The first day of February brought with it what 666 News proclaimed to be the "Storm of the Century," a fierce blizzard blowing up from the southern end of the Ring that rattled the windowpanes and shook the residents of the Hazbin Hotel awake in their beds. The talking heads on the flickering television speculated as to what the cause could've been: a ritual gone wrong, global cooling, or the Marquis Andrealphus "showing off" were all batted around as theories as the storm dumped inch after inch of snow onto the city below. Whatever the reason, by the time dawn broke, a blanket at least a meter thick covered the streets and sidewalks, bringing Pentagram City to a grinding halt.
Group therapy was cancelled for the week, since according to Dr. Silva, the clinic had "thirty imps awaiting amputations, and many more with severe injuries." Work crews were dispatched as Hellhounds and Sinners wielding shovels and flamethrowers trudged through the streets, trying to clear the way for ambulances and tow-trucks. Most of the city was without power, but the Hotel's marquee lights still shone brightly, its emergency generators having kicked into gear just in time.
The day also brought a package, wrapped with brown paper and twine, and addressed to a "Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte Morningstar." The parcel was stuck buried in a snowbank, its paper soggy and its ink beginning to run, and was only discovered when said Princess rallied the troops to clear off the sidewalk in front of the Hotel.
"There is mail," Valeria said, poking at the box with the end of her snow shovel.
"Mail? In this fuckin' weather?" Angel said as he leaned against the side of the Hotel, dressed in a fashionable fur-lined coat.
"Could be advertisement," the fox woman said with a shrug. "Could be bomb. Who knows?"
At the word "bomb," Lee's bracelet flashed red. She took a step backward, closer to the double doors, clutching her own shovel close to her chest. "Uh, Charlie?!"
"Yeah?" the princess called over, a bit breathless. She and Vaggie had been making short work of the sidewalk, leaving a small mountain range of snow in their wake as the worked in tandem, trying to clear a path.
"You got mail, toots!" Angel hollered. He took another drag of his cigarette. "Russki over here thinks it might be a bomb, though."
The women dropped their shovels and rushed over.
"Nobody move!" Vaggie cried as she summoned her spear. She skid on a patch of ice as she rounded the corner, barely keeping her balance.
"I said could be bomb, did not say was bomb." Valeria rolled her eyes, before muttering something Lee couldn't make out.
Vaggie took a few cautious steps towards the package, then poked it with the end of her spear. When it didn't move, she did it again, the tip slicing through the damp paper into the cardboard side of the parcel. She lifted the mysterious box in the air, squinting at it.
"I don't think it's dangerous," Charlie said as she walked over, pulling it free. She took a deep breath as her eyes fluttered closed. A few sparks dropped from her gloved fingers as a golden glow grew from under her palms, bathing the box in a warm light. She gave it a bit of a shake, then turned to the others.
"Nope, we're good to go!" She turned the package over a few times, squinting at it. "I don't see a return address, but they did use my formal title… maybe it's from Pandemonium?"
All eyes were on her as she pulled off the twine and tore through the paper, which fell to the ground in waterlogged clumps. Vaggie's eye widened as Charlie pulled back the cardboard flaps.
"Puya!" she breathed.
"What is it?" Lee asked.
Wordlessly, Charlie dug her hand into the box, pulling out a wad of cash. Lee's heart soared: this must be Rosie's donation, her first cut of the sales!
"Holy shit!" Angel exclaimed, his cigarette falling from his mouth. He raced over. "Are we sharin' it? 'Cause, yanno, technically I'm the one that found it, and I could've just taken it and said nothin', but I was bein' good—" Both pairs of his hands reached for the box, only to be slapped away by the blunt end of Vaggie's spear.
"There must be at least ten thousand in here…" Charlie said as she rummaged around a bit more. "And there's a note!"
She handed the box to Vaggie as she retrieved a small, pink envelope, then broke its wax seal. Inside was a card embossed with a rose.
"'To Her Highness, Princess Charlotte,'" she read as she flipped it open. "'Please accept this humble offering from one of your many subjects. I must admit I was initially skeptical of your venture when I first read of it in the paper, but as yet another Extermination swiftly approaches and more and more lost souls fill our streets, I find myself moved by your efforts.'" Her pitch rose as she read on, her words coming faster and faster. "'I hope these funds, though meagre compared to the resources of the Royal Family, can be put to good use rehabilitating Sinners and saving them from near-certain annihilation!'"
"It's for us?!" Vaggie said in disbelief, her own smile growing.
"Yes!" Charlie let out an excited squeal as she bounced on her toes. "And look, look here! 'If I can be of any use to the cause,'" she read, "'please do not hesitate to call on me, as you're welcome to come by for tea any time! Wishing you the best, Rosie, Overlord of Cannibal Colony!'" The box fell to the ground as she pulled Vaggie in for a hug, twirling her around. "We have our first donation!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cannibal Colony?!" Angel said, disgust written plainly on his face. "Those vore-happy freaks wanna help?!"
"One of them does, at least!" Charlie said, all smiles as she set Vaggie down.
"But why?" the woman asked, swaying a bit.
"Maybe she sees the value in redemption, in changing for the better!" She shrugged as she bent down to retrieve the package. "Maybe some of the people in the Colony asked her to donate, Sinners that want to try to change, but are too scared to start."
"Or maybe," Angel scoffed, "she's tryin' ta lure you in, get herself a hunk Morningstar meat for her next dinner party!"
"As much as I hate to say it, and trust me, I really hate to say it," Vaggie said, "Angel is… right."
The man grinned as he leaned in. "What's that, Vags?" he said, cupping an ear. "I couldn't hear ya all the way down there!"
"I said you had a point," she rolled her eye, "for once." She put her spear away. "We've already gotten plenty of coverage in the news," a glance at Lee, "especially after New Year's. Why would she send this to us now? Why not reach out earlier?"
Lee cleared her throat. "Well, she did say something about the Extermination," she said, trying to keep her tone casual, "that's coming up in a few weeks, right?"
"Twentieth of March," Valeria said with a curt nod. "Equinox day."
Vaggie shook her head. "I don't know… if this is the Rosie I'm thinking of, she's seen dozens of Exterminations, if not hundreds. And even for an Overlord, this is a lot of cash to just give away with no strings attached." She kicked a stray chunk of snow with her boot. "It just isn't adding up for me."
Charlie placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "I know it's sudden, honey, and more than a bit weird, but I've been dealing with Overlords all my life. It wouldn't hurt to hear her out, see what she can do to help. And if there are strings attached, strings we don't like, we can always give the money back." She took her hand. "You could even come with me, if you want!"
A muted pink blush flared on the woman's cheeks, and she glanced at the others. It could've been Lee's imagination, but her eye seemed to linger on her a bit longer.
"I'll think about it," she said finally, "We'll talk about it, later." She tucked the package a little further under her arm. "Let's put this in the safe for now, just in case."
"Aww, c'mon, no finders fee?!" Angel whined.
"How about a 'thank you', Angel?" Charlie said with a smile. "Would that work?"
"Not nearly as good as a couple racks…" he muttered as he followed the group indoors. "Or an espresso machine…"
"…we'll consider the espresso machine."
