Clover's heart raced the whole way to the library and long after she'd settled in, adrenaline sent tremors through her fingers as she set up her laptop and searched VTube for a song to calm her frazzled nerves. The books she'd collected from her last visit still sat neatly stacked on the table, a sign that she'd truly found a haven for her introversion or that the change in scenery hadn't been a bother to anyone else. She curled up on the couch with an illustrated collection of demonology, taking slow breaths between her sips of wine until she felt herself begin to relax. The only thing missing from the moment was the soft patter of rain, but Clover wasn't even sure if it could rain in hell- Which would perhaps be the most tortuous part of this place if it was true.
She was halfway through her book when the playlist she'd been listening to abruptly ended, and the fuzzing static of the broadcast intro that overtook it turned her head to the doorway, half-expecting to see it filled by a tall, thin, and antlered frame. Clover could have slapped herself for how disappointed she was when it was found empty and instead did her best to ignore the hollow aching of her hopeless heart. She turned to investigate the laptop, leaning over the arm of the couch to squint at the video's title and finding it playing an old WW2 radio recap- But before she could backtrack to her music, a familiar title caught her eye, and Clover clicked on it without a second thought.
"Ladies and gentlemen: the director of the Mercury Theatre and star of these broadcasts, Orson Welles . . ."
Sinking into the leather couch with a sigh, Clover tucked her legs beneath her and returned to flipping through the photo collection while she listened.
"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, but its clarity was far better than some of the other recordings she'd heard; The video's stagnant image was also a letdown, the stock photo old radio lackluster in comparison to the model that sat between her the rooms 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 nearly jumped out of her seat at the sudden, very real, voice that filled the room, and thankfully, her heart jammed its way into her throat before her shriek of surprise had a chance to escape. She twisted in her seat to find Alastor standing in the doorway, his brow twisted in what she hoped was amusement at her overreaction and the bottle of wine clutched in his claws. The pounding of Clover's heart doubled in tempo as she realized the obvious- He'd chosen to join her.
"Uh," She said, dumbly. 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 as she fought with her mouth to say something, anything- "I'm listening to the War of the Worlds broadcast."
Good enough.
"Interesting."
Alastor crossed the room quickly with short, animated strides; He took a seat in the armchair across from her, pouring a glass of his own before regarding hers sitting on the table between them, and topping it up. Now that he was closer, Clover realized his state of undress- Alastor was without his normal coat, the top button of his red shirt undone and his tie loosened. It was a little unnerving to see him looking almost casual- Honestly, Clover was at a loss for words, the background noise of her broadcast dulling to a distant babble while she grappled with the fact that she'd somehow found herself alone with him again. Alastor glanced at the laptop as he settled back into his seat, his smile twisting into a scowl as he took a sip of his wine.
"It probably sounded better on an actual radio," Clover spoke up, watching the way his ears turned before his eyes followed suit. "It's kind of disappointing this way."
"Most things do- While I can come to terms with society's need to preserve, I will never understand why you all bother with these newfangled, fickle things. There's nothing wrong with a record, you know!"
Clover smiled at his visible displeasure- The commentary was so incredibly on brand for him, and as much as it clashed with her own opinions, she was incredibly endeared by his old-fashioned tastes.
"I like that it gives a wider audience easy access, but I do agree that most things are so much better when viewed as they were intended- Digital copies tend to lose some of that... spark, that you'd get otherwise."
Alastor gazed at her for a long moment, mulling over what she'd said with a hum that softened his eyes; With a flick of his wrist the old radio resting on the table between 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…."
There was no use hiding her excitement when her ears perked up at the sound, Clover looking back and forth between Alastor and the radio so quickly it made her head spin.
"How do you do that? Is it a control over electricity, or sound waves?"
"Are we playing this game again?" Alastor chuckled at the bouncy curiosity that had overcome her, his head tilted as he regarded her with that trademark smile- Though this version was slightly softer, more human. It only grew more amused as he continued their conversation. "You've yet to figure out the answer to your last question."
"That's because we've had so few interactions- It's hard when I'm working with so little."
"I suppose that's fair."
"I've gathered this much- You're southern, specifically Creole, so you're either from Louisiana or your family migrated from there," Clover paused, looking expectantly to Alastor for some indication that she was on the right track; When he conceded, she continued. "But you have a Transatlantic accent, which developed after the turn of the century and was popularized by radio and film through the 1920s to the '40s, 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."
Alastor grinned into his wine as he took a sip, and Clover did the same to compensate for her stuttering as she attempted to hold her own in the conversation.
"I, uh, kind of went to school for this kind of thing- Media, that is. I focused more on visual media but we also did a lot of general media history, radio broadcasts, news, things like that," Her rambling wouldn't end, no matter how badly her skin burned in response. "Plus I'm a sucker for the classics, I really enjoy old movies-"
Luckily, Alastor's barking laugh cut her off before she could make a further fool of herself.
"The specification of old when speaking to someone such as myself is- A choice, 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."
This conversation was wading into a territory that would surely get her into trouble if they were to truly discuss the difference in his more dated taste when compared to her more modern takes on media; Clover attempted to steer them back into the shallows of polite chit-chat.
"Did you just do radio, or did you get the chance to try film too? You have the personality for it, that's for sure."
Alastor grimaced, and the expression sank heart into her stomach.
So much for treading carefully.
"I was-" He watched the way his wine swirled this way and that with a thoughtful tilt of his head, mulling over whatever it was he was going to say next while Clover clung to the edge of her seat. "Too distinct of a shade of gray to be allowed to participate in the picture shows. This face was made for radio alone, I'm afraid."
