This is just the fight scene that didn't make it into the last chapter because I was having writer's block at the time, shared as its own chapter to make it easier for people to just skip if they're not invested in this subplot.

[X]

[Hell, 2020, rewind]

She should've been cozied up in bed wrapped in a robe, but Mimzy remained downstairs. After Sally brought her an unstained black sequined dress, she freshened up in the lounge's restroom to try watching the show and dancing with the others. Nothing distracted her. Camped out in the VIP lounge once again, at least she heard the crowd outside—that made a difference. Retreating to the heavily soundproofed penthouse would feel even lonelier.

Mimzy didn't recall what number drink she held. She watched on her hellphone, through blurred vision, a recently-viral Voxtube video someone captured of two imps singing a duet in Ozzie's night club. Every 'I love you' felt like that wretched, dorky freckled imp sucking the joy out of her and taking it for himself. No love for Miriam! Only people who wanted to put her in boxes and string her from trees, didn't care where she went at all, or clapped politely and promptly forgot her. Mimzy Glam futilely headlined in a long hallway full of insults and empty applause that echoed forever.

Desperate for affection, the club owner sent for her dogs, to groaning from patrons and employees alike. Gigantic, glossy black wolfdogs Bonnie and Clyde were obnoxious, spoiled brats despised by all but Mimzy, who loved the slobbering goons as unconditionally as she did applause, cash, and liquor. Three bouncers couldn't wrangle the brutes. Bonnie 'playfully' barreled over 5 people, yanking one woman down ass-backwards by the ponytail, while Clyde toppled an entire table in frenzied pursuit of French fries. Entering the lounge, they mellowed instantly for Mommy and curled like two huge beanbags on the floor. Mimzy couldn't care less about looking classy right now; she kicked her shoes back off, sat on the ground, and snuggled her back against Bonnie's warm fluff.

Unexpectedly, the door creaked. A tall, thin shadow striped across black and white tile into the room, followed by, "Darling… Why would you hide from me?"

Mimzy yelped. Her tremoring hand spilled the Mary Pickford cocktail on Bonnie, who squirmed away in displeasure. She scrambled up and dove beside Clyde, who bristled and growled, bearing teeth at the intruder. The blonde snapped her fingers. Bonnie, who'd begun snuffling around flinching Alastor while salivating a worrying amount, came to sit in front of her brother, forming a furry wall between the two demons.

"You seem unwell," remarked Alastor, who'd forced his way in with a convincing fake Ferdie and reputation alone. He stepped in, tapping the door shut behind him with his false cane.

Taking comfort from Clyde's warmth, Miriam noticed Alastor's own pet was mysteriously absent. It should've been the least of her worries, but she drunkenly thought aloud, "...Where's Ferdie?"

"Better question," Alastor quickly redirected. "How are you this hammered already, Miriam?" he demanded, too angrily, masking sorrowful worry.

Mimzy barked out a rough laugh as she stumbled a bit and righted herself on Clyde's rump. "That a serious question? Your mother's around."

"Yet somehow I'm not two sheets to the wind."

Mimzy sneered at his judgmental tone. "Might also haveta do with your coworker delivering my personal remains you'd been h-hic-hoarding for the last 15 years." Combined rage and intoxication unleashed Miriam Gamble's emotional savagery: "Say, since we're apparently in a 'who can be more offensive' contest, I'll up your ante. How 'bout I lock you in my safe and only take you out during rutting season?"

"Repulsive," Alastor hissed harshly to conceal the sting. "You've always been a very mean drunk."

"Made damn sure I drank enough to be nasty as possible when you finally dragged your flat ass in, Charlie McCarthy."

"You are succeeding." Al's fake smile swerved down at the edge. "But you don't mean it." Debatable. Peering around the large canine through his obsidian hagstone monocle, the deer saw his friend's heart region didn't appear entirely dull grey...but it was a thoroughly chilly slate blue. His nose wrinkled.

"I absolutely do. You did something to my mind with those ashes."

"I cast protections around them," Alastor insisted, touching hand to his heart.

"Sure, fine. But what else?"

Alastor verbally trampled her, asking of her heavy intoxication, "Begs the question—do you recall how often this used to happen in the decades after you arrived here?" He sat in their usual booth, tapping the opposite seat with the toe of his loafer for her to join him.