The sizzle of cooking meat mixed with the sound of keyboard chords as Lee stood in front of the stove, wooden spoon in hand. A frying pan sat on each burner, filled with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, peppers and onions, and crispy hash browns, each carefully attended to as she tried to scrape together an acceptable brunch. The fridge had been nearly bare that morning, and with snow coming down for the second day in a row, sending one of the others out for a grocery run had been out of the question. Thankfully, there were enough bits and bobs lying around to make a "build-your-own breakfast burrito" bar a feasible option. Her phone sat on the counter, amidst spices and dirty prep bowls, it's music her only companion.
"He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans," Patti LaBelle sang from its tinny speakers, "struttin' her stuff on the street…"
"She said 'Hello, hey Joe,'" Lee joined in, "'you wanna give it a go?'"
She gave the eggs another stir as she grabbed a spatula, scooping out the bacon to let it drip-dry on a paper towel. Her heart was light: she hadn't expected Rosie to follow through on her end of their bargain so soon, and yesterday's package was a welcome surprise. If she'd already been making that much headway, she thought, she must also be asking around, trying to find out more about the state of her soul, and how to get the rest of it back to where it belonged. Surely, in no time at all, she'd be back in New York, and then back home, helping her own mother cook again, the two of them crowded into a too-small kitchen, filled with laughter and joy.
"Creole Lady Marmalade…"
She couldn't help but smile. Finally, things seemed to be looking up, not just for her, but for the Hotel as well. This money would last them a long time, and thanks to their arrangement, there was sure to be more on the way. Charlie had been over the moon, practically skipping into her office to tuck their unexpected cash infusion away, her grin a mile wide as her eyes sparkled. A bit of guilt sat heavy in Lee's stomach at her deception, gnawing away at her, but she tried to ignore it. After all, she knew that if the princess were to ever learn the true motive behind Rosie's "generous donation," she'd be heartbroken.
That, and Vaggie would have my head… she thought with a bit of a shiver.
The one-eyed woman's warnings echoed in her mind for a moment, but she pushed them away, grabbing a tomato. She hummed along to the song as she picked up a paring knife, swaying her hips to the beat.
"Voulez-vouz coucher avec moi, ce soir?" she sang along, her voice growing in strength. "Voulez-vouz coucher avec moi?"
She didn't need to think about it. Outside was bitter cold, but inside the Hazbin Hotel, she was warm, and more importantly, safe. Today was a going to be a good day, a happy day, a day where she could just be satisfied with her success, however secret it was. No worrying about souls, or deals, or—
"I thought you couldn't dance, darling?"
The blade plunged into the tomato's juicy flesh as she let out a yelp.
"Jesus!" She whipped around, knife still in hand. "Would it kill you to knock, Al?!"
Alastor grinned. "Given that I'm already dead…"
"Oh, you know what I mean!" She set the knife down. "And for the record, I still can't dance. This," she gestured to herself as she shifted her weight from side to side in a rather wooden shimmy, "does not count as dancing."
"I beg to differ." He held out a hand, crooking a finger at her. "Come here."
Her face burned. "No. No, no, no, no way. Absolutely not." She turned on her heel. "I'm not going to embarrass myself for your entertainment, not when I already have all this stuff to do." She picked up her spoon, returning her attention to the pans. "So, unless you want burned eggs for brunch, leave me alone."
She flinched as a tall presence sprang up from the ground behind her.
"Hmm, they don't look in danger of being overcooked," he said as he peered over her shoulder. His breath was warm, tickling the baby hairs by her ear as he spoke. "You're doing a fine job, dearest."
"Thank you, oh Noble Lord of the Kitchen," she grumbled, trying to ignore how close they were. "Are you just going to stand here and annoy me all day?"
"Mmm, not all day," he mused. His arm snaked past her, heading straight for the drying bacon.
"Ah, ah, ah!" she smacked it with the spoon. "We only had half a pack in the fridge, I don't have spares for you to steal!"
"And who do you think supplied that original packet in the first place?" He sidestepped her as he snatched a piece from the plate, too fast for her to react. "One cannot steal what one already owns, my dear."
"Whatever," she huffed. "What do you want, anyway?"
"Is making conversation not sufficient reason to spend time with you, darling?" She stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you must know, I was intrigued by the little ditty you're listening to."
"You know it?" she asked, surprised.
"Not in the slightest, but I do know what this—"
He held up a finger as the chorus repeated: "Voulez-vouz coucher avec moi, ce soir? Voulez-vouz coucher avec moi?"
"—means. And given how loudly you were singing along, I take it that you," he tapped her on the nose, "don't."
She sighed. "Fine, what's it mean, genius?" She grabbed some salt, sprinkling it over the eggs. "Since you're going to tell me anyway…"
He straightened. "Coucher, in Standard French, means to sleep, or to put to bed. One might, for example, 'coucher un enfant,' if one were putting a baby down for the night."
"Okay, so?" She picked up the pepper grinder, giving it a few good turns.
His smile shifted into a smirk. "Coucher avec moi, however, what you were singing… that has a far more intimate connotation…"
The pepper grinder almost slipped from her hands as she put the pieces together.
"So… so I was—"
"Inviting anyone within earshot to take you to bed," he said with a nod. "And it was a rather enthusiastic invite at that!" He popped the piece of bacon into his mouth.
"Oh, Jesus…"
He swallowed. "Thankfully, I appear to be the only one who understood your wanton cries for companionship!" His hand came to rest on her forearm, giving it a little tug. "And I'd much prefer to danser at this juncture, dear darling."
"They were not—" she started, her cheeks aflame as she yanked her arm away. "J-just shut up!" She set the pepper grinder down with a clatter. "Great! Now I can never listen to this song again!"
"Now, now, there's no need for that," he said, his tone almost scolding. "It's a decent song, for a modern composition! A bit risqué for radio, of course, but certainly not out of place among the bawdy ballads I heard in my time. Why, Bessie Smith herself once recorded a dirty blues song so shocking, I nearly fell of my chair the first time I heard it!" He grinned as his eyes narrowed. "I'd play some Lucille Bogan for you, but if something as benign as this gets you in such a flustered little tizzy, I doubt you'd be able to stand it."
"I'm not flustered," she snapped as the song came to an end, its chorus fading out. "I'm irritated." She grabbed her spoon, giving the scrambled eggs a final stir before pouring them onto a waiting plate.
"Liar," he said with a smirk.
Her playlist flipped over to the next song, and she breathed a sigh of relief as kick drums and upbeat synths began to emanate from her phone's speakers. Much better.
"Here," she said, trying to change the subject, "I bet you've heard this one at least once."
The man paused as he cocked his head, listening intently. "I don't believe so, no."
"Well, you've heard of the band at least," she said with a shrug, grateful for the distraction. "Everyone knows Queen."
His brows furrowed. "Victoria?"
She stared at him. "You're joking." She set down her spoon, giving her hands a quick wipe on her apron. "They're like, one of the biggest bands, ever! They're legends!" She brushed past him, picking up the phone to turn up the volume. "Oh, we are fixing this right now!"
