mirror may be the image you chose, but you are still the woman you were then."
"What are you getting at?" she asked, her scales darkening as tendrils began to snap angrily behind her.
"You're very soul rebels against it!" he exclaimed. "Those emotions you bury literally surface against your will, and your powers disobey you. In the end, you can fool the world, but your soul knows the truth of who you are. Why bother denying yourself for an ideal when your very spirit rejects it?"
Taking a moment to consider, she finally settled on, "Because there are many things about myself I don't like."
"Such as?" he inquired, curiously. When another cold draft spread throughout the room, he cleared his throat. "A story for another time, I see. My apologies."
"It's not like you to back off so much," she mentioned skeptically. "Why are you suddenly being so accommodating?"
Be honest.
Alastor would really like those words to stop repeating in his head. Oh applesauce, why is this so hard? Eyes darting to the side as he couldn't find the words, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Because I don't want you to leave."
Well, that didn't sound pathetic at all.
"You haven't exactly wanted me to stay, either," Eliza reminded him, slowly making her way back to her couch with tired eyes. Taking a seat, she took a deep breath as she straightened up, ignoring the painful twinge in her ribs. "And back to our previous topic, lying has everything to do with a lack of trust, Alastor."
The wendigo put a claw to his cheek as his eyes narrowed. "We all keep secrets, my dear. If I had simply refused to answer your questions of jealousy, it would have been taken as confirmation."
"Maybe," she conceded with a small nod, "but the subject would have been dropped and I would know where you stand. Isn't that a better outcome than making me question your motives?"
Turning slightly to the side, Alastor's claw tapped his jaw as he responded, "Not with most people, no."
"Then answer me now," she commanded, staring hard at his face. "Are you jealous of my friendship with Angel?"
"I… don't know?" he replied, cautiously. "It's… You must understand that this is actually a very new concept for me. But in a way… I think I might be?"
Eliza's eyes softened a bit. "Why?"
"Why is it easier to speak with him than it is me?" he retorted spitefully. When her eyes hardened again, he silently cursed his temper. Should he really just suck it up and say it? Well, he said it in his dream; might as well see how it holds in the waking world. "Why does spending months with me mean less than your new friendship with him?"
The dragoness' eyes widened in surprise. "You… wait, what?" Looking quite surprised, she looked down slightly with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces together. "Why… I mean, what makes you think..?"
"I have always wanted to learn more about you," he admitted, nervously. "But for some reason, you seem to have an easier time telling him things. I… am unsure of what I'm doing wrong. Our friendship is something of a novel thing for me."
"But you have other friends," she stated. "What's so novel about it?"
"I, uh…" he began, though he quickly found himself confused by that cursed feeling in his chest again. Quickly becoming irritable, he fought the urge to speak; anything he said right now would ruin everything he was trying to do.
Staring at him for a moment, Eliza studied the frustration on his face. It was clear as day that there was something he was holding back, but if she pushed now, he would just lash out again. Instead, she decided to take a page from his book. "Maybe this could be a story for another time, too?"
His head snapped forward to face her head-on. His smile tight across his face, he agreed, "That would be good, yes."
Deciding that they were both maxing out on emotional discussion, the demoness decided that now was a good time to move on to other things. "I think you mentioned something about compensation from the North Point?"
Slipping into an easier smile, his hand snapped out to summon a large wad of cash. "Indeed I did! Technically it's recompense for damages incurred by Jorōgumo, and since you took the brunt of it, it seems only fair that it go to you." Waltzing over to her couch, he bent down low so as to be eye-level with her as he held out his hand.
'If you blush, I don't know you,' Id said as Eliza felt a bit of heat rising. Why did she have to like his gentlemanly mannerisms so much?
With a polite little smile, she took the money out of his hand. "Thank you very much." Then, with a smirk, she asked, "Have you always been able to pronounce her name properly?"
Holding a finger to his lips, he purred, "Let's keep that between us, shall we? Besides, you would have just corrected me anyways!"
"And your bad memory for the fox clan?" she asked, cheekily.
"Ah, yes, the Kitsune, you mean," he answered, the corners of his mouth turning up. "It was rather fun irritating that silly little spider; how's an overlord to resist?"
When she giggled, that strange feeling returned, but in the interest of enjoying the momentary lapse in tension, he decided not to dwell on it at all. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Wonderful!" he cheered, standing up and putting his hands behind his back. "Then that's settled."
