Her bedroom was, luckily, clean when they arrived.

Clover crossed the recently vacuumed floor to her dresser, nudging aside the collection of nicknacks she'd accumulated over her time in Hell to retrieve her camera from its place hidden behind a vase of twisting twigs. She could hear the sharp halt of Alastor's footsteps behind her; the demon stood inches away from the door frame when she turned to him, just barely outside what could be regarded as her bedroom. Deciding to postpone teasing him until her impulsive urge was satisfied, she returned her attention to the task at hand.

Turning the camera towards herself, Clover balanced it between her palms the best she could. She ignored the confused tuning that echoed from Alastor's place beyond her threshold, instead focusing on holding the camera at an angle that she hoped would produce a semi-flattering image. As her eyes fell shut to prepare for the flash, doubt entered her mind. Was this even going to work, or was she just going to embarrass herself with another failure? Clover had taken photos of herself with the device before, but only of silly things; her shoes, overexposed mirror portraits of some of her cuter outfits, or the tips of her fingers peering out from beneath long sleeves. Any other more stereotypical examples of what she was attempting to produce were saved onto the storage of her cell phone and taken without much thought at all. Now, she poured all of her mental energy into hoping for a manifestation of her living self as she pressed down on the shutter. The click of the camera sparked another wave of frantic static to fill the room, and Clover turned towards it as her photograph printed into her waiting palm.

"You can come in, you know."

Alastor hesitated, ears swiveling back towards the hallway as his smile twisted in that oddly adorable, confused manner. A door opened somewhere nearby, and suddenly Alastor was rushing into her bedroom. The click of the lock behind him rattled through her skull as she watched him catch up with his instincts.

"It's alright Al, we'll only be a minute." Clover said as she moved to sit on her bed, shaking the polaroid between her fingers. It was an unusual feeling, to be comforting someone like him, but it was one that she thoroughly enjoyed. She couldn't help the softness she felt for Alastor, not when his ears twitched so adorably and his brow twisted with concern. It was equally unusual that she found a killer so endearing, but she'd made peace with that already.

She winced at the bed's creaking as she sat down, Alastor's head snapping towards her at the sound before the realization of where it had come from relaxed him once again. Barely relaxed him, but still. The photo in her hand was developing quickly, the dark outline of her bangs and glasses already visible through the haze of chemicals. A nearly forgotten but familiar tightness pinched at her stomach the clearer the image became, and Clover fought against the urge to look away.

The fact that her plan had worked only provided minor relief.

"Well?"

Looking up at Alastor's call, Clover found herself at a loss for words. His expectant expression lightened the tightness in her chest, but did little to quell the choking insecurity that had reared its ugly head. The photograph that she held between her fingers showed the truth of her life; that she had been painfully average in all matters, but more so that of appearance, even more so than she was now. Any diversion from the fact was entirely self inflicted and became ineffective over time, from the shoddy blending of scarlet and black that faded to ashen auburn at her roots, to the sharp flecks of green the flash had revealed in her eyes, it all faded away eventually. Her eyes would return to their dull brown without the aid of everyday movie-magic, their color nearly as dark as the shadows that sunk beneath them. As much as she resented the image, it was the truth; It was the woman who was now known as Clover, in all the soft jawed, somber gazed glory of her life before death.

"It worked." She answered, her brow furrowing at the broken squeak of her voice and the tears that threatened to spill. Why was she crying this time? The photograph was honest, she'd always known who she had been before her death. It hadn't been long enough for her to begin to mourn her life, at least, she hadn't felt the need to mourn until now. She was vaguely aware of Alastor moving towards her, and it triggered even more questions to bother her busy mind. Had he felt the same before, when she'd learned the truth about him? When the impulse buy she now was placing on her bedside became more than either of them could have ever expected? His pained expression had haunted her since then, but she'd never felt it was right to question him about how he'd felt about seeing himself again.

Dark claws extended into her vision, the buzz of static against her skin snapping her back to attention as she looked up from the photograph.

Answers would have to wait.

"May I?"

His shoes barely touched the fuzzy rug she'd placed at her bedside, Alastor bending at the waist to extend his arm towards her while still keeping ample distance between them. Whether he was unwilling to fully approach her in this emotional state or simply retaining as much propriety as he could by distancing himself from her bed, she wasn't sure, but the awkward stretch he was committing himself to made her smile either way.

Clover flipped the polaroid towards him and allowed him to take it from her. Dark eyes flicked over the details of the photograph held between them, Alastor glancing at her over the top of it occasionally as he compared. His smile twisted into the confusing half-grimace he often wore when he was faced with something he wasn't prepared for, the room filling with the sound of rapidly changing radio stations. Their pace was uneven, Alastor's radio landing on a single melody just long enough for its warm romance to settle over them before swiftly changing again, passing the sharp notes of swing and the slow build of jazz before it shut off with a sharp click.

