Clover's heart rate hadn't slowed down by the time she got to the library, her hands still shaking as she set up her laptop and decided to play some idle music in the background for the time being. The books she had collected on her prior visit were still on the table, a sign that no one had been there since. She sat down with an illustrated collection of demonology, taking deep breaths and allowing herself to relax with each sip of wine. The only thing that could have made this moment better was if it was raining, but she wasn't sure if it could even rain in hell. That was the most torturous part of this place, if it was true.
She was halfway through her book when the playlist she'd been listening to abruptly ended, switching to a recording of an old radio broadcast that had been in the related videos. The flicker of radio static had lifted her head to the doorway, half-expecting to see it filled by a tall, thin, and antlered frame. She almost slapped herself as her heart sunk when she found it empty, becoming more annoyed with her hopeless heart with every passing day. Instead, she turned to the laptop, finding it playing an old war announcement from WW2. Just as she was about to click away back to her music, a familiar title caught her eye, and she clicked on it without a second thought.
"Ladies and gentlemen: the director of the Mercury Theatre and star of these broadcasts, Orson Welles . . ."
Clover took to flipping through a photo collection while the broadcast played, sinking down into the leather couch with a sigh.
"With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small spinning fragment of solar driftwood which by chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space."
The broadcast sounded hollow, missing the true warmth that only stereo speakers provided, the video's stagnant image of an old radio lackluster in comparison to the model that sat between her and a red leather armchair.
"Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the thirty-ninth year of the twentieth century came the great disillusionment."
"What are you doing?"
Clover's heart leapt into her throat, feeling herself jump up out of her seat at the sudden, very real, voice. Alastor was standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised at her reaction and the bottle of wine clutched in his claws. She felt her heart sink back down to its rightful place, but it began to hammer against her ribcage as she realized that he had actually chosen to come join her. It was all she could do to keep her voice from shaking, feeling her face heat up with a flush she knew wasn't from the wine.
"Uh, I'm listening to the War of the Worlds broadcast."
"Interesting."
Alastor crossed the room quickly with short, animated strides. As he came closer, Clover realized he was without his normal coat, a bright red button up revealed in its absence, and that the collar of his shirt was partially undone due to his missing bowtie. It was a little unnerving to see him looking almost casual, but her stomach fluttered all the same. He took a seat in the arm chair across from her, pouring a glass of his own before regarding hers sitting on the table between them and topping it up. Clover was at a loss for words, vaguely aware of the noise still playing in the background as Alastor glanced at her laptop and scowled before he settled back into his seat. She decided she was going to have to break the silence.
"It probably sounded better on an actual radio, it's kind of disappointing this way."
"Yes, as most things do. These newfangled devices are fickle things."
Clover smiled at his visible displeasure, slightly endeared by his old fashioned tastes. It was so incredibly on brand for him, as much as it clashed with her own opinions.
"I don't entirely agree, but some things are better left as they were intended."
Alastor looked at her for a long moment, maintaining eye contact as his gaze softened slightly. A slight flick of his wrist caught her attention, but it was diverted quickly as the old radio beside them warmed to life and the crackling static took understandable form.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News. At twenty minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars…."
Clover couldn't hide her excitement, feeling her ears perk up as she looked back and forth between Alastor and the radio so quickly it made her head spin. He only smiled, a soft chuckle echoing through his own frequency. There was only so much curiosity she could stand.
"So, is it electricity or radio frequency that you can control? Or sound, maybe?"
"Are we playing this game again?"
Alastor regarded her with his normal smile, though this version was slightly softer, more human. It only grew more amused as he spoke.
"You still haven't guessed an answer to your first question."
"I'm working on it, it's hard to determine on so few interactions."
"I suppose."
"I know this much. Southern, specifically Creole, so you're probably from Louisiana."
"Correct."
"But you have a transatlantic accent, which developed after the turn of the century and was popularized by radio and film through the 1920's to the 40's, so I would guess you reached adulthood at some point in that 20 year period since you said you worked in radio."
"My, aren't you especially clever in this area."
Clover felt her skin heating up, and took a sip of wine to compensate before she continued.
"I, uh, kind of went to school for this. Media, that is, I focused more on visual media but we also did a lot of general media history, radio broadcast, news, things like that. I also really like old movies, so…"
Alastor barked a laugh before she could finish her trailing, rambling thought.
"The specification of old when speaking to someone such as myself is an interesting one, cher."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean...I just like the history. I think it's important to appreciate it."
"I took no offense, I am very used to newer arrivals speaking this way. The advancements of society warp one's perspective."
She wasn't sure on how to continue this conversation, feeling this wading into a territory that could get her in trouble if she disagreed with Alastor's vintage tastes. Instead she attempted to shift the topic back to more idle talk.
"Did you just do radio, or were movies already popular enough that you did those too? You have the personality for it, that's for sure."
The grimace that crossed his face made her heart sink into her stomach.
"I was… too distinct of a shade of gray to be allowed to participate in the picture shows, my talents were more suitable for solely audio mediums, I'm afraid."
Clover's brow furrowed, confused at the cryptic statement for a moment before the realization hit her like a truck.