Mimzy didn't budge from behind Clyde a yard away. "Yeah, actually. I remember I wanted to be close to you, but it drove me crazy we couldn't talk about what happened, so I drank a lot."

"Oh, hoho. Yes, of course!" The stag clapped hands together with false humor, hearing her yet not hearing her, as the flame of the tabletop candle expanded like a firework. "The drinking was my fault. Always is! Hello, folks! New drinking game! Alastor exists—how inconvenient—take a shot!"

Mimzy barreled ahead, hearing him yet not hearing him. "I remember that Thanksgiving better now… We were tipsy and flirting, yeah, but that's not why you stayed. I got upset and said I wanted to talk about what happened. Really t-talk. And if that didn't happen, maybe we couldn't go on being friends because -hic!- it hurt. You stayed to console me and promised we could, you just weren't quite ready yet." Her magenta irises narrowed behind lidded eyes. "Then, strangely, within a week I forgot! Or…I remembered, but it…faded…into the background…and didn't matter?"

"Didn't that feel a lot better than talking about it?" Alastor asked with surprising gentleness.

Mimzy didn't appreciate this spin. "Alastor," the blonde growled, "you lied to me."

"When did I ever lie?"

"You tricked me! You did this so you'd never haveta own up to doing anything wrong. You wanted me to feel like I was the only one who messed up." A few black, angry tears spilled from her void-like eyes. "Why?! You always used to be loyal to your friends!"

"I'm not loyal?!" Alastor caught himself. "Listen, my intention was for it to stop hurting. Every spell I cast around those ashes was for you to drink less, be safe and prosperous, happy and healthy!"

"Stop pretending to be the good guy! It's ridiculous!"

Alastor struck his fake cane on the tile. "Stop pretending to be innocent, then!"

Notoriously fame-crazed, temperamental Mimzy Glam scoffed. "When did I ever do that?! We're all villains here, Alastor. Just own it like the rest of us, for crying out loud!"

"Obviously I'm not perfect, I only want to protect you. Now. Where. Are. The. Ashes?"

"You're welcome to use the vacuum, Mr. Overlord!"

"What?"

Miriam zig-zagged toward the door to the main club. There was safety in numbers. And while she hated being seen with racoon eyes, behind her trailed an explanation that everyone, including the paparazzi, would see. Points to her.

'So, as usual, she wants an audience,' Alastor realized, irritably at first, but then sympathy crept into his rage/panic-hijacked brain. Miriam was using the dogs as railings to walk straight, even without heels (and seemed to have forgotten she was barefoot). "I don't think you want to do this now, dear. Let's stay here and keep this between us."

A dark shadow tentacle wrapped around her arm to gently tug her back. Mimzy jumped, cringing and gasping, "GET OFF!" The tentacle retracted. The dogs prepared to jump. She snapped, "Heel!" but cowered behind the furry shields while slipping out the lounge door. Alastor disliked the flicker of positive emotion this incited. Mimzy's fear of him shouldn't feel good…but it certainly felt better than her hatred. He followed.

In the club—where things had slowed down while both the performers and live band rested—faces of customers seated at tables around the dance floor lit up like holiday lights at the singer's and overlord's sour expressions. For context, Al and Mimzy's squabbles were both frequent and very public. Alastor suspected Miriam preferred it, for the tabloid coverage. Some hopeful folks brought little home-made signs, like one would bring to a wrestling match, to Drinkin' Place's Thursday night shows, just in case a fight broke out. These spats were nonviolent and hilarious. Mimzy would scream while blank-faced Alastor leered down at her, slowly increasing the volume of pure static to drown her out. It took a while—professional singers can really bellow. Eventually he'd replace the static with angry Donald Duck noises, which never failed to enrage her because the audience always laughed. Then, hopping and stomping, she'd whistle for her dogs and clap overhead for the audience to join her in chanting out loud, timing how long it took for Alastor's ear to stop uncontrollably twitching with anxiety as shadow tentacles restrained the hounds. But she never intended to release them, and he never intended to hurt them. They weren't really all that angry. After a point, it was largely performance.

The audience today would not experience that kind of show.