Clover was confused by the cryptic phrasing- Then the realization hit her like a truck.
"You're not white."
"Not entirely, no."
They were quiet for a long moment while Clover tried to figure out how the fuck she was supposed to respond to that revelation; It put things in perspective, but it was not her place to speak on that topic, especially to a mixed man of his time.
"Well-" She finally said. "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 seemed unbothered by the shift in their conversation made her feel ever so slightly better; He was still relaxed back into his chair, loosely holding his glass beside him as he regarded her with an intrigued little quirk of his brow. Clover took a long sip of her wine to fill the silence that followed, and Alastor leaned forward to refill her quickly draining glass- Whether this was a polite sign that there was no ill will between the two of them, or a calculated move to calm her obvious nerves with 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. Seismographs 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?"
As the broadcast continued, they both settled in to listen; Clover allowed herself to sink into the couch, laying her hands beneath her cheek as she rested her head against its' arm, and Alastor crossed his legs at the knees, his chin nestled into his palm. The wine had now begun to work its wonders, lulling her into a calm state that would most certainly turn her giggly- and far more easily affected by her attraction to the man sitting across from her- if she continued to indulge.
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. Even if they'd only known each other for a short time, she knew that the fact that Alastor appeared to have let his guard down was something incredibly special. She tried her best not to ogle him, she truly did, but her drunken mind couldn't keep her eyes from lingering on the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, taking in the muted grey tone of his skin and wondering whether she should have noticed the differences between them before. Her vision began to blur around the edges as the dark cross on the front of his dress shirt pointed her down a sinful path to the thin curve of his waist- Clover forced herself to look back up to his face before she found herself in further trouble, watching how his fingers curled around his chin in contemplation while he gazed into the freshly flickering fire, it's warmth reflecting in scarlet eyes.
The wine was probably to blame, but Clover found her heart feeling heavier with every second she spent looking at him; Alastor was so agonizingly Clover's type she might have wondered if he'd manifested for her eternal torment if not for his vicious reputation. If her romantic inclinations had a bullseye, he'd be the dart that hit it should he ever attempt to take his shot. Clover giggled at the mental image as she sank further into the couch, tucking her legs beside her and allowing her wine-heavy eyelids to fall closed; Soon enough the warmth of the newly lit fire, the chatter of the radio beside her, and the odd comfort she found in having Alastor sitting across from her lulled her into state of contentment that swiftly slipped into sleep.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue the broadcast…"
She awoke to the sound of static.
It buzzed against her bleary mind, pulling her from a dreamless slumber as it cleared to make way for a melody. Clover curled into the warmth that had wrapped itself around her as she attempted to blink away the heaviness from her eyelids, its weight slipping from her shoulders to gather at her hips as she hauled herself upright. She used whatever it was to clean her smudged glasses, and realized that the dark scarlet that she'd used to scrub the lenses belonged to a large blanket, its lining silken against her skin-
The ruffling of pages reminded her that she was, surprisingly, not alone.
Alastor hadn't seemed to move from his place seated across from her, his legs crossed to hold a book in his lap at the proper position for reading as he hummed along to the music he broadcast to the radio between them. The wine bottle was still as full as it was when she last remembered it, which she assumed meant he hadn't continued to drink without her despite staying there through the night.
Clover cleared her throat of the roughness of sleep as discreetly as possible, 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," She said, running a hand through her hair just in case it had turned into a bird's nest overnight. "You didn't have to stay- Not that I'm saying you shouldn't have! Just that- I didn't mean to keep you."
"It's quite alright, I hadn't had the pleasure of fully listening to that particular piece before- I suppose I understand why it caused so much chaos now."
"Really? I would have thought you'd have heard it before."
"Well, I was particularly busy climbing the social ladder here! I've just been too busy since, I suppose."
"Wait-You died before it was broadcast?"
Alastor's smile stretched, his lips pressing together as his eyes lifted to watch from over the hardcover of his book as her wheels turned.
"So..." The way his ears flicked forward in interest spurred her on, her confidence growing with every word. "You died in the early 1930's at the latest."
"Did I?"
"You had to- War of the World broadcast in 1938."
"You're quite the detective."
"You just inter- It's just dumb luck that this aligns with my interests." She wanted so badly to look away, afraid that if she allowed him to stare into her soul with those scarlet eyes for any longer, he'd figure out just how dangerous he could be for her; But there was no way in Hell she was going to back down now that'd won. "My running theory is that you were alive as an adult in the 1920s, during the golden age of the medium, and that you passed sometime between 1930 and 1936."
The music cut off with a record scratch before the room was filled with canned applause and Alastor's book shut with a "snap!" before he joined in, the hollow clap echoing back from high ceilings for long after he'd stopped. The radio whistled as she gave a sarcastic seated bow, trying her best not to show how the attention made her squirm; Alastor's voice was vacant of radio static when he finally spared her, his head tilting curiously to one side as he leaned forward, elbows planted against his knees so he could settle his chin atop folded hands.
"And what shall we give you for this accomplishment?"
Clover blinked, a bit stunned at the offer but unwilling to let the chance slip through her fingers. Asking for anything of monetary value was out of the question; Not only was it too easily turned into some sort of deal, but she had no use nor want for it. This conversation alone and the answers it provided was a prize within itself, the time spent alone with the unwilling object of her affection would be enough to carry her on cloud nine for weeks to come- Allowing those feelings to further blossom was a recipe for a disaster, but it was one she was willing to weather if it meant it would cure her craving curiosity.
The answer to his question came to her clear as day, and Clover didn't hesitate.
"Just- Let me get to know you."