"I'd sit alone," Freddie Mercury began, his resonant tenor filling the room, "and watch your light. My only friend, through teenage nights…"
"And everything," Lee sang along, "I had to know." She grinned at Alastor. "I heard it on my ra-di-ooo…"
He raised an eyebrow in appreciation.
"See?! I knew you'd like it!" she said as she returned to her place at the stove, scooping the cooked sausages onto a waiting plate. "This is one of their bigger songs, they actually performed it at Live Aid—well, you don't know what Live Aid is, but it was a huge, huge concert!"
"Really?" His head tilted, as if he were actually interested. "How big was the theater?"
"Not a theater, a stadium!" she said with a laugh. "And the whole show was broadcasted live. Over a billion people tuned in!" She gestured towards the rest of the kitchen. "Picture it: you're in London, in a crowd of over seventy thousand people, all singing, dancing, clapping along too! Listen, here comes the clap part!"
"All we hear is," two beats, "radio ga ga!"
"Radio goo goo," Lee sang, clapping along, "radio ga ga! All we hear is, radio ga ga! Radio blah, blah!"
"Radio, what's new?" Freddie crooned as Lee picked up her spoon, holding it to her mouth like a microphone.
"Radio!" She pointed at Alastor. "Someone still loves you!"
The man blinked at her, as if he were surprised, before his own smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"A fine song, indeed!" he said chipperly.
"Oh, I am so making you a playlist later," Lee giggled. "I can't believe you haven't heard of t—"
The door to the kitchen swung open.
"Hey, Lee? Did you make coffee y—" Amon stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting between the two of them. "O-oh, hi there, Al…"
"Alastor, if you please, Mr. Dresden," he said, his voice a bit distorted.
"Amon!" Lee said brightly as the song played on. "Guess what? Al's never heard of Queen!"
His mouth dropped open. "You're kidding me. They're legends!"
"That's what I said!"
"That's crazy!" He shook his head. "Even my grandmother knew about Queen!" He walked towards the counter, coffee apparently forgotten. "You need any help?"
"We're fine, thank y—"
"Actually, yeah," Lee said. "Can you dice some tomatoes for me?"
"On it!" He gave her a mock salute. "I actually saw them live, y'know."
"No way!"
"Way!" he laughed. "I've been fortunate enough to see a bunch of folks, but they were definitely top five, if not number one!"
Alastor cleared his throat. "Well, isn't that interesting. I think I have you beaten, however, young man: I saw Josephine Baker herself on Broadway!"
"Joe who?" Amon said, half-listening as he took his place in front of the cutting board. "But yeah, I saw them in Chicago, I think it was eighty-two, eighty-three? During the 'Hot Space' tour."
"I am insanely jealous," Lee said wistfully.
"You should be," he said with a grin. "One of the best nights of my life!"
"You had your time!" Freddie sang as the verse came to a close, "You had the power!"
Amon grinned as he grabbed a huge soup ladle from a hook on the wall, flipping it around. "You've yet to have," he joined in, doing his best Mercury impression, "your finest hour! Ra-di-ooo…"
"Amon!" Lee laughed.
"All we hear is, radio ga ga!" The chorus began again as he started to strut around the kitchen, holding the soup ladle like a microphone stick. Lee clapped and sang along as he busted out a few dance moves, making up for in passion what he lacked in coordination.
"Radio, what's new?" He sang as he danced closer, holding the soup ladle towards her mouth.
"Someone still loves youuu!" they sang in unison, their eyes locked, before dissolving into a fit of laughter.
"You're such a dork!" she said with a shake of her head.
"You got me!" he said, holding a hand over his heart. "That's the real reason I'm in Hell: eternal damnation for being a giant nerd!" He shook his head in faux sadness. "I guess my parents were right, rock and roll really is the Devil's music! Speaking of which…" He strode over to her phone, setting the ladle back down. "Ever heard of a band called Rush, Alastor?"
"I don't think he—" Lee stopped short as she turned towards the man in question, only to be met with empty air. "Alastor?"
The blonde man looked up, glancing around the kitchen. "Where'd he go?"
"Dunno," Lee said with a shrug. "He just sort of disappears sometimes." A tiny trickle of dread ran through her, but she tried to push it aside. "Not sure where he'd go in this weather, though."
"Gotcha," he said. "Oh, and by the way: Freddie isn't down here, as far as I can tell, but there is a good cover band I know that plays Queen sometimes. They also do Bowie, Prince, even Def Leppard. You name it, if it's from the seventies to early-ish nineties, they can play it." He started dicing the tomatoes, giving them a few rough chops. "Maybe if Alastor lets you, we could go see them sometime. We could bring Charlie and the others too, make a night of it."
If Alastor lets you. The words stung.
"…I'll think about it," she said finally. "Pass the tortillas?"
By the third day, the storm had mostly passed. A few stray flurries fell from the ash-grey clouds as Lee stood in the middle of the Hotel's courtyard, staring upwards. The icy air numbed the tip of her nose as she took a deep breath, clouds of condensation rising from her mouth. She stuffed her gloved hands into the pockets of her puffer jacket.
Almost four months. Nearly a third of a year, that's how long she'd been down here. She should be happy, she supposed; according to Lucifer, no Bridged soul had survived nearly that long in Hell.
But survival wasn't living. This half-life she'd carved out for herself, unable to come and go as she pleased, stuck inside unless accompanied by her deadly chaperone, it was eating away at her. At least in New York, she'd been able to walk in the daylight, wander down side streets, window-shop for clothes she couldn't afford. Her apartment was a shithole, sure, and her wages weren't much better, but she'd had freedom, a freedom that came from anonymity, from routine, from the safety of a humdrum, boring life.
Her eyes fluttered closed. The world was still: the sounds of the city muffled by the blankets of snow, by the thick stone walls surrounding her.
Cracked, uneven sidewalks littered with cigarette butts and wrappers. The wings of pigeons, the jostle and bustle of the faceless crowds. The sound of sirens and subway lines and bucket drums. A sky that was blue, dotted with cotton clouds as the wind rustled through the trees of Central Park—
"The fuck are you doin' out here?"
She jumped as her eyes snapped open.
Angel stared down at her, dressed in his winter coat and a striped scarf, one pair of arms crossed while the other rested on his hips. Aside from snapping at her in group therapy, the man had gone back to acting like she didn't exist, walking past her in the halls without a second thought, never acknowledging her during meals, visibly tuning out whenever she spoke. For the most part, it had suited her just fine: she knew she'd been in the right, calling him out on his negligence, his blabbering that had lead to the Vee's discovering her presence. But while her anger at his carelessness was still there, it had begun to settle, replaced by a gnawing sense of loss. The snubs from someone she'd once called a friend hurt, no matter how much she liked to pretend otherwise. She'd coped by avoiding him a much as she could, trying to keep herself from being reminded, from being the subject of any of the sarcastic barbs that he so expertly wielded.
And now he'd found her, gawking at the sky like a moron.
God damn it.
He tapped the toe of his boot. "Well?"
"The… the uh," she stuttered, embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes. "You havin' a stroke or somethin'?"
Her face burned. "The sky," she said finally. "It… it isn't red, for once."
The man opened his mouth to speak, then paused. His eyes drifted towards the soot-colored clouds that hung high overhead.
