The lobby was mostly empty, the sinking sun casting long shadows through stained glass windows across decorative carpets. Husker laid across one of the couches pressed against the far wall, curled around a fringed pillow and snoring softly. Clover did her best to stifle fond laughter, leaving the cat to rest and following the smell of spices towards the kitchen. The soft static of music among the occasional thud of movement and the steady rhythm of a knife hitting a cutting board told her that Alastor was still maintaining control of the kitchen, a fact that solidified when she found Niffty sitting against the closed door, a stack of magazines towering over her as she flipped through the pages. The small cyclops looked up when Clover approached, smiling brightly as she tore a page from the edition in her lap before she set it among the others that littered the ground at her feet.
"Hi!"
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm okay! Alastor wouldn't let me finish my cake."
"I'm sorry, is that why you're out here?"
"No, I'm just waiting to help clean up, I'm not allowed in the kitchen when Alastor is cooking."
"...Why?"
"No one is! I don't know why, I think it's because he likes to do it himself."
Clover hummed for a moment, listening to the quick change of radio stations from behind the closed door and smiling to herself at what she had begun to assume was a nervous tick, waiting for it to settle on a station before she began to speak again, now sure that someone else was listening.
"Let me try."
Niffty blinked up at her, tilting her head in confusion.
"Are you sure? What if he yells at you?"
"Then he yells at me, and I find something else to do."
Taking the small hands that extended out to her, Clover helped Niffty to her feet before stepping up to the doorway, the small demoness straightening her skirt. Clover paused, steadying her breath before she knocked sharply in a familiar rhythm, listening as the room beyond the door fell nearly-silent except for the soft fizzle of static before Alastor's voice spoke through the heavy wooden door.
"What is it? I'm quite busy."
"It's me."
The pause stirred anxiety in her stomach, worry that he would indeed send her away churning the emptiness there before it flipped with the force of fluttering when the door cracked open. Alastor appeared in the opening, only visible from the shoulders up as he looked down at her with the slightest quirk of his brow. The sound of sizzling from behind him mixed with static as he spoke.
"How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if I could come in."
"I believe I said I was-"
"Not to be bothered, I know. I won't bother you, I just want to sit at the table and read. I…don't want to be alone."
He looked at her for a long moment, crimson eyes looking her over carefully until his head turned sharply at the sound of a timer ringing from the kitchen behind him. When he looked at her again, his expression was softer, the tenseness of his shoulder dropping with a sigh before he opened the door a fraction wider.
"Very well."
Sharing a glance with a confused Niffty, Clover quickly stepped inside the kitchen before Alastor had time to change his mind. The click of the lock behind her stopped her heart for a second, but she tried her best to keep her romantic musings at bay as she obediently took a chair at the small breakfast table, turning it so that she had a full view of the kitchen. Preparing her facade of reading, she opened her book with purpose, removing the photograph that served as her bookmark and laying the cracked spin against the table. When she finally looked at the demon who's lively visage she had caught a momentary glimpse of before it was carefully tucked into the back cover, her heart stuttered again, spreading a heat that rivaled the warmth of the kitchen across her skin.
Alastor stood behind the kitchen counter, carefully stirring into a large pot as he hummed along to the tune that played from his radio. He was without his coat, the red fabric neatly draped across the chair opposite her, instead covered by a simple black apron, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned slightly to combat the heat of the stove. Clover couldn't help but drag her eyes over him, feeling her mouth fill with cotton as they landed on the rolled sleeves of his dress shirt. She'd only seen a glimpse of skin through her liquor fueled fog, but now it was all bared for her to see. The pitch black of his hands against the soft brown of the spoon he held confused her for only a moment, but the folded pair of gloves sitting on the counter clicked it all into place. The gentle fade of black that coated his fingers was the true tint Alastor's skin, melting into the muted gray that colored his face towards the elbows before it was hidden from her view. The slightest shine of dark claws caught the overhead light as he stirred, Clover becoming aware that she was staring when the movement slowed to a stop and forcing her gaze to drop to the book that sat in front of her, cursing herself when the amused lilt to Alastor's voice met her ears.
"I see you rid yourself of the smell of that insolent insect."
Clover looked up as innocently as she could, tilting her head at the comment.
"What do you mean?"
"You bathed, you smelled of that place beforehand."
"...You can smell that?"
"Don't you?"
Clover thought for a long moment, remembering the sickly sweet smell of pheromones that had overwhelmed her when in Valentino's presence. She'd never really thought about her ability to smell, if it had changed or not, but now she was faced with the knowledge that Alastor could smell her, even through the thick scent of spices and onions that thickened the air around them. The normal conversation amidst the slight tension she still felt from their morning confrontation led her to believe that their friendship remained intact, so she did what she did best and followed her curiosity.