Mimzy recovered her brave face, gesturing at the glitter-coated dance floor as they rounded the edge of the room. "Got so excited about that awesome present I di-hic-didn't expect to receive, just hadda share it with everyone, so I loaded up the party cannon! But, uh, now I'm mixed up a bit too thoroughly with other folks for your purposes."

"Par for the course then?" As usual, Alastor masked severe disappointment with sharp-tongued humor.

"SCREW YOU!" Mimzy took another gulp of cocktail. "I've wanted to apologize! You never let me!"

Some patrons overheard past the rumble of conversation, heads turning with intrigue. This was a contest to win an audience's sympathy? Hmmn. That would be useful to Alastor right now. He magically yanked an unused mic out of its holder onstage through the air to hit his leather palm, then offered it to the singer. "As you wish. Apologize." Miriam gawped in disbelief. Seriously? "You were the one who wanted an audience," Al reminded her.

"Fine," Mimzy decided, straightening into a tough stance and stepping in front of the concerned-looking dogs to accept the mic and stand close enough to share. "We'll take turns," she challenged. Alastor looked unphased. Whatever. She could finally shatter Alastor's self-righteous delusion that she was a remorseless wench, with plenty of witnesses! Miriam tapped the mic for attention. "'S-scuse me," she barely subdued her slurring. "Alastor here thinks I'm incapable of apologizing, so I'll prove him wrong. Al." She looked him in the eye, unworried about the crowd; Hellions wouldn't bat an eye at this. "I'm sorry for being unfaithful while we were together. Really, I am."

Seconds ticked by before something unexpected—laughter. A few snorts and peeps increased in volume, rippling through the crowd. "What the hell is so funny?!" affronted Mimzy demanded, hand on hip.

It was that the very notion of Mimzy Glam in a monogamous relationship was preposterous. Alastor verbalized: "It's amusing to hear someone apologize for something no one could imagine them ever doing differently. So, how long did it take for you to feel sorry? Five? Ten?" This felt so validating; he couldn't stop talking.

"Wh— Fsdkdasbkjdfluff— There weren't ten!"

Alastor's on-air persona kicked in hard. "Oh. My count could be off, as I believe there was a set of twins."

'Ba dum tss,' played the band's drummer obediently, signaled by the feared overlord's finger gun. "Tommy!" Mimzy admonished before telling the crowd, "He's kidding."

"Oh my, what's wrong, Miriam? I thought we were owning that we're all villains here?"

"You bastard. This is what I was talkin' about!" Mimzy's brain fried watching Alastor tap dance around his own actions. She shoved the mic aggressively at the deer demon's face. "Okay, wise guy. Your turn now!"

"Must I apologize for using protective magic to benefit my friend?"

"Even if that's true, you did a whole lot of other SHIT, I KNOW it!"

"I'm sorry I didn't obtain your consent before using your genetic material for protective magic."

"No, GODDAMIT, Alastor—!"

"I'm sorry you think you deserve an apology."

Whether they altogether believed him was irrelevant—the Radio Demon was now giving the drama-loving sinners a good laugh. "Play the duck noises!" someone called out eagerly.

Mimzy, meanwhile, trembled with outrage at the audacity. "Why do I l-look like this?" she slurred, voice tremoring as she furiously pointed at her eyes. "Why doncha tell 'em why I look like this?!"

Alastor bent over and sassed into the mic with a smirk, "Because you're a greed demon. That's how they all look."

The laughter escalated to a roar. "Why're you here if you hate me so much, huh?!" Mimzy snapped at the onlookers. "I entertain you every night!"

"No, you pay someone else pennies to do it and drink half your own bar!" someone hollered over more cackling.

"Hmmn. Has anything like this happened recently? I'll bet not," Alastor spoke off mic. "Perhaps they all secretly dislike you and I was kind enough to spare you hearing it with my spells?" Al was bullshitting. The crowd was simply afraid of Alastor and pissed at Mimzy because she had drank half the bar and subjected them to Bonnie and Clyde. But it was a believable enough for more tears to well up in Miriam's eyes.