"Huh."
Lee's gaze dropped to her feet as she shifted her weight, the snow crunching underneath her.
"I miss it being blue," she said quietly, the words falling from her lips before she could stop them. She couldn't help but cringe internally at her admission, and she steeled herself for a stinging retort, for another argument. When none came, she glanced back up at him.
Angel was still staring skyward, his eyes fixed on the falling snowflakes. It could've been a trick of the light, but his face seemed softer, somehow.
"Me too," he murmured.
Lee was about to reply when the doors to the Hotel's interior swung open.
"Alright, I think that's almost everyone, we just need to find—" Charlie stopped short. "Oh, there you guys are!" she said as she made her way over. Most of the Hotel's residents followed behind, clad in jackets and mittens and hats. "Did Niffty already tell you?"
"Tell us what?" Lee asked.
The princess grinned. "Well, Niff's busy making lunch—"
"Ugh," Angel said, his face contorting in disgust; his dislike of the little cyclops' cooking was no secret.
"—so Vaggie and I decided that since there's no group therapy today, we could all get together for a little team building exercise instead!" She bounced a bit on her toes. "Right, guys?"
The other residents let out a few grumbles in reply. Baxter extricated himself from the crowd, clearly trying to get as far away from everyone as possible. He was wearing a coat that seemed far too big for his small frame, a red scarf wrapped tightly around his mouth and neck.
"Well, I think," he said, his voice muffled, "that this sort of unseasonably cold weather is far more likely to lead to us developing frostbite than any sense of camaraderie!"
"You think this cold?" Valeria scoffed, her fox tail twitching. "This nothing compared to winter in Leningrad!"
"Says the woman decked head to toe in furs!"
"And that," Vaggie stepped in, "is exactly why we're organizing this." She crossed her arms as she surveyed the group. "If you all are going to live together, let alone work towards redemption, you need to learn to get along, and sort out your differences in a productive way."
Lee glanced up at Angel, meeting his eyes for a moment, before they both looked away.
"So!" Charlie clapped her gloved hands together. "To help you guys sort out some of those differences, we're going to have a little competition. A game, of sorts."
"A game, you say?"
Lee jumped as Alastor sprang from the ground beside her with a staticky pop, shoving Angel out of the way in the process.
"Hey!" the spider cried. "Watch it!"
"Oh, I do love games!" the man continued, ignoring Angel's protests. "What are we playing, Charlie dear? Speed chess? Ping-pong?" He slung his arm over Lee's shoulders, leaning against her so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. "Have you ever played Pegity, sweetheart? I'll teach you!"
Angel snorted. "Didn't think you were into that shit, Smiles…"
The joke seemed to go over the man's head, as he gave no reaction, only deigning to glance up at the falling flurries. "My, it's chilly out!" He snapped his fingers, summoning a maroon double-breasted overcoat and a scarf. "Are you sure this wouldn't be more suitable as an indoor venture, Vagatha?"
"I thought you didn't want to come," Vaggie said with a glare.
"I said," he corrected her, "that I had no interest in sitting in on any of today's Jungian escapades, on your attempts at reforming the unreformable via temperance and self-flagellation! You never said anything about there being a game!"
"For a reason…" the one-eyed woman muttered.
"Well," Charlie said, cutting in, "if you do want to play, you're more than welcome to, so long as you follow the rules." She gave the residents a sheepish smile. "It doesn't really have a name… I sort of just made it up. But I think it's closest to capture-the-flag!" The princess dug into the pockets of her coat, pulling out two dish towels, one a faded red, and one light blue. "The basic idea is, we split into two teams, and have a big snowball fight while people from each team try to capture the other's flag and bring it to the other side!"
"A game and a fight?" Alastor said with a grin. "You're truly outdone yourself, my dear! What are the rules of engagement? Is there a point system, or is it to the death?"
At the mention of 'death' the other guests took a step back. Amon's skin took on a bit of a green pallor as he cringed, subtly stepping behind one of the larger residents.
"No death!" Vaggie said quickly. "No kicking, or biting, or actually hurting people!" She pulled out her spear as she drew a few lines in the snow, a makeshift map of the courtyard. "We'll divide the yard into three parts: Red Team, Blue Team, and no-mans-land. If you get hit with a snowball in no-mans-land, you need to run back into your team's side. If you get hit on the other team's side, you need to sit in jail, until someone from your team rescues you." She waved the spear away. "The goal is to get you guys to work together: to win, you'll need some people on look-out, some people guarding the flag, and some runners. This isn't a game you can play alone, and you'll need to use each other's strengths."
"Alright, so you want us to chuck snow at each other for like an hour," Angel said with a shrug. "What if we don't wanna? I've only been out here for five minutes, and I'm already freezin' my tits off!"
"Well—"
"There's a prize…" Charlie sang, her smile wide.
At the mention of a prize, the other residents murmured.
"Don't get yer hopes up," Husk grumbled. He was still clad in his standard pants and suspenders, a worn beanie and a scarf his only winter-wear additions. "It ain't booze."
"The winning team," Charlie said, "gets to choose one nice thing to buy for the Hotel!" She smiled at Angel. "Like, say… an espresso machine?"
The man smiled back. "Oh, fuck yeah, I'm in." He started to stretch in place, cracking his knuckles.
Baxter's antenna perked up. "Would a laboratory qualify as 'nice'?"
"I want shooting range," Valeria said.
"Ooh, now you're talkin' Russki!" Angel said with a grin, pointing finger guns at her.
"Well, I want a new television!" Amon chimed in.
The requests came pouring in as the other guests began talking over each other.
"I want a karaoke machine!"
"A nail salon!"
"A hot tub!"
Vaggie put her hand up, trying to quell their chatter. "So long as it doesn't encourage sin, and it's within the budget that Charlie and I set aside, it's fine. But you all need to choose one thing, as a team, that you want. No divvying prizes among individuals." She took the red dish towel from Charlie. "Who wants to be Red Team cap—"
There was a blur of movement, a rush of air as Alastor snatched the towel from her hand.
"I'll be taking that!" he said cheerily. His smile sharpened as he fixed the other residents with a narrow-eyed stare. "Unless anyone else is opposed?" When no one dared speak up, he let out a little snippet of triumphant music. "Very well! I shall be the fearless leader of the Red Team, and guide us to certain victory!"
Charlie glanced around, then held up the remaining towel. "I'll lead Blue Team, then, if that's alright?" When she got some nods in reply, she seemed satisfied. "Cool beans! Now, how are we going to divide you all…"
"Schoolyard rules!" Alastor said. "We'll line our soldiers up and draft them one by one!" He clapped his hands twice. "Chop, chop, Sinners!"
Everyone scrambled, arranging themselves into a line. Lee slipped into place between Vaggie and Amon, a bit of trepidation already turning her stomach.
"I always get picked last for these things," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Amon glanced at her. "Me, too," he whispered. "I was never any good at sports." He smiled. "But, y'know what they say: save the best for last, and all?"
A small grin of her own crept onto her face. "I guess…"
Alastor and Charlie surveyed the group, dish towels in hand.
"Ladies first, then?" he asked.
"If you're sure…"
"Please, I insist," he said with a small bow.