"You were…" He began, his voice heavily wavered with static. It disappeared with a short cough, Alastor continuing in his normal, more pleasant tone. "As expected."

That wasn't enough, she needed more.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I can see that phrasing isn't very encouraging.I- Well, I suppose I should grant you the same honesty you've given me."

Alastor stepped closer, crossing the hard line he'd created between them with a sharp intake of breath. Their fingers brushed as the photograph was given back to her and Alastor fumbled slightly, nearly dropping the paper pinched between his claws. He took a moment to re-center himself before continuing.

"I don't believe you would mind me saying, but you were, and are, quite pretty."

She didn't realize the ringing in the room was a trick of her own boggled brain and not his radio malfunctioning until she looked up at him. Alastor's expression was as confusing as his words, his brow raised in expectation for her answer and the color of his cheeks darkening slowly at her silence. Clover tried to find something in him that could convince her that this was simply another game, that he was toying with her somehow, but it was useless. There was nothing more than sincerity in the crimson eyes that watched as she swayed unsteadily atop her comforter, Clover becoming light headed when warmth suddenly blossomed beneath her skin. She shook her head slightly to clear it before replying in the only way she could think of.

"Thank you."

Alastor turned around so quickly, head first, that she felt the ache of whiplash settle into her own neck. There was no time for sentimentalism, it seemed.

"Now! While we are here, I wonder if we should perform a small experiment. What do you think, my dear?"

"I think that I'd be smart to ask for more clarification before agreeing to anything." Clover murmured, watching as he paced her room. He reminded her of a caged animal, stalking the perimeter of their enclosure in search of stimulation. The similarities grew stronger when he turned to face her once again, his smile growing sharp as it stretched into the perimeters of his face.

"Atta' girl."

Ignoring the way her stomach dropped at the praise, Clover's ears twitched forward in interest as his voice rose from the pleased growl he'd slipped back into to its chipper cadence.

"You've not attempted to access anything from your digital devices since I've been keeping you entertained, correct?" He began, barely pausing for her to nod her head before continuing. "I believe it's been long enough that my- Well, unfortunate acquaintance may have lost interest and written off your rejection as a loss, if he knows what is good for him, that is."

"So…?"

"So! I suggest that we browse the so-called "World Wide Web" for tonight's entertainment, since our change of location provides the opportunity."

Clover followed his gaze to the laptop that sat on the near empty bookshelves she'd installed beside her bed, her brow furrowing so deeply that she was sure she'd form wrinkled.

"Al, you don't use modern devices. You don't have to-"

"Sometimes, exceptions must be made."

It seemed useless to argue with him, even as carried the computer to her bedside before dropping in front of her, his lip curling in distaste as he looked down at the device. She took the hint in his pointed glance, Clover opening the computer and holding down the power button until it illuminated. The metaphorical whiplash she was experiencing from the sudden avoidant shift in conversation became literal as her head turned to the sound of something solid hitting the floor beside her bed, finding Alastor settling himself into the rounded reading chair that normally sat in the room's far corner.

Clover thought of asking why they didn't just move back to the library, but the anxious twitching of Alastor's fingers against the arms of the chair made her reconsider. Shaking her head at the pity she felt for the demon, she slid the web camera cover aside for good measure as the generic bundle of red roses she'd chosen as her background appeared. Her fingers began to shake as she opened a browser, Clover scanning the screen for any sign of interference as the window loaded up and she signed into the hotel's communal Voxflix account.

"Wait."

She'd noticed it already, the slightest pixelization tainting the corners of her computer. It moved inward, dropping the quality of the preview that had begun to play on the streaming site's homepage. It became hard to tell whether the corruption of audio was an effect of Vox's possession or due to the steady squeal of static that was filling the room. She flinched as claws grasped the device and turned it, ripping it from beneath her fingers as Alastor leaned into her peripherals. Reacting was the wrong move it seemed, Clover choking on the soft call of his name as her wrist became captive between his fingers before her attempt at soothing the demon could make contact. He barely glanced at the contact before he let go once again, returning his gaze to the computer screen as his eyes narrowed. A moment of painful noise passed, the clashing sounds of her computer and Alastor laying Clover's ears flat as she watched the odd stand-off between demon and device.

The silence was deafening when it all stopped.

The screen returned to a clarity that set an ache between her eyes; the colors, somehow balancing on the line of oversaturated and underexposed, blending together in a mess of hyperrealism due to the playbacks heightened frame