"I suppose I could smell it when it was happening, but I didn't really think about it. What does it smell like?"
"You reeked like dying flowers, sweet, but like rot."
Humming quietly to herself, Clover couldn't help but push.
"...What do I normally smell like?"
Alastor paused his stirring, setting the spoon across the top of the pot before leaning an arm against the counter, turning to look at her with a tilt of his head and a contemplative smile. The moment it took him to speak weighed heavily on her, the anticipation pulling a small shudder of nerves that only fluttered more fiercely as he finally answered her.
"Sometimes, like coffee and fresh mint, when you've obviously come from that charming cafe of yours, sometimes like honeysuckle vines and rain, but others it's something similar to ripe peaches. The latter three are your natural scent, I suppose."
"Interesting…"
"It's surprising that you also do not have a heightened sense of smell, since you are a demon of animal sorts, after all."
Humming softly to herself, Clover pushes aside her embarrassment and gave up the only information pertaining to their topic that she had, as hopeless as it might have made her sound.
"I know what you smell like."
"I feel like I should be both flattered and concerned."
She laughed, taking care to turn her book face down on the table and turning herself further towards him. Her attention was directed entirely towards him, but she wanted him to know it.
"I'm around you the most. You smell kind of like this, warm spices, mixed with that musk that you get the fake version of in mens cologne, sometimes there's a little bit of the metallic smell of blood, but it's not super noticeable."
Alastor hummed softly, looking at her for a long moment before looking back to his cooking. He bent for a moment, the creak of metal stinging the air as he opened the oven and lifted a pan from it, setting it on the counter atop a folded dish towel before placing the mitt he'd used back in its place hanging from the oven's door. Clover watched as he fetched a colander from the sink, glancing into each pot sitting on top of the stove thoughtfully before fiddling with the heat. His ears twitched towards her as she spoke up, but his gaze remained on his work as she shifted the contents of one pot into another.
"What are you making?"
"Shrimp etouffee."
"Why won't you let anyone help you?"
He paused for a moment, glancing at her before moving the now empty pot into the sink. The silence was deafening as he ran water into the still steaming vessel, his back turned to her for longer than she would like. Sighing softly to herself, she returned to her book, opening to her place among the final chapter and beginning to read as the sounds of cooking continued. She'd traversed through a few pages before he spoke again, soft against the background melody that filled the room.
"Would you like to help me set the table?"
Clover stood up far too fast, setting the book down before catching herself and moving towards him at a more normal pace. He only smiled, watching as she paused at the end of the kitchen's island for his permission to move forward into his space. A small wave of his hand was all she needed to move closer, taking the stack of plates he retrieved from the high shelves and following his lead as he lifted the pan of familiar bread from the counter top, the smell of buttery cornmeal filling her with nostalgia. She became distracted once again as he set it on the table, slightly off center, her eyes wandering to the bare skin of his arms that she could now see with more detail, and she was unable to stop the small sound that bubbled from the aching hole in her chest as she realized what she saw.
"Oh."
Among the darkened fade of his skin down to the inky black of his fingers, small lines of lighter flesh crossed across the skin of his forearms. Her own wrists immediately began to ache, the sharp clattering of plates as she quickly set them on the table to avoid dropping them turning his head. Ear's twitching in confusion as the calm melody that played shifted into sharp static, Alastor followed her gaze, his brow furrowing as she absentmindedly put pressure against the bare skin of her arm, only mildly calmed by the feeling of smooth skin beneath her finger tips. The measured voice from above her only received a vague twitch of her ears, but the warmed skin that covered her own as blackened claws wrapped around each of her wrists shocked her back into the reality she shared with him. His voice was more stern as she looked up to meet his gaze, his smile wavered with what she assumed was concern.
"Clover, are you well?"
Breathing slowly through her nose, she nodded slightly before she broke into a small laugh, feeling the weight of the question settling heavily on her shoulders.
"Do you mean like, generally? Or in reference to today?"
Alastor sighed, a hiss through his teeth as his grip on her relaxed, but he did not release her.
"...I lost my temper this morning."
"You did, but I understand."
"I… did not mean to frighten you, I was-"
"You didn't."
He fell silent, ears twitching as he searched for a sound to fill the silence, static rising in frequency before falling again as it shut off entirely. Clover panicked for only a moment before his voice, clear and uninterrupted, cut through the silence.
"I would like to implore you to avoid doing such a thing again. I understand that your own life experiences cause you to be sympathetic to certain situations, and as charming as I find your gentle disposition, placing yourself in harm's way for such heroics could have had dire consequences. Your soul is fresh, damned, but free in the sense that it is unowned and unmarred by the hands of others. It is… the reason why so many have urged you to avoid someone such as myself, but there are other Overlords, many who would take advantage of your good nature in far more vile ways than my selfish theft of your leisure."