"Alright then…" Charlie said as her eyes scanned the line of players. "For my first player, I choose…"
Beside her, Vaggie seemed to stand up a little straighter, her head held high.
"Lee!"
"Wait, what?" The one-eyed woman turned towards her, and a sea of heads followed, their gazes fixed on the human.
"Me?" she said in disbelief.
"What?!" Alastor's voice was low, thick with static as he clutched the towel tight, crushing it in his fist.
Charlie's smile was bright as she gestured towards her. "Get up here, Lee!"
Reluctantly, she stepped out of line, joining the princess' side. She could feel the other's eyes on her, burning into the back of her head.
The tall woman extended a gloved hand. "Welcome to Blue Team, partner!"
Lee glanced at Alastor, before giving it a shake. "Uh… happy to be here, I guess..."
"Well, then, for my first choice," Alastor said, his words clipped, "I will be drafting Vagatha!"
Vaggie's mouth dropped open. "Oh, fuck no!"
"Wait, really?" Charlie said, her brows furrowing.
"Obviously!" he said, sounding a bit miffed. "For all my quarrels with her, she is agile, strategic, and well-versed in combat as well as stealth!" He crossed his arms as he held his head high. "She'll make an excellent soldier!"
Vaggie's gaze darted from Charlie, to Alastor, then back again. The princess gave her a nod, and she sighed.
"Fine," she said as she trudged over towards him. The man extended his hand to shake, but she ignored it, moving to stand a few feet beside him, a sour expression etched onto her face.
Charlie's grin grew mischievous. "Then, I pick Angel!" She stared Alastor down. "Six arms, greataim,and I know he plays to win."
"Damn right!" Angel said as he strode towards her, grinning. "And I'm gonna wipe the floor with ya, Smiles!"
They continued for some time, calling up their picks one by one, until Angel, Baxter, Crymini, and a few other guests she didn't know as well had all joined Lee at Charlie's side. Alastor, for his part, had quickly scooped up Husk, then Valeria; it was clear he was choosing carefully, assembling most of the sturdier-looking hotel residents for his team.
Amon was, as he had predicted, the last to be picked. His shoulders were slumped as he walked towards the end of Alastor's line of players. The Radio Demon's smile was strained as his eyes followed him: it was clear neither man was happy with the arrangement, but for the sake of maintaining even numbers, it was necessary.
"Okay, everyone!" Charlie cried. "Blue Team takes the left side, Red Team the right!" She held the dish towel above her head. "On your marks, get set—"
"Just a moment, darling!" Alastor cut in. He waved his hand, summoning his microphone. "Why don't we make things a little more… interesting?"
Vaggie frowned as she turned towards him. "What do you mean, interesting?"
The man's grinned as his microphone grew into a staff. He gave it a twirl, then slammed it down on the ground. Flames erupted from his feet, vaporizing the snow into clouds of steam. Around them, the courtyard seemed to stretch, the walls pushing away from them until they blinked out of sight. Tall, barren trees sprouted from the ground, followed by snow-covered bushes and brambles. Two semi-circular walls of ice and snow, each about ten feet tall, flanked either side of the expanse of snowy tundra they now stood on.
"There!" he said, seemingly satisfied. "It's only an illusion, of course, but it should give us a bit more room, not to mention the beginnings of a proper barricade!" He grinned at Charlie. "Shall I add a few trenches as well?"
She looked around, a smile creeping onto her face. "No, no, this works."
"Very well!" He waved the staff away. "In that case…"
His eyes narrowed as his grin grew sharp.
"Let the games begin."
"You're doin' it wrong."
Lee let out a sigh. "They're snowballs, Angel. It's not rocket science."
"Those aren't balls," he scoffed as he knelt down, taking one from the pile she'd made. He examined it, turning it around in his hand. "They're lumps. Trust me, bitch, I know what balls look like, even if you don't!"
"You're just gonna throw them anyway!" she said, exasperated, as she turned towards him. "Why does it matter?"
"'Cause they're just gonna," he crushed the snowball in his hand, "crumble, just like that! I chuck 'em fast enough, they just spread out, no impact! You gotta press them down more, like this!" He grabbed a few handfuls of snow, and began pressing them tightly together, compacting them as much as he could. "Make 'em more like ice!"
"What, so you can chuck them at people's heads full force? You'll give them a concussion!"
"Exactly!" he said with a grin.
"What about the rules?" Lee countered. "I thought Vaggie was very cl—"
"Incoming!"
She stopped short, her head snapping upward. Angel followed her gaze as Charlie came scrambling down from her perch in a tree, knocking clumps of snow loose from its branches.
"Enemy spotted!" she cried as she slid down the trunk. "Gunner in position!"
"On it!" Angel scooped up a few of Lee's snow lumps, then stood, stepping onto the small row of carved snow steps. His head popped up over the wall, a wicked grin on his face, only to pause. "Oh, he's not even trying!" the man said, rolling his eyes.
Lee followed him up the stairs, then stood up on her tiptoes, trying to peer over the icy wall of their makeshift fortress. A few yards away, Husk was trudging his way through no-mans-land, moving at a snail's pace, his signature frown etched on his face as he approached.
"Come to get another one of my loads, Husky?" Angel called out to him, his voice at once sultry and mocking. "Couldn't stay away?"
The cat scowled. "Just fuckin' hit me already!"
"Ooh, Daddy, how did you know I like it rough?" he replied with a faux giggle. He wound up his shot, snowball in hand. "Here it comes, big boy!"
There was a whistle as the snowball soared through the air at breakneck speed, hitting the man dead center in his chest. He let out a small "oof," taking a step backwards.
"You keep comin' back," Angel purred, "and I'll have to start charging you, handsome…"
Husk blinked, a tiny tinge of pink coloring his cheeks, before he sighed. "Whatever." He wiped the excess snow from his fur, then turned on his heel, trudging back towards his side of the playing field.
"Toodles!" Angel called after him, before breaking into a snicker. "Wow, that was pathetic!" He turned towards Lee. "You should go tell your sugar daddy that his little soldiers need to go back to bootcamp!"
A whisper of heat flared on her face. "First of all, gross. Second, if you want to tell Alastor how pathetic you think his team is, why don't you go do it yourself?"
"'Cause I'm the best shot we have! I go over there, we lose, period." He shrugged as he sauntered back down the stairs. "Besides, fish boy should be gettin' back from doing recon any minute now. Soon as he figures out where they're hidin' the flag, blondie can run over and snatch it, and we'll be one espresso machine richer!"
"We have to choose something everyone wants," she said, following him. "What if I don't want an espresso machine?"
"Then you're a cheap bitch with cheap taste, who can't appreciate a good coffee," he said with a smirk. "Ay, Charlie!" he called over. "Is the nerd back yet?"
She perked her head up, rising from her own pile of perfectly sculpted snowballs. "Baxter? I haven't seen him," she said, a trickle of worry in her voice. She fished her phone out of her pocket. "And it's been almost ten minutes…"
"You don't think he got captured, do you?" Lee asked.
"I don't know," she said, her brows furrowing. She scanned their side of the playing field. "Looks like everyone else is here. Hey, Crymini?"
