Chapter 54
Coping With Strange
Rosie intended to call Alastor as soon as the weekend was over, but all that Monday was instead spent dealing with a most unexpected surprise. First thing in the morning, only an hour after opening, an entourage of Kitsune came down from the North Point, apparently intent on scoping out their competition. When met with the threat of slaughter if they didn't explain, she learned that a customer of theirs threatened to take their business to her Emporium if they didn't show their best products. After hearing that, her concern for her friend was placed on the backburner as the entire store was suddenly committed to a very impromptu show for their foreign guests. Everyone was called in to work, and the expectations were set; do your best, and if that wasn't satisfactory, you would be gutted. It made for a wonderful motivator, and Rosie herself took to the task. Oh, it's been so long since someone has come to challenge her!
And challenge her they did. Bringing some of their own product for the occasion, she was forced to nitpick the tiniest of flaws to avoid praising their excellent craftsmanship. They were fierce women indeed, but her own rose to the occasion. Even her most recently acquired help, Fauxi, held her own. In the end, the fox demons withdrew after acknowledging her skills with polite bows and even gifts of silk. It was a hard-won victory, and the next day she kept the Emporium closed to give her exhausted employees the day off. She was so proud, so pleased… and so deeply confused. Who did she know that would go to the North Point and reference the Emporium right in the heart of foreign territory? Most wouldn't have the nerve to…
Alastor.
The answer came to her in an instant, and she couldn't help but smile a bit more at the thought. Still, surely it couldn't be him. He never took his business out of the West Point; foreign soil made the man so terribly nervous. Though if it somehow involved his new pastime, then maybe the possibility of exotic guests or even a sponsorship would be enough to make the trip worthwhile. After all, he's the best suited to such a task at that silly hotel.
Still, it is the middle of the day now; he tends to prefer getting things done in the morning so as to pass the day as he pleases, so now is the best time to call. Dialing his number, she listened as the phone rang and rang. In the end, she could only hang up and try again later. Hopefully he will be in soon; so much has happened lately that she couldn't help but worry. Perhaps a brisk walk will calm her thoughts.
Leaving the secret space in the back of the Emporium, she looked over the darkened room with pride. Everything they made to impress the women who came were hung up on display on the main floor; a symbol of her victory, and a reason for the women in her store to boast. Even Anxi came out of hiding to admire them, once the visitors were long gone. In fact, he was standing in the corner, sipping a drink in contented solitude. As soon as he noticed Rosie, the little lizard's eyes bulged as his scales shifted to blend into the wall.
"Oh, come now, don't be rude," Rosie chastised with a giggle. "I'm not opening the store, dearie. I merely wish to go for a stroll."
"O-oh, right, of c-course," he stammered, his colors shifting back to normal. "Apologies, miss."
"The solitude ends tomorrow~" she reminded him in a sing-song voice. "Enjoy it while it lasts!" When the man nodded in understanding, he returned to his drink, though his chameleon-style eye kept flicking to her up until the moment she walked out the door.
It was a lovely day in Hell, although it felt strangely quiet. While many of the colonists liked to stalk for prey, the Emporium was nearly in the heart of their territory, so it was typical to see cannibals walking in groups and talking freely. Strangely enough, there were very few to be seen. Nothing particularly special was happening; the next holiday would be happening anytime over the next few days, depending on when Mammon decided to arrive, but aside from that possibility there was no reason to abandon the streets. What's going on?
Then she felt a dangerous aura near the border of the colony. It carried a frightening level of frustration and dread, and yet it felt awfully familiar. Swiftly weaving through the shadows until she was only a short distance away, she turned a corner and stared. In the middle of the street, just outside the colony, was a sight that she hasn't seen in at least two decades.
Streets cleared of souls gave her an eyeful of blood and gore flowing along the pavement, and in the middle of it all was a tall, ghastly looking demon drenched in red. Wearing a suit that was so caked in blood she couldn't tell where the gore ended and the cloth began, Alastor stood stooped over one of the many corpses decorating the pavement as though there wasn't an audience to his indulgence. When he finally did take notice of her presence, their empty sockets met as, for a long while, she wondered if he'd even recognize her in this state. He certainly didn't in the past. Fortune favored her this time, however, because after a span of silence, the wendigo seemed to snap out of his frenzied trance.
His mouth still full of the demon beneath him, his inner radio played the roll of his voice as his head started to clear. "Rosie…"
Numb to the shock of such a scene, Rosie's countenance didn't falter at all as she slowly walked forward, watching the red-clad overlord slowly revert back to normal. "I had a feeling there was something off about your last broadcast, dearie, but I never expected to find you like this. Is it really so bad?" Still feeling rather cautious about his obvious volatility, she stopped her approach a few feet away. Even under normal circumstances it was unwise to get too close, and that fact sat truer than ever during times like this.