'What are you doing?!' child Al wailed. 'We came here to win her back, remember?!' But the adult had become distracted by vindictive pleasure at the sight of Mimzy's tears at the jeering. She must have known how the whole town had laughed at him, right? Right? Let her cry! She hated him so badly? He'd outdo her aggression until she was fearful or deferent. Foodfoodfood, need FOOD, find a way, any way, any zig-zagging path to FOOD.

"Is this all about the affairs?" Mimzy whispered astutely, off mic. She understood Al's grudge, but behavior this vindictive wasn't sensible when too much time had passed. Even when the wound was fresh, leaving her in a storage container was disproportionate to the offense. Some other sore spot underlied this.

"…No," Alastor became fully aware at the same time. "In fact, it's not."

"Then stop being such a child and tell me what it's about."

"It wasn't your escapades that hurt most. Don't you understand? You left when I needed you to help me with her! And you're doing it AGAIN!" The stag surprised himself, projecting loudly enough for the device to pick up his emotional outburst from Mimzy's hand. "You know how I'm so certain Charlotte's rehab will fail?" Alastor pointed out the high, narrow basement window at the Heavenly sphere, feeling peculiar solidarity. "Because it is pointless to forgive people when they'll always do the same thing again, and AGAIN, and AGAIN! He's right! I'm not even upset! He's right!"

The laughter ceased abruptly, and Mimzy's head spun, not just from the alcohol. Huh? Alastor was standing in Hell openly sympathizing with God? Surely enough, the crowd began 'boo'ing loudly. As Alastor's teeth ground, two bright stage lights and several old-fashioned table lanterns exploded, spitting glass and sparks.

"Shit! Are you kiddin' me, asshole?!" screeched Mimzy amidst panicked yelps and screams, as two tablecloths were swiftly enflamed and one stage lamp, flaring with more power than the lightbulb should support, erupted into a mini inferno. A jukebox fizzled to life in the middle of its last-played song; now the catastrophe was laughably ironically scored by Kenny Loggins and Stevie Nicks singing about friendship. Activated sprinklers poured on the crowd, many of whom dashed for the exit. Others covered themselves with jackets and napkins while distancing from the flames.

Mimzy roared in agitation, shielding her eyes from water. The sprinklers could handle these small fires; Alastor remained her focus. She dropped the mic, kicked it away, tromped gracelessly toward Alastor, and yanked him down by the wet dress shirt. "Whadd're you talking about?! B-before...tellin' you to leave was me helping you! The woman was dangerously unstable. I get you couldn't do it alone. No one could. That's why the answer was to leave. Not to drag me into the despair pit with you! ...What do you mean again?"

"No— You— Today—!" Alastor pulled back and inhaled deeply, brushing matted red hair from his face. He blurted, "You wouldn't talk before, after learning she was here. You hung up. Immediately. Without even asking if I was alright." For the first time, Al and his imaginary child counterpart spoke in unison.

'Don't you do it!' thought Mimzy, eyes catching on the Jamie Lee Curtis 'Halloween' poster across the room. 'Don't babysitter-ify me right now after you—!' "Fine, you're right. I was angry. Because your mother," the club owner blubbered, "did horrible things to me, and you never defended me. And you left me to get even! 'Cuz you felt abandoned, and I get it, b-but I didn't leave you in a c-coma in a box!" The singer dissolved into weeping, cheeks still dripping even as the sprinkler system wound down once the flames abated.

Al's smile lapsed in astonishment. "That's what you think?" He shook his head. "No. Never. …On the contrary, I'd wager I attempted to rescue you dozens of times." He waved his hand. "Not altering my memory was one of the promises she broke. She admitted she erased it but didn't give me the tally. Given the amount of power I wound up with, however? I must've tried many times, reaching the same conclusion after every erasure, to free you, Miriam."

Mimzy's magenta irises flickered hopefully, suggesting cautious belief, and he sensed a new, nourishing warmth. Her heart region flickered with meager but visible orange embers through the hagstone. It softened Alastor, and he offered, "I haven't forgotten how you returned for me when we were children instead of prioritizing your own safety. Perhaps you're not so greedy after all." The Radio Demon offered a hand to lead her back toward the VIP lounge for a more private conversation. She refused it but followed him, dogs obediently trailing behind, ever watchful, as they breached the lounge entrance.

At this point, things may have de-escalated, but: "Why don't you put that drink down, darling? When you sober up, we can talk this through, just like you wanted."