"What?" the hyena sighed, not bothering to look up from her phone.
"Have you seen Baxter around?"
"No," she said with a roll of her eyes, tapping away.
Charlie turned towards the other team members. "Has anyone seen Baxter?!"
A chorus of grunts and half-hearted 'no's' greeted her.
"Oh no," she murmured.
"We have to get him back," Lee said. "We can't afford to be a man down!"
Angel sneered down at her. "Then go get 'im."
"What?!" she asked, caught off guard.
"You want fish boy back," he said with a shrug, "you go get him. Unless you're too much of a wuss to try…"
"I'm not a wuss!"
"Guys, let's not—" Charlie started.
"Then prove it!" Angel cut her off. "Go get Baxter back! Take one for the team, instead of just sittin' around making your crappy little snowballs and bitchin' at me about rules."
"Y'know what? Maybe I will!" She glanced at the others. "Who wants to come rescue Baxter with me?" When she was met with silence, she huffed. "Fine. I'll do it myself!"
"Lee, wait!" Charlie called after her. "Don't you think we should—"
"I'll be back in a minute!" she grumbled, stomping away.
The snow crunched under her boots as Lee walked into the forest, weaving through the bushes and towering trees. Anger flared in her belly as she crouched low, creeping from trunk to trunk, trying to make herself as small as possible. Stupid spider. She'd show him: she'd bring Baxter back, and when they won, there's no way in hell she'd be voting for his precious espresso machine!
"Enjoy your shitty coffee, asshole," she muttered under her breath.
The air was still as she snuck closer and closer, toeing up towards the line in the snow that separated Blue territory from no-mans-land. Her eyes scanned the enemy wall; there were no signs of any lookouts, any guards. She waited a moment, holding her breath, her ears tuning into the sounds of the forest, the occasional call of a raven, the gentle breeze sweeping over the terrain. In the distance, she could hear voices, their words too far away to discern. When no one appeared, she tensed, slowly rising.
In three, two…
She broke into a mad dash, the air stinging her face as she sprinted across the icy field. Her arms pumped at her sides as she looked frantically in all directions, expecting someone to pop out of nowhere, bracing for a snowball to strike her down. She skidded to a stop just behind enemy lines, ducking behind the gnarled trunk of a barren tree. Puffs of warm breath rose from her mouth as her chest heaved, adrenaline pumping in her veins. A small laugh bubbled up from her stomach. She'd made it. She'd actually made it!
Suck it, Angel!
She was careful to stay low to the ground as she crept deeper into the woods, darting from tree to tree. The wall of the enemy's fortress loomed in the distance, growing larger and larger as she approached. Her fingers trembled; whether it was from anxiety or from the cold, she couldn't be sure. She clenched them into tight fists, then tried to shake it off, her bracelet jangling slightly as she tried to rid her body of the tension. An idea popped into her head.
"Umbra?" she whispered. The runes lining the inside of her bracelet began to glow red, then faded like a dying candle. "Umbra, c'mon, I need your help!"
She gave it a few taps with a gloved finger, but it was no use.
"God damn it!" she swore under her breath. Her head fell back against the trunk of the tree, a stream of steam escaping her as she let out a frustrated sigh. Of course he'd charmed the playing field. Of course he'd keep her from using the one thing that gave her a fighting chance against—
"Atten-tion!"
Lee's heart leapt into her throat at the sound of the distant order. Her hand slapped over her mouth as she tried to keep any air from escaping, from giving away her position as she sat stock-still. Her eyes darted around the sea of white surrounding her. No sign of anyone. Behind her, the sound of voices started up again, their words still too muffled to make out. Slowly, she got up, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet as she got back into a crouch. Her head stayed on a swivel as she turned, then peeked out from behind the trunk, her ears primed.
"…must say, I am very disappointed in you, soldiers!" a distinctive Trans-Atlantic accent barked.
Alastor?
She scanned the snowy wall. Still no lookouts. She waited a breath or two, then drew closer, shuffling between the bushes and brambles as she pushed deeper into Red Team territory. The muscles in her thighs began to twitch from the effort, from staying in such an uncomfortable position, but she kept moving, blazing a diagonal trail through the forest until she cleared the edge of the wall.
In the distance, Alastor sat atop a skeletal horse. He was clearly taking his self-appointed title of team leader far too seriously, his red overcoat now adorned with golden tassels and epaulettes, laden down with medals that clinked and clanked together as the horse paced back and forth. Across from him, the members of the Red Team stood in a line. A few, such as Valeria and Husk, were straight backed, their heads held high, their posture no doubt an artifact of their past military experience. The others, in contrast, looked far less battle-ready; if anything, a few of them looked ready to faint. Only Vaggie seemed unaffected by the man's airs, her arms crossed, a scowl on her face as she looked up at him with disdain.
"As your Colonel," he said as he glared down at them, his smile grim, "I expect you to operate with the highest levels of professionalism! The fact that we haven't managed to capture the enemy's flag yet is a disgrace!" The horse's bones crumbled into dust as he dismounted. "I especially expected better from you, Sergeant Katz!" He shook his head. "Such a display of lackadaisical inattentiveness from my own second-in-command; I ought to have you demoted!"
"Hold it," Husk said, raising a claw. "I'm second-in-command, and I'm a Sergeant?! That's a dozen ranks below Colonel!" He squinted up at the man. "Did you even serve?!"
"Irrelevant!" Alastor cried. "We are at war, Sergeant! Now is not the time to be questioning your commanding officer!" He turned towards Valeria. "Lieutenant Tarasova!"
"Da, tovarich!" the woman barked, her eyes steely.
"Lieutenant?! That's higher up than Sergeant—"
"Status of our ammunition?" Alastor continued, ignoring him.
"Eight hundred rounds, with more in production."
"Excellent," he said with a curt nod. "And the prisoner?"
Valeria shook her head. "Still will not tell where flag is."
"I see…" His smile shrank as his eyes narrowed. "Well, since the enhanced interrogation techniques I proposed are clearly not acceptable to some," he shot a pointed look at Vaggie, who returned his glare, "I suppose we'll just give him a bit more time to reconsider. He'll have about ten more minutes before hypothermia begins to set in in earnest, regardless…"
Carefully, Lee peeked out a bit more from behind the bush as the man turned away, walking back down the line. There was no doubt in her mind that the 'prisoner' her business partner was referring to was Baxter. She did a quick headcount: two, three, six, eight… everyone appeared to be accounted for, and from the way Alastor was rambling, it looked like they'd be occupied for at least a few more minutes. If she wanted a prayer of rescuing him, she had to act, fast.
She picked her way deeper into the woods, moving as swiftly and as quietly as she could manage. Around her, a sea of white and brown and dull green stretched out in all directions, its breadth seemingly endless. The more she looked, however, the more the patterns of the trees seemed to repeat themselves: a stand of birch trees here, a fallen limb there. It was as if someone had taken a photo of a wintry tundra, copied it, and stitched the copies together, blending them to create the illusion of space. It was a bit disorienting, and she found herself looking more and more at the ground, scanning it for any sign of her own footprints, making sure she wasn't walking in circles.