When finally fully regressed, Alastor seemed a little wobbly as the adrenaline calmed, leaving him feeling rather tipsy. "Oh my, I apologize if I drew you out, ma chérie. Was I too close to our dear colonists?"
"Quite," she reprimanded, her tone lightly irritable. Even so, her expression softened as she found herself unable to stay angry with him. To his credit, at least he had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. "But enough of that. Answer me, dearie."
"I… need to collect my thoughts first," he admitted, his head swimming as he fought not to sway. "Perhaps we could walk a ways to clear my head?"
"Clean yourself off first," she ordered, pointing her parasol at his attire. "You're in no state to be seen in public. Why, even the colonists wouldn't know what to make of you!"
Looking down at himself, he sighed and waved his hand, the blood and guts flinging off his clothes and splattering artlessly across the pavement, making it all the way to the buildings. "There, that's better. Am I presentable now?"
Giving a nod, the seamstress motioned for him to go with her into the colony, and he made his way to her side. The spring in his step was missing, and his claws clicked softly behind his back. The anxiety seeping from his essence was infectious, causing her to fiddle around with a loose string she kept wrapped around her umbrella. "Perhaps I shouldn't have waited to call. Why, you're a ticking time bomb of nerves! What in Hell could have possibly gone wrong?"
The man sighed, his eyes seeming to fall slightly down his face as he lost the will to posture. It was rare to catch him with such a small smile in public. "So many things, I'm afraid. Why, there are very few ways in which things could have possibly gone worse that don't directly involve someone's second death."
"Oh my," she gasped. "When did all of this start?"
"Are we speaking of immediate circumstances, or when everything actually started?" he drawled in annoyance.
"Let's stick to the immediate," she stated decisively.
The wendigo's shoulders dropped slightly as he released the air in his lungs. "Very well; then I'm afraid that it all started the weekend before last, when I put on a grand display of poor timing."
With the streets emptied of signs of life, Rosie's spell of silence was almost unnecessary, but as she listened she realized it would be unwise to drop it. Unable to help herself, she simply had to speak up when he began to talk about Eliza's clause in the contract. "What did you expect? She only just started to become comfortable enough to speak with you in private, and you thought that now was the ideal time to proposition her for her soul?!"
"I do believe I stated my poor timing already," he snipped, looking off to the side as the corners of his mouth sharpened. "I thought that offering her safety from myself would be a good start, at the very least."
"So you thought to use her trepidation to your advantage? Is that not what you said Vox already tried to do? How did that work out for him, I wonder?"
"At least I was willing to work with her," he reminded her defensively. "That's a marked improvement on that overhyped media hustler."
Shaking her head, she turned to give him a dry look. "And yet it failed all the same. Tell me, what was so improved about your attempt?"
His ears fell back as buzzing static spread around him. "Not enough, apparently."
"It's not like you to be so impatient," she mentioned as the Emporium came within view. "I know you're used to much more immediate results, but rushing like this-"
"I'm. Aware," he growled, his eyes swirling as he felt a resurgence of the anger he buried only a moment ago. When Rosie halted her stride, he stiffened as he realized that she was getting angry. While probably more than capable of holding his own against her now, it was still an undesirable circumstance. "Apologies, my dear. I… I am not myself at the moment."
"So I've noticed." In spite of the rising anger, she was more baffled by something strange about his aura. It was roiling, which was not unusual to see after a frenzied rage, but there was a strange wisp of something weaving through. The darkness and anger chased it mercilessly, yet it evaded them or vanished completely only to appear elsewhere. It was a far lighter essence than the rest, and its presence was clearly rather agitating to his sense of normality. "There is something else bothering you, dearie. What happened after you left?"
"I did not speak to her for a couple days," he admitted, fighting to restore his typically energetic tone. His voice sounded of absolute failure in his ears. "I was out of sorts with her, you see."
"You've used that tactic before," she reminded him with a tsk. "You were hoping she'd come to you and change her mind!"
His head tilted down as he glared at her. "I really despise how well you know me sometimes. But… yes, that may have also been my intention."
Her entire countenance slipped in irritation. "Alastor, I taught you better than this."
"I will have you know that usually works," he growled. "But with her, every step forward leads to two- no, five steps backwards!"
The strange wisp vanished, as did the roiling of his temper. Even as the darkness evened out into something reminiscent of his usual state, she felt that it could change in an instant. "Why are you working so hard for this? Are you truly so bored that you can't resist the challenge?"