Clover struggled to fill her lungs with breath, her mind wildly racing to keep up with what he was saying to her. She's never heard Alastor sound more earnest than he did now, from the slightest accent that flavored his speech to the almost complete drop of his smile as he struggled for the correct words. What he was saying to her was something she already knew, something that Angel had alluded to upon their first conversation regarding his own contract and that she'd gauged as the worry that plagued Vaggie's mind in reference to her friendship with Alastor, but having Alastor express the same worry as he clutched the tender skin fo her wrists, skin bare against hers, caused his expression of concern to sink deeper than any other. Unsure of how to answer him in this tender moment, she fought to find a way to continue their conversation without ruining it all with an over-exertion of emotion, settling on something she'd been curious about from the beginning.
"Earlier, when you were talking with Husker, you mentioned your contract… how exactly does that work?"
The deal maker smiled softly, whether in fondness of her curious nature or in relief that she'd not pushed his prior exclamation further, before he slowly released her from his grasp, allowing her fingers to drag across his palms before they fell to her sides. He moved away for a moment, collecting glasses from the open dish cabinet before returning to her side and beginning his answer with the sharp click of his radio, his voice once again backlit by a somber melody and altered by radio influence.
"Well, to begin with, a deal is not the same as a contract, though they are alike. Deals can be a one-time-only thing - a quick quid-pro-quo, so to speak, though one can make deals that recur. Dealmaking is thus fairly common, as there is no long-term commitment. We, in fact, have a deal, one which you enacted upon our discussion of our separate opinions on aversion to touch, despite your charming attempt to bypass making it official by way of a handshake, the deal was indeed struck."
He only smiled at her sharp intake of breath, placing the glasses on the table before sending her a pointed look, sparking her to movement as she began to set a plate before each chair, Alastor following after her as he continued with a vigor that painted his voice with an enthusiastic growl.
"Now, a contract - a contract is far, far more binding. One demon offers something - protection, wealth, fame - either to another demon or a mortal, but the price the one signing pays is always their soul."
Clover paused, her sharp intake of breath drawing his attention long enough for her to inquire.
"Demon's can sign contracts with mortals?"
Alastor smiled, quickly lifting a black claw to his lips with a small wink before continuing.
"Not everyone knows that part, and for good reason indeed! Many demons do not have the power to enter the mortal world without being summoned, even those of higher standing than us lowly sinners, such as Miss Morningstar's father."
"Interesting. How do you know this?"
"Personal experience."
She was given no time to inquire further, Alastor picking up his lecture where he had left off without missing a beat.
"Not all contracts are the same, obviously. What one does with the acquired soul is up to the dealmaker, though Lucifer has some, if few, rules laid out. One cannot trade a soul to someone else, for example, and a contract is considered void if the dealmaker does not uphold their end of the bargain. It goes without saying that any dealmaker worth his salt includes fine print that covers any loophole or eventuality."
"So, with Husker and Niffty…"
"Yes, I do in fact own Husker's and Niffty's souls. They are bound to me in servitude, while I provide protection and funds. I would say that my deals are a bit more fair than those of others, though someone such as Miss Vagatha would disagree, I pride myself on a power built not on enslaving those lesser than myself, unlike the likes of the demon that holds possession of Angel's soul, but with actions requiring a bit more…polish."
"How did you talk Husker into a contact? Niffty seems perfectly happy, but Husker-"
"I found Husker in the midst of a brawl and found his tenacity and his fearlessness towards me refreshing. I offered him safety and more alcohol than he could ever drink, and he signed his name away fairly quickly. He is too proud to admit that this does benefit him in the end. My outburst this morning was due to his reckless disregard for his own safety while somewhere my interference would only cause harm and possibly put both you, and our dear Angel Dust, at more risk. My inability to come to his aid, if it ended with a true threat to his immortal soul, would have broken the terms of our contract, which I will not stand for."
The appearance of the shadow made far more sense now, being able to watch over those under Alastor's care from afar was probably an added bonus of the shadowed deal maker's power. She decided not to push her luck in learning everything today, leaving her questions about the nature of his shadows for another and instead pushing forward with their current conversation.
It wasn't very hard with Alastor around.
"Niffty was being pursued by some unsavory character when I first saw her, and I felt repulsed by the pig so I went to her aid…except she did not need my help at all. When she was done, she simply lamented that her clothes and my shoes had been spattered with blood, and offered to clean them. Needless to say, I was charmed. Our little housewife is completely self-sufficient in taking care of herself, but our contract signifies that she will always have protection, and that her help shall always be needed, in return for her servitude."
"...That all sounds far more fair than how Angel and Vaggie describe it."