"Y-yeah, I'll just finish this one, I won't have any more."

(Record scratch.) Al's ears prickled, erect and tense. "No, I'd really rather you stopped now."

Mimzy's iciness was reinvigorated. "Quit tellin' me what to do. Ain't enough, mind controllin' me for over a decade?"

"That's an exagg—" Cough, cough. "Miriam. Dearest. I'm trying to do what you want."

"I'm gonna talk to you. What's the problem?"

Alastor tentatively moved closer. The blonde stiffened, but didn't otherwise react, so the dogs stayed in place. Al stroked her hair, which was weighted with water and tumbling out of the bobby pins that once molded it into meticulous '20s bob fashion. "This is one of the things I aimed to fix. You mustn't keep injuring yourself." He made a motion with his fingers like snipping scissors. "Please?" Al asked hopefully. Maybe she'd be more agreeable if he asked politely?

Fear struck Miriam like lightning. Was this sudden gentleness simply an act to get her to agree to this? Not again. She jettisoned backward. "No! I don't know what else you'll do with it! Dammit, admit what else you did! I ain't dumb as rocks, I know!"

"I only want what's BEST, Miriam! Put…the drink…DOWN."

Shadow tentacles again slunk up behind Mimzy's back to wrap around the wrist holding the glass, immediately causing her to shriek and jerk in alarm and slip on the slick, wet tile floor. She dropped the glass and yelped in pain when her arm stayed roughly tugged upward as she fell. To avoid dislocating it, Alastor instinctively dropped her, and she landed straight on the shards, "ÚGH!"ing loudly in pain as she took glass to the cheek and upper arm.

The dogs viciously sprung forward, Bonnie toppling and pinning the weakened overlord and snapping just over his nose repeatedly—she liked to play with her food. Clyde jealously chomped Alastor's shoe and tugged his leg—his sister always hogged the toys! No fair!

"F***!" the deer gasped loudly, terror overwhelming him in his weakened state. "Miriam!"

Why wasn't he restraining them? Why—? Nerves outweighed Mimzy's anger. "HEEL! COME!" The hounds begrudgingly backed up. Alastor rose, wincing in pain as he put weight on the foot Clyde gnawed. But he could heal himself right up, right? "Alastor... You need to leave. I think...we can't see each other."

Alastor acquiesced, nodding. "Yes. I'll wait."

"No, we can't— We can't be friends anymore. This isn't gonna work." Mimzy wrapped her arms around Bonnie's soft neck. "I don't trust you."

Alastor limped forward. "No... We can— Alterations—"

Mimzy was firmer. "Don't come any closer. It'd be in poor taste for me to let the dogs get at you."

"Wh—? The fact that you'd even consider doing that—!" It felt like being stabbed in the stomach. Why did she want to rip him apart like this when he protected her?! "I can rip those pitiful fluffy dust bunnies apart much more effectively than they can rip me, now, I assure you!" Alastor bluffed in rage, performatively strETCHing.

Mimzy's temper exploded in her fear. She seized the two items from her bag to brandish the child Al doll in one hand and pistol in the other. "Don't you DARE hurt one'a my dogs...or I'll blow this guy's brains out...and I won't care what it does to you!" she sobbed.

The sight of hammered Miriam, pointing that gun at the child icon of himself made Alastor's vision, brain, and heart all cr-ACK. The feeling was too much. He redirected it—

Yelping from one floor up. From the kitchen.

Alastor's crimson eyes widened. He knew instantly what happened and what was about to happen, and he knew they couldn't possibly escape the basement—the worst place to be in a blaze—in time. His eyes locked with Mimzy's. Then he dove forward, wrapped his arms around her, and sacrificed a burst of energy to teleport the pair the farthest out of range he could get, thinking bitterly at the dogs, 'Full disclosure, hope you burn.'

They landed at the edge of the parking lot, and Miriam was just yelling, "My do—!" when the blast swept them off their feet and onto the concrete.

[X]

Alastor at Charlie: I'm NOTHING like my mother, and how DARE you!
Alastor at Mimzy: Put on the goddamn buttons, woman!
Terri: Wow, what a controlling jackass.
Tom: ...
Echo: *deads in dead*