She'd just passed her seventh cluster of brambles when she saw it: sets of tracks, leading deeper into the forest. Her heart seized as she dropped to the ground. When no one appeared, she shuffled closer, examining them. Two appeared to be normal shoe prints, one large and one slightly smaller. The third, however, was less of a track and more of a deep gouge through the snow, as if something, or someone, she realized with a chill, had been dragged. Beside one of the tracks, something smooth and yellow jutted out of the ground: Baxter's trusty glasses.
Quick as a flash, she scooped them up, then set off on a jog deeper into the woods. Her breath came in quick puffs as she ran, placing each footfall within the carved tracks, trying to hide her own steps. Her pace only quickened as she passed Baxter's scarf, then one of his boots, then another. It was clear the man hadn't gone down without a fight, and she didn't trust Alastor to play fair, not by a long shot. If she wanted to bring him back with any hope of him still being in fighting shape, time was of the essence.
After a few minutes, she came to the edge of a clearing, bare except for what looked to be a makeshift jail cell. Inside its icicle bars, Baxter sat curled in a ball, his legs pulled tight to his chest as he shivered. The man was naked save for a tight-fitting undershirt and his boxer shorts, and his skin now appeared more blue than grey. Outside the cell, the rest of his clothes sat neatly folded on the ground, just out of reach.
Lee paused to catch her breath as she scanned the clearing. There were no sign of any guards that she could see; Alastor must still have them all occupied.
"Baxter!" she hissed. When the man didn't respond, she called a little louder. "Baxter!"
He jumped, his antenna flashing as he looked up. "W-w-w-who's there?!" he cried, his teeth chattering.
She glanced around once more, then stepped closer. "It's me, Lee!"
"Lee?" The man squinted at her.
She rushed over, slipping his glasses through the bars. His fingers shook so badly he dropped them at first, before finally putting them back on.
"God, you must be freezing!" she said as she gathered up the rest of his clothes, passing them to him. "Can you walk?"
"I b-b-believe that w-will be dif-dif-di," the man started as he snatched his sweater from her hands. "No," he said finally, clearly frustrated.
"Shit," she muttered. "I'll help you, I'll carry you, then. We just have to move, now, before they—"
"Stop!"
Her stomach dropped.
"Hands in the air! Uh, right now!"
Slowly, Lee obeyed, her hands rising into the air as she turned. Behind her, Amon stood, a snowball at the ready. A few pine needles were sticking out of his normally immaculate blonde hairdo, as if he'd been traipsing through the forest as well… or up in a tree somewhere.
"Step away from the holding cell!" he said with all the authority he could muster.
She took a deep breath, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way out of this. She'd come this far, she couldn't fail now. She couldn't face Angel's smug smile, the roll of his eyes when she limped back to them after the game ended, licking her wounds, captured and defeated.
"Amon," she said, trying to keep her tone measured, "I'm not here to look for the flag, I promise. I'm just here to get Baxter."
"He's a prisoner of war!" he said. "He was caught, uh… god dammit what's the word Alastor used… something about territorial sovereignty!"
"I know," she said. "But look at him! He's in no state to play anymore!"
Amon paused, his arm lowering just a smidge. A bit of hope sparked in her chest; it looked like he was actually going to listen to her.
"Look," Lee continued. "I know putting him out here and basically torturing him with cold wasn't your idea. But he needs to get inside and warm up." She took a step closer, and the man blinked, but still didn't fire. "I know you guys can't, like, freeze to death for real, but I still don't want him to get sick!"
His acid-green eyes widened a bit as his gaze shifted from her, to Baxter, then back again.
"Please, Amon?" she asked, her voice soft.
The rams-horned man paused, then let out a heavy sigh, a stream of steam escaping from his mouth as his arm dropped.
"Alright," he said. "Let me help you get him in—"
"Swayed so easily, Private Dresden?"
The hair on the back of Lee's neck stood up at the sound of the staticky voice. She flinched as a hand came to rest on her shoulder, as long fingers curled around her.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Alastor clucked his tongue. "I can't say I expected better of you, but I still find myself oddly disappointed by your weakness."
Amon looked like he was about to be sick. "I-it's not what it looks like!"
"Really?" he chuckled. "Then please, by all means, elaborate."
"Uh," he started, "I, uh, I was just, uh… I was trying to get closer!" His words came out in a rush. "Hit her, before she had a chance to run away! That way, we'd have two prisoners!"
"Is that what you were doing?" he asked, feigning surprise. "Because from my point of view, it appeared as though this interloper had convinced you to turn traitor."
"N-no!"
"Are you sure?" Alastor simpered. "I suppose I could understand if you had, you know. After all, pleading, pretty faces like hers have launched thousands of ships over the millennia." Lee shivered as his hand began to move against her, drifting across her shoulder, closer to her neck. "Though a Prince of Troy you are certainly not," he said with a bit of a bitter laugh.
"I'm not a traitor, I promise!" He took a faltering step backwards. "Honestly, I'm not!"
He paused, mulling over his words. "Then prove it," he said, his tone matter of fact. "Shoot her."
Lee looked up at him with a jolt, startled. "What?!"
"Not in her face, mind you!" Alastor said. "I'll have your hands for that offense, rules be damned." His grin grew. "If you are truly loyal to our cause, you'll strike her, center mass, and deliver me another prisoner. And if you don't…" His eyes burned. "You will face the consequences of disobeying orders."
The blonde man gaped at him. His eyes fell on the hefty snowball still clutched tight in his trembling hand.
"Wait, you're not seriously…" Lee started. "Amon, listen to me—"
"Yes, listen to the deceitful little siren," Alastor crowed, "and dash yourself upon the rocks!"
"I just want to help Baxter, I promise!" she continued. "Look at him, he's miserable!" She tried to move, to get away, only to let out a yelp as Alastor's free arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her pinned. "Let me go, Al!"
"Ah, and now the epicene young man must make a choice!" he said with barely disguised glee. "Deference, or compassion? Self-preservation, or treason?" Lee struggled feebly as he leaned down. "Tick tock, Private Dresden." His voice was low as static danced in the air surrounding him, electric against her skin. "As entertaining as your anguish is, I'm afraid we don't have all day…"
"Amon, please!" She wiggled a bit, trying to get her arms free. "Don't do it!"
Amon's breath came in frantic, uneven puffs as his eyes darted between them. "I… I don't—"
"Time's up!" Alastor sang, his grip tightening around her. "Choose your fate in three… two…"
"Amon!"
There was a blur of motion as he reared back, twisting as he assumed the stance of a Major League pitcher. Lee let out a cry as the snowball flew from his hand, arcing towards her. Time seemed to slow as it grew closer, and closer, until she couldn't bear it anymore, until her eyes screwed shut—
The impact never came. Instead, there was only the sound of a light puff, the stinging sprinkle of snowy crystals brushing against her cheek. She cracked one eye open, then another.
Amon was frozen, his arm still extended, his eyes wide and wavering. Lee followed his gaze, turning against Alastor's stiff embrace, only to gasp.
Where there once was grey and red, there was now only white. The Radio Demon's face was completely coated in snow, his permanent smile erased under an icy blanket that stuck to his hair, his monocle, his teeth. A small, high-pitched sound began to rise from him, like a whistling tea kettle, growing louder by the second.