He paused to consider her thought before giving an exasperated sigh. "Perhaps that is part of it, but the rest eludes me. No offense my dear, but I wish to move on to another topic. Namely, this past weekend and all the misfortune it brought with it."
"Very well," she agreed in a soft voice. "Let's go inside. Oh, let me go in first-"
When they got closer to the Emporium, they noticed the door was open, the lock on the front busted. Alastor chuckled. "Oh, what poor soul thought to break into your store?"
Rosie gently held the lock with a sigh. "I do hope it wasn't one of the fox girls. Then I'll be forced to respond, and such violent formalities are so tedious."
Alastor blinked down at her in surprise, but decided against asking until after they saw the intruder. Following close behind the seamstress, he summoned a sizable flame in his palm and held it out. On the floor, fangs sunken into the flesh of the intruder, was Anxi. As the lizard slowly relished his meal with glazed eyes, the two of them looked over the corpse. It was a woman, certainly, but while she had fur, she was clearly no fox. If anything, her form was like that of a raccoon, and her fur was gold with black stripes. Rosie sighed. "Oh, thank goodness. I didn't feel like sending a messenger to take revenge on them; they seemed rather polite, once they finally admitted defeat."
"It sounds as though you've had interesting visitors," Alastor mentioned with a smirk. "Did something happen while I was away?"
"Apparently a rather rude customer in the North Point threatened to come here because he felt that their work was inadequate," she told him with a smirk. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"
His smile spread to just under his eyes. "Maybe."
When Alastor finally returned to the hotel that evening, he felt like a load had been lifted off his shoulders. Sharing his misadventures with Rosie was quite a relief, though even with her he refused to share the sexual nature of the ordeal. He was certain that she sensed his discomfort, but as usual, she didn't pry unless presented with an invitation, which he absolutely did not offer. But even so, the conversation they shared in the Emporium had been most enlightening. By the time they finished and Alastor left for his slow trek to the hotel, Anxi had even finished his meal, though he stopped cleaning the floor to vanish the moment he noticed the wendigo, who nonchalantly reminded him that if he wanted the hurt the lizard, he would have done so when he first arrived. He nearly laughed when he heard an audible gulp in the corner.
It was a bit late, but Niffty shouldn't be starting dinner just yet. After all, she certainly didn't have the ingredients for an ambitious meal. Today was the day he got his answer from the Sisters of Pleasure, and if memory serves, he did suggest to Charlie that he would cook dinner if they had a reason to celebrate. Should he cook enough for the staff and serve them in front of all the envious hotel guests, or should he just relish the occasion and make a large pot? The latter option appealed greatly to his Louisianan soul, so perhaps he would spoil their guests for the evening. It was a victory for him, after all.
No one was in the dining room yet, so he hummed quietly to himself all the way to the kitchen door, where he paused when he heard voices inside.
"-and pull it out," said a male voice. Alastor tilted his head; whose voice was that again? It wasn't aggressive enough to be Matiu's; rather laid back, actually. The lazy blue cat, perhaps; the one that keeps sneaking drugs into the hotel.
"Now what?" asked Eliza's voice, causing Alastor to decide to wait a moment.
"Spread 'em like this, OK? Makes it easier."
He blinked as he felt a bit of heat rising to his cheeks. Just what were they getting up to in the kitchen of all places?!
"Like this?" Eliza asked, curiously.
"Yup. Alright, go for it." There was a pause, and Alastor didn't hear any noise until the other added, "Nope, harder, or else it gets stuck."
And just like that, Alastor needed context before this got any more awkward. After a silent gulp he pushed open the door and peeked inside to see the two of them standing in front of the sink, the cat watching closely as Eliza seemed to be filtering something through a strainer.
"There, see? Now all the pulp is gone, and only the seeds are left. There's other ways to do it, but this is the easiest."
Releasing the air in his lungs, the wendigo straightened up and waltzed into the kitchen, pretending that the out-of-context conversation hadn't bothered him in the slightest. "Hello there!"
The cat flinched away at his entrance, ears laying flat as he stammered, "O-oh, shit! Um… Fuck, should we, um…"
"Hello, Alastor," Eliza greeted calmly, her eyes on the seeds as she carefully knocked them onto a paper towel and folded it in half. "Are you planning on cooking tonight?"
"Yes indeedy!" he confirmed, waving his finger in the air. "Since the whole sponsorship trip turned out to not be a massive waste of my precious time, I have decided to prepare a large pot meal for all!"