With the last clink of a glass marking the final place setting, she paused, turning to look up at him standing over her. He was far closer than he needed to be, hand still pressed against the rim of the glass as his smile tightened, a short, sarcastic laugh blowing her bangs across her forehead as he spoke.
"Unfortunately for our dear friend Angel Dust, the same cannot be said for him and that lecherous vermin he calls his master, though what in the seven circles Valentino is providing that would warrant such-"
His lip curled, the next word expelled from him as if it had soured in his mouth.
"-service is beyond me."
Alastor looked down at her, ears twitching in agitation as he seemed to struggle with himself, his eyes darting across her face before they finally settled on his own hand, his claws clinking against the glass beneath his palm.
"Do not be mistaken, dear, I am a cruel man, I will not deny that. My path to my position is indeed stained with the blood of many, but I pride myself in my manner."
She was at a loss for words, brow furrowed at his statement and unable to find a way to show her understanding in a way that felt honest for her. Her eyes fell again to the bare skin of his arm, feeling her fingers twitch with want to reach out to him, but holding herself back enough to only hover them a few inches from his skin before she looked to him again, finding those crimson eyes heavy with unease.
"Can I…?"
His eyes widened as she spoke, but he nodded, their gaze broken when they both turned to watch as she gently pressed her fingers against his skin, feeling her nerves buzz when he allowed her to pull his wrist into her palm. Timid fingertips followed the fade of pitch black skin into soft gray, feeling muscles tense beneath his skin as she passed over them. She hesitated when she found the end of a long scar, the hitch in his breath causing her ears to twitch and her eyes to turn upward to his once again. He seemed startled as she spoke, tensing slightly before his own ears turned downward to better hear the shaking whisper of her voice.
"How did-"
"Inflicted by others, not myself, do not worry yourself, little doe."
The already breakneck pace of her heart rate only quickened further, the slow build of heat that had begun to blossom under her skin igniting into a brilliant flush that she was sure was visible to his eye. Slightly lightheaded, she couldn't stop the flustered sputter that came instead of words. Alastor's soft chuckle only added to the burning in the pit of her stomach, but he seemed to take pity on her, and clarified.
"Ah, I thought you would have known that little fact, my dear! Female rabbits, much like deer, are called a "doe"."
She let go of him like he was the fire that had lit her from within, but was unable to force herself to move from her spot stuck between him and the chair that was pressing against her hip, so she did the next best thing she could besides give in to flight. With a small smile, she turned back up into their eye contact, even as looking up into those intrigued crimson eyes sent her stomach into another bout of twists, and forced her voice to remain even as she spoke.
"I never got to ask, did you have fun last night?"
Clover couldn't help the swell of pride that cushioned the hammering of her heart inside her chest as she watched her ears twitch frantically as static blurred the notes that played from his radio into something akin to a dial tone before the rapid flickering of stations started up again. Alastor's breath to answer her was released with a sharp sigh as the sound of knocking came from the door behind them, both demons turning at the noise, Alastor taking quick steps to place himself behind the stove top once again before he relaxed, seeming to remember that the door was locked in place before calling out.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Uh, Al? It's seven, we didn't want to be late…"
The soft voice of Charlie seemed concerned, and Clover turned to Alastor's lead. The red haired demon was swiftly taking the pot he'd been stirring off the heat, the wooden spoon held between sharp teeth while a free hand waved her in the direction of the cutlery drawer, Clover quickly moving out of his way to fetch the silverware for their place settings. The pot was set at the table's center, it's weight pushing into the pad that had been placed to protect the wooden dining table. Alastor rolled his eyes at Clover's snickering as he slid past her again, unable to contain herself at the image of the radio demon carrying a wooden spoon between his teeth, falling into a full fit of giggles when he shot her a sharp glare before removing it and tossing it into the sink with a clatter. Charlie's voice came once again.
"Al?"
"Yes! Have you woken Husker?"
"Oh, not yet I didn't- Niffty is going to!"
"Will you please tell him to bring a nice bourbon with him?"
"I guess…"
Both sets of ears turned to follow the noise of footsteps moving away from the doorway, Alastor beginning to roll down his sleeves with a look in her direction.
"I'm glad you are amused, now, will you please fetch the pitcher of lemonade from the ice box?"
Alastor looked over the table carefully, tilting his head slightly before standing up slightly straighter and turning back towards the counter, picking up the forgotten bowl of rice and situating it among the other collection of cajun cooking that made up the family style table setting, seeming finally content with it as Clover returned and filled the final empty space with the requested pitcher. His voice returned to it's normal chipper tone, a lazy swing tuning in on the radio.
"Well! That's dinner-"
He passed her with the quick click of heels, buttoning the final button of his cuff before unlocking the door and turning towards her once again, grinning brightly, as the echo of voices came nearer, lively with conversation.
"-and now, for the entertainment!"
this chapter has an illustration