"Oh, fuck," Amon breathed.
Lee managed to squirm free, ducking under his arm. "Run!"
The man didn't have to be told twice. He turned on his heel, almost losing his balance as he dashed off into the woods.
Lee lunged for the bars of the cell, breaking through the thick icicles. Her pulse hammered in her ears, clashing with the sound of distorted, staticky voices coming from Alastor, first murmuring, then shouting, then screaming.
"Argh!" Baxter yelped as she pulled him to his bare feet. "Unhand me, you cretin—"
"No time!" she cried as she began dragging him along. "We gotta go, now!" She spared a glance behind her, her heart dropping as she took in the sight of lengthening antlers, of a hunched back and scythe-like claws.
A deep, guttural roar shook the trees as they trampled through the forest, running blindly. She nearly tripped over a buried root as she tried to keep moving forward, tried not to think. She just had to make it to the other side. She just had to make it back, and then everything would be okay, because this was just a game, and he knew it was just a game, right?
He knew it was just a game, right?!
She was shaken from her panicked thoughts by distant scream, growing louder by the second. She looked up through the bare boughs of the trees to see Amon flying through the air, screeching, his limbs flailing as he sailed out of sight. A flash of white-hot fear burst in her chest at the sight of him, and she started to sprint, her lungs burning as she pushed through brambles and ducked under pine branches.
"Slow—" Baxter was breathless as he lagged behind her, "slow d-down, I— ah!"
Lee skidded to a stop as the man went down, face-planting in the snow. She rushed over, kneeling.
"C'mon, Bax, we gotta—" The words died in her mouth as she caught sight of a black tendril of shadow, wrapped around his ankle. She grabbed his hand, trying to pull him free. "Get up, you gotta get up, Baxter!"
He looked up at her, his eyes wide behind his snow-flecked glasses, before letting out a scream.
"Baxter!" Lee cried out as he was ripped away from her, dragged on his belly down into a widening pool of shadow. He scratched and clawed at the icy ground, crying out for help as his legs were swallowed, then his torso, then his head, until the light from his antenna was snuffed out.
"No!" She pounded the snow in frustration as the portal closed, tears pricking at her eyes. "Fuck!"
Her anger was quickly tempered by bone-deep fear as more tendrils rose from the ground, their tips pointing towards her. With a cry, she scrambled to her feet.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Her breath came in hot clouds of steam, her mouth thick with saliva as she pushed deeper into the woods, through the maddening sameness that stretched in all directions. There were no landmarks, no footprints anymore, just trees and bushes and a flash of crimson—
"Darling…"
His voice was low, distorted, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Clever girl," he continued as she ran, her muscles screaming from fatigue, "making my own soldiers go against me, turning curs into champions."
She gasped as he stepped out from behind a tree, his form spindly and gaunt, his smile wide.
"A pity they're not here to save you now…"
Immediately she turned tail, sprinting in the opposite direction, her heart thrashing as she sucked in frenzied gasps. She held her arms close to her face, shielding it as she crashed through thick pine branches, leaving shimmering trails of snowfall in her wake.
"You can run all you want, Eurydice," he sang, his voice echoing through the trees, "it won't make any difference…"
She let out a frightened scream as her feet left the ground, as strong, lean arms pressed her back against his broad chest.
"For Hades already has you in his grasp…"
His breath was hot against her cheek as she hung there, frozen, unable to move, to speak. She let out a squeak as he nipped at her earlobe, tugging gently, the press of his sharp teeth enough to shock, but not enough to break the skin. A flash of warmth burst in her chest as she started to flail, kicking her feet.
"It doesn't matter how much you squirm, sweetness," he said with a chuckle. "I'm not letting you g—"
An ear-piercing, staticky screech broke from him as she twisted her leg up and backwards, as her foot nailed him between the legs. Her ears rang as she fell, as she clawed her way forwards, trying to get away. Her boots slipped against the snow as she righted herself, but she only made it a few stumbling steps before he appeared in her path. The medals on his coat clanked as she crashed head-first into his torso, as they both went down, falling to the ground in a heap. Grey clouds and white blankets tumbled and turned as they rolled and struggled, until he was on top of her, until her wrists were pinned at her sides.
His eyes were fiery as he stared down at her, his antlers a crown of spikes. Glowing sigils danced in the air around him, pulsing in and out of existence.
"That was a dirty trick you pulled, darling," he said with a growl, his smile now more of a sneer.
A chill wormed it way down her spine as her skin prickled, at once too hot and too cold beneath her jacket. It was just a game, it was just a game, it had to be a game!
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in close, the scent of cedar and sandalwood filling her heaving lungs.
"Naughty little thing," he purred, his radio voice falling away, leaving only his natural accent, "what ever shall I do with you?"
Butterflies swooped low in her belly as heat spread through her, singeing her veins. Her face burned as their eyes met, as his red sclera bored into hers, filled with something dangerous and dark and hungry—
"Lunchtime!"
He froze, his smile almost dropping entirely as Niffty's voice rang out in the distance. For a moment they were still, their chests rising and falling, their eyes locked, each of them unable or unwilling to break the odd tension that stretched between them. At last, he scrambled to his feet with a pop of static.
"Well, it looks like we're ending things in a draw!" he chirped, the tiniest hint of a waver in his voice as he adjusted his coat, smoothing out its wrinkles. A snap of his fingers, and his faux military regalia faded away. "Good game, dearest!"
She gawked up at him, her mind reeling as she tried to process what had just happened. Around them, the forest began to dissolve, shrinking until the walls of the courtyard came back into focus, until the brambles surrounding them gave way to snow-covered hedges and topiaries.
"Perhaps Charlie will deem it fit for us to resume our grand battle after some refreshments," he rambled on, his antlers shrinking by the second. "After all, the others seemed rather keen to see it through to the end, haha!" He leaned down, extending a hand. "Shall we, cher?"
She hesitated, unsure, before she reached for him, placing her trembling hand in his. Her legs shook as he helped her to her feet.
"There we go," he said. She flinched as he began fussing over her, brushing the snow off her jacket. "You're not hurt?"
She shook her head, her heartbeat still quick and steady in her ears.
"Good, good." He cleared his throat. "And you're not… too terribly frightened?"
"I… I, uh…" She swallowed hard. "Where's Baxter?"
His smile shrank a bit. "Indoors by the fire, as you requested."
"…and Amon?"
He let out a small hiss of static. "Several blocks away by now, I'd say. He knew that the punishment for desertion was a dishonorable discharge, and as a man of my word, I… discharged him." A small huff. "I'm sure he'll wander back to us in due time."
"Oh…" She shifted her weight as she stuck her gloved hands into her pockets. "You mean you didn't…?"
He sighed. "He's fine, ma belle. You needn't fret." Carefully, his arm snaked around her shoulders. "Come. Let's go see what dear Niffty's prepared for us… and pray it's somewhat edible."
"…okay."
He let out a satisfied hum. "That's my girl."
There was a strange tightness in her chest as he led her away, her steps unsteady as he guided her back towards the others, unable to escape the unnerving, undeniable sense that something—everything—had changed.