"You're not white."
"Not entirely, no."
"...Well, the voodoo motifs make much more sense now, I suppose. Closed practice, and all that."
"Closed practice, you say? My, that sounds like someone who knows a little more about that sort of thing than most."
"I might know more than you would expect."
The fact that Alastor was still talking to her, still relaxed back into his chair, loosely holding his glass beside him, made her feel slightly better about the situation. His smile stayed, softening at her babbling as he watched her take a long sip of her wine before he leant forward to refill it once again. Whether it was to continue showing that there was no ill-will between the two of them, or to try and calm her down through the warming properties of alcohol, was yet to be decided.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire addressed to Professor Pierson from Dr. Gray of the National History Museum, New York. "9:15 P. M. eastern standard time. Seismograph registered shock of almost earthquake intensity occurring within a radius of twenty miles of Princeton. Please investigate. Signed, Lloyd Gray, Chief of Astronomical Division" . . . Professor Pierson, could this occurrence possibly have something to do with the disturbances observed on the planet Mars?"
They both turned as the broadcast continued, Clover letting herself slide down to rest her head on the arm of the couch. The wine was working, lulling her into a calm state that would surely turn giggly and far more easily affected by the attractions she held for the man across from her if she continued. Alastor seemed unperturbed, turning to watch the fire that roared to life in the hearth across the room as he listened, ears twitching towards the sound that floated from the radio he controlled. Clover felt lucky that he was distracted, using the moment to scan her eyes across the man in front of her.
Now that she knew more about him, seeing him like this felt more special. Her eye lingered on the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, scanning her eyes over the gray skin it revealed and pondering about whether she should have noticed the difference between their flesh before. The end of a darkened line in his skin curved along the top of his collar bone, a scar perhaps, and Clover couldn't help but let her heavy gaze wander down the black cross that decorated his shirt front to his thin waist. Her vision began to blur around the edges as she forced herself to look back up to his face, watching his fingers curl around his chin in contemplation as he gazed into the fire, it's warmth reflecting in scarlet eyes.
It was probably the wine, but her heart felt heavier in her chest the longer she stared at him. Vicious 'Radio Demon' or not, Alastor was painfully attractive in a way specific to her tastes. From the sharp teeth that had raised her flight instinct upon first meeting him, to the bombastic positivity he radiated at every moment, everything about him poked enough of her buttons to pleasantly annoy her romantic inclinations. From the warmth of the newly lit fire, to the chatter of the radio beside her, with the odd comfort she found in having Alastor sitting across from her, the wine sunk her down into a state of contentment that tumbled quickly into sleep.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue the broadcast…."
When she woke up, it was to the sound of soft music peppered with radio static, the familiar French rousing her from her wine-induced slumber. Clover blinked through the heaviness of her eyelids, sitting up and feeling the weight that had held her in further comfort slide down to gather at her hips. The blanket that was curled around her was dark, thick and lined with a silken fabric that felt pleasant against her skin.
Surprisingly, Alastor was still present, and the realization made her freeze as she clutched at the blanket on her lap. He sat across from her, legs crossed to hold a book in his lap at the proper position for reading as he hummed along to the music that was playing from the radio between them. The forgotten wine bottle sat on the table between them, still as full as it was when she last remembered it, which she assumed meant he hadn't continued to drink without her. She softly cleared her throat of the roughness of sleep before speaking, and her heart stuttered when he raised his gaze to meet hers before returning to his reading.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. You didn't have to stay and listen…"
"It's quite alright, I hadn't had the pleasure of fully listening to that particular piece before, I was just aware of it's chaos."
"Oh? I would have thought you would have known that one…"
"Well, I was particularly busy climbing the social ladder that is hell's hierarchy when that chaos was at its peak, and I've just been too busy since, I suppose."
"...You died before it was broadcast?"
Alastor only looked at her, smiling softly over the hardcover of his book as he watched her wheels turn. She gained more confidence in her next statement when his ears flicked forwards in interest.
"So...early 1930's at the latest."
"I'm sorry?"
"When you passed, it had to have been before it was released in 1938, so at the latest you were alive in the early 30's."
"You're quite the detective."
"You just-...It's just aligned with my tastes. I'm going to guess that you were alive as an adult in the 1920's, since you were a radio broadcaster and the late 20's were when it's golden age as an entertainment medium started, and were alive into the early to mid 1930's. Am I right?"
Alastor only smiled, looking at her for a long moment with narrowed eyes before he tilted his head at her, the radio static vacant from his voice as he spoke.
"And what do you believe you should win for this accomplishment, Cher?"
Clover thought for a long moment, glancing down at the dark crimson blanket that was slowly sliding down her thighs, to the man in front of her as she thought. She wanted nothing of physical value from Alastor, that was for sure. Not only was it sure to end up in some deal with the demon, but there wasn't anything that she valued more than just being able to learn about the rumored fearsome overlord that she'd begun to develop affections for. Allowing those emotions to blossom into more was a recipe for a disaster of its own, but it was one she was willing to chance in order to quell the burn inside of her. It was good to try new things, after all.
"Just...let me get to know you."