Turning on his heel, he suddenly had a thought that made him freeze. She may have dropped the subject, but technically there was one thing that they should discuss. While leaving it for a later day with the other unspoken stories was a serious temptation, he wasn't sure he'd ever get to it if he didn't say it now. Eliza, ever the observant woman that she is, tilted her head. "Is there something else, Alastor?"
Not able to fully turn and meet her gaze, his head looked off to the side as he asked, "If I came clean with something very… unpleasant, in the name of this onslaught of honesty we find ourselves in, how much would you be willing to forgive?"
"Forgive?" she asked, though her voice remained rather calm. "I guess that depends on what it is, and whether or not it's still a problem."
His claws clicked; there was no point resisting the urge to flex them. "Whenever I encounter a threat or something I don't understand, removing it from existence is an option that lingers in my mind. I… feel you should know that I viewed you as something of a threat, at one point."
The silence in the room was somehow more nerve-wracking than anything that's been said up until this point. He could feel the wheels turning in her head. When she finally spoke, he almost jumped. "Because of Vox?"
"That is when it started, yes."
It's over. As he watched her stand back up and return to her previous spot to stare at the picture of the rose, he felt everything crumbling. He knew it; he shouldn't have mentioned it. He should have just swallowed it like the poison it was and taken it to his second death-
"I wish I could say that surprised me."
His head snapped around with a nasty crack. "What?"
"I believe in honesty above all else, and yet things like that always seem to happen anyway." In spite of her control, her voice cracked, and she had no idea that Alastor's eyes pulsed as a new feeling pierced his chest, making him inhale slowly from the foreign sensation. "In spite of it all, no one ever seems to trust my word. You became hostile because I was friends with your rival, Charlie demands the truth like a parent talking to a problem child… Even Angel tried to use his mafia swagger on me when he wanted answers. No one just… asks. And even when I give them the answers they ask for, no one seems to trust what I say. So if you honestly considered me a threat even though I never intended to hurt you, then in the end, nothing has changed." Looking down, she didn't realize her claws were out until she nearly pierced the scales on her arm with them. "That's why I changed for myself; if I let the fact that even my own friends can't trust me hold me back, I would still be stuck as I was; a rebellious idiot who could win battles, but always lost the war."
Unable to handle the strange feelings plaguing him, Alastor tried to teleport but found himself unable to do so. Blast this room's strange protection! "Forgive me," he apologized through gritted teeth, "I'm afraid I need to leave."
"That might be best," Eliza agreed, softly. "But… thank you, Alastor."
Unwilling to turn and face her, especially when he just knew his struggle was written all over his face, he still took a moment to ask, "For what?"
"...For listening. And not getting too angry this time."
His smile wobbled as he fought to maintain it, managing a rather forced, "Of course," before taking a decisive step forward, opening the door and making sure to not slam it shut in his rush to escape. Finally out of that blasted room, he was in his office before he had a chance to make another move. Sitting in his chair, his face rested on both palms as he controlled his breathing. Blasted feelings, making their presence impossible for him to ignore.
Thank you, Alastor.
That feeling pulsed through him again, and he clenched his jaw against it. It was like pain, but also brought with it a lightness that felt utterly unnatural. Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop…
It wouldn't leave his head, and after a few minutes he stood up, microphone in hand. He couldn't stay in the hotel anymore; no, he was going to walk right through the middle of town, and the first person who bumped into him was going to die. He wasn't normally one to eat a victim in the streets, but today he might make an exception.
Whatever it took to feel normal again.
Author's Notes:
One of my favorite games in the world is (heavily modded) Skyrim, and my other favorite thing to do is write this story. My brain is starting to mix the two.
Olfina: "What's the matter? You can't stand the sight of a strong Nord woman?"
Alastor: "You mean the sight of a woman so desperate to prove she's strong that she's forgotten her manners when greeting a stranger? No, I can not."
I can't unhear it now. Every time she says it, this plays in my head.
Ahlam: "Looking for my husband Nazeem? Check the Jarl's backside. That's usually where he stuffs himself these days."
Alastor: "Oh no, dear, I'm actually looking for someone a bit more dignified. Tell me, have you seen Brenuin anywhere?"
For those who don't know, Brenuin is the beggar in Whiterun. I have a feeling this is going to continue the more I play Skyrim. I don't think I mind.
