His broadcast had ended, turning off the air and shutting off the lights on the dashboard.
"Smile, dearest. You know you're never fully dressed without one," he could hear his mother whisper faintly.
He had heard her say that all through the course of his childhood, a gentle caress of words to push him through the trials and tribulations of his youth. She was the one seemingly decent memory he held of his life before Hell, though brief and more bitter than sweet.
He pursed his lips, brushing his thumb over his staff which was still broken in half. He traced the jagged edges and nicked the tip of his finger, pulling back and running it across his index, inspecting the cut before bringing it to his lips.
He hadn't quite found a way to repair his staff since Extermination Day, just days ago. Time and attention was spent rebuilding and ironing out the improvements to the demolished hotel. After the exorcists made their most recent visit, the angels had successfully raised the hotel, leaving the hill in smokey rubble and ruins.
The taste of iron reminded him of his bitter defeat against Adam. Yet another battle gone unfinished, his tail having been tucked below him as he ran, a coward from his cocky angelic opponent.
His ears flattened against his head regretfully as he laid the pieces of his rod back down across his control panel. No, he can't let himself drawl over the shortcomings of his fight. An overlord wasn't defeated so easily and to sustain the right to that title he needed to bite back those feelings of remorse and bolster himself accordingly.
Gritting his teeth, he sucked in a deep breath and slowly pulled himself up from his chair, feeling the wound in his abdomen sting at the large body movement. Hissing out a sigh, he looked over the buttons across his mixer board and through the glass display in front of him. The air had fallen thick in his studio and the pentagram across the sky was still hidden from the haze hanging in the atmosphere. Most of the fires had been put out near the hotel, embers trailing tall pillars of billowing smoke. Though Charlie and the crew had hastily worked together to rebuild the hotel, the surrounding city had taken its time. Despite the battle being won, Pride Circle was still picking up the pieces with pensive reflection.
He tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves and shrugged off his suit jacket, hanging it neatly upon the back of his chair. Undoing his bowtie, he pulled at his collar and unbuttoned his shirt which had been bled through, assessing the dressing upon his abdomen. It had been crusted over in dried blood; snapping his fingers, the bandage was consumed in whispers of shadowy tentacles and then promptly replaced with a fresh set of gauze and tape.
Turning from his radio setup, he slowly trekked towards the door and walked out of his bedroom attachment into his hotel room, where he came upon his closet and donned a spare dress shirt and jacket. "Alastor, honey, you look so handsome."
His thoughts came back to his mother, reflecting upon the first time he wore a suit. He had gone to get his very own, tailor made suit for his first interview at the radio station in the late 1920s. A little man with a bald head and half moon glasses was pinning his suit with needles as he was inspecting Alastor's fit while his mother stood gawking, eyes glistening with love. She cupped her cheek, looking him up and down.
The tailor had stepped away to log his measurements in another room and his mom had taken an opportunity to approach him, brushing the hair from his face and squeezing his arms, taking a shaky breath. "I am so proud of you," a soft smile emanating from her lips.
A swift knock on his door broke the memory. Alastor directed his gaze over and heard a cautious, muffled voice. "Alastor? Are you in there?"
It was Charlie. She hadn't paid him a visit since he made his appearance during the hotel's rebuilding. He had once or twice peeked into the foyer of the newly renovated hotel to review the progress they'd made, but primarily stayed posted in his room till he felt he could move without rupturing his wounds.
"I know you're still resting and probably don't want company, but I brought you some dinner. I'll leave it for you here-," Alastor opened the door, peering down.
Charlie was crouched down with a silver tray in her hands, looking upwards at him.
"Why thank you, dear. I do appreciate the sentiment," Alastor chimed.
Charlie shot up, her golden hair bouncing off her shoulders. "Al! I'm so glad to see you're okay!" You could see her excitement beaming on her face though there was a sense of concern in the shadows of her eyes, her eyebrows knitted slightly. She raised the tray but Alastor just patted her head, "contrary to your belief, I think I'll join you and the others for dinner. I apologize as my suspension has been everything but acceptable as your loyal business partner. Let us chat about some of the new additions you've implemented while I've been away, shall we?"
Alastor adjusted his spectacle before taking the tray from Charlie, "o-okay!"
He felt the tension in his shoulders relax as he saw her smile stretch across her face, an infectious trait he'd admired about her since the day they'd met.
I'll admit, one could get accustomed.
xxx
(Author's Note)
I've been on the fence about changing the narrative; working with Alastor is so difficult when trying to stay cannon with people's personalities. Let me know what you think!