Eliza looked up at him in surprise, an excited glint in her eyes. "Sounds good! Oh, are we in your way, or..?"
"Not at all; plenty of room in here for everyone present." Looking down at her drying seeds, Alastor asked, "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Paressu is teaching me how to get seeds out of tomatoes properly," she told him, pointing at the mutilated vegetable that had been laid to the side. "I figure something like this would be a good start for the garden. It tends to fit into most cuisines, like your Cajun style or Angel's Italian."
"A fair point!" he acknowledged, glaring side-long at the lazy cat as he tried to tip-toe around the red-clad overlord. Turning slightly to meet his gaze, he asked, "Are you finished already?"
The cat froze. "I-I, uh…"
"Are there any other steps I need to know about?" the therapist inquired.
"Well," he began, hesitantly walking back to her side, "do you want to store them, or..?"
"Is that necessary without seasons?"
He looked up for a second to think before shaking his head. "Not really."
"Then I don't think so," she answered, smiling up at him. "Thank you very much."
"Yea, uh, sure." With that awkward response, he quickly made his way around the pair of them and out the door, audibly exhaling the moment he was out of the room.
"So, you're starting small, I see," Alastor observed, curiously.
"Well, I am on a budget," she reminded him.
"What of the money from earlier today?" he asked in surprise. "Surely you could have started bigger than this!"
"Well, I kind of need to go clothes shopping," she sighed, looking down at the apron that happened to be hanging near the fridge; the only thing that stood between her lavender blouse and permanent tomato stains. "Besides, I'd rather not get more until I get the hang of this. Making mistakes on a smaller scale costs less in the long run."
"I agree with the latter, but as for the former, I would like to help you with that."
Eliza's suspicious gaze held on him for a few seconds before she told him, "That's not necessary."
"Nonsense. I'm responsible for the loss, and I will pay for their replacements."
"You already bought me something."
"That was a gift," he specified. "This is restitution. There is a difference, my dear. The destruction of your attire was entirely unnecessary and must be rectified. Tomorrow, we will go to the Emporium and purchase another proper, quality ensemble for your work-" When Eliza looked about ready to speak, he held a finger in front of her face to shush her, "-and I will hear no further argument on the matter."
When he turned on his heel and snapped away his suit coat for a dark apron with red letters that read Don't kiss the cook, Eliza just stared at him with her eyebrows raised. Repeatedly she started to say something, only to falter when she realized she wasn't sure what she actually wanted to say. Eventually, she shook off her shock, carefully gathered her seeds and made her way to the door. Once she got there, she paused. "Do you need any help?"
"Not at all," he answered, "you know full well I'm quite capable in a kitchen."
At first, Eliza thought to rephrase the question to ask whether he wanted any help, as that was more of what she meant to begin with, but decided against it and said, "OK then, have fun," before walking out the door. She wasn't sure why, but with as confident as he was, it felt like she'd just get in his way. Besides, she didn't know nearly as much about Cajun cooking as he did; he'd probably end up spending more time teaching than cooking, which would just make him more irritable. Frankly, she didn't want to deal with that right now.
She didn't realize that Alastor watched her leave out of the corner of his eye, wondering if perhaps he shouldn't have sounded so dismissive of her offer. Still, after his breakdown earlier that triggered a murder spree to deal with the rollercoaster of emotions he's suffered today, perhaps it was wise to let her go. Even if the empty kitchen seemed to press in on him a little.
The taste was off.
Everyone was gushing over the Cajun Crawfish Boil. The spiciness, the exquisite flavor and the odd, hellish version of a very popular shellfish (which was blue and rather skinny with far too large claws) made everyone loosen up a little.
"Southern comfort works miracles," he boasted, his stock applause celebrating his success.
Eliza was the only one who hesitated to take a second bite. It was delicious, it really was, but somehow she didn't want to keep eating it. It tasted so…
"Is it not to your liking?"
Eliza's head snapped up in surprise. Alastor was gazing down at her expectantly, his head tilted and his brows furrowed. Putting on her sweetest smile, she replied, "It's wonderful, Alastor. Thank you."
The wendigo nearly pouted. That smile clearly worked on Charlie and Vaggie, who chimed in with their thoughts (Charlie excitedly, Vaggie reluctantly), but it didn't fool him. He soaked in everyone else's enjoyment, but now it all felt a bit dampened knowing everyone wasn't satisfied. That's never happened to him before; maybe she just didn't like crawfish? She did return the shrimp when she ate his Jambalaya; that had been rather disappointing, too, but otherwise she had cleaned the plate. Perhaps he should lay off the shellfish with her in the future, as she almost seemed to be forcing herself to eat the vegetables as well.
When everyone was finished, Eliza was the first to leave, and Alastor glared after her. Why was she being so rude all of a sudden? Did he anger her earlier when he offered to buy her clothes? Was it really so wrong that he wanted to replace what he unknowingly destroyed?
Even the paperwork that night couldn't distract him from the unpleasant feeling of being snubbed. He found himself reading the same paragraph three times before finally accepting that, in the end, he wasn't really reading it at all. Setting the papers aside, he leaned back in his chair and inhaled slowly. Maybe he should make something for her tomorrow; something new that she would like to make up for tonight. He couldn't leave things like this; his cooking skills must remain untarnished!
A soft set of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts, and he heard someone deposit something into his letter-holder. Surprised that someone would leave something for him this late, he almost forgot that he should probably get up and see who it was. By the time he actually made it to the door and looked out, the door to the stairs clicked shut. Whoever it was, they left rather quickly.
Pulling the letter out of the holder, he was surprised (and rather thrilled) to see Eliza's handwriting. Maybe she decided to make the first move in reviving their distant communication. As he walked to his desk, he couldn't help but think of how unusual that is; normally she's not the one to take the first step. If this was her way of showing initiative, then he couldn't help but feel excited.
Slicing the top open with a claw, he wasted no time pulling out and opening the paper inside.
Dear Alastor,
I'm sorry if I acted a bit weird earlier. I could tell that you were upset after dinner, and I have a feeling it was my fault. The food really was delicious; I've never had crawfish before, but it was very good. Shellfish always have a sweetness to them that I'm not a fan of, but the spice took care of that problem wonderfully. Even so, the dish was difficult to get through.
I wanted to write because I was worried that you weren't feeling well, but I know that this is probably a bad time to check on you with everything going on. I'm probably the last person you'd want to talk about problems with right now, so just feel better, OK? You've cooked for me many times, but your food tonight tasted depressing and very lonely. Nights like tonight make me wish I could just eat a meal and enjoy it like everyone else; I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Eliza.
Alastor's ears wilted as he read her letter. Of course, he should have known; it slipped his mind that he might be the reason that the food was undesirable, not the food itself. And now she felt guilty for ruining his good mood.
Still, her concern was beyond touching. Even if she couldn't bring herself to stay and talk, she still took the time to write this. That in itself meant much, but he re-read the part where she said he probably didn't want to talk to her. He wasn't sure how to put the situation into words; it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, but he wasn't sure how to talk to her. Not about things like this, at any rate. Things only seemed to be growing more complicated with time, and he had no idea how to simplify any of it.
Maybe he will find some answers tomorrow, when they go to the Emporium. For now, he made a mental note of something else; not liking the sweetness of shellfish. At least he could feel pride knowing he got her to enjoy an ingredient she normally wouldn't like. In the end, his meal was a decisive victory after all! He just had to avoid cooking for her when he's in a lesser mood. He really wanted to know how that worked; how do you taste the emotions of the cook through their food? What makes the difference? Is it the spice? The flavor? The skill? All of the above?
It only just dawned on him that he never questioned why she needed a skill like that. It certainly didn't serve a purpose in restaurants or at public gatherings. Unless there was a reason to be nervous or on guard at such places. It could just be her endless curiosity at work, too.
Somehow, he doubted that. But now he had something to respond to; and perhaps a foot in the door to progress in the right direction. He just never thought she'd be the one to leave it open.
Perhaps she will leave more opportunities like this for him in the future, if he keeps his eyes open for them.
Eliza clicked the light back on, breathing heavily. Damn it, she couldn't even make it to ten seconds before the panic caught up with her! What is going on? Every time she tried to tolerate the darkness, her scales seemed to prickle as her nerves turned hyper-sensitive, feeling sensations that aren't real and causing her to nearly bolt for the door. There's nothing here; why can't she just get over this already? It worked in the past; she meditated in a tree to get over her fear of falling, submerged herself in water to get over her fear of drowning… It all worked in time, but there was something different about this. Every night she tried, and every night she felt that thing. That strange sensation that was like touch, but moved under her scales. It was invasive, it was possessive, it was threatening and it haunted her in the dark.
What is missing? Everything is here; an empty room, total darkness, that feeling that something's here but there's nothing to see or touch; nothing's absent. So why?
Why is she still afraid of the dark?
Author's Notes:
Writers. Block. *Brain crash*
My advice to all writers both hobby and professional: Have someone you know on call for when your brain fails. Someone who knows about what your writing. Sometimes, you need someone else to reset your brain so that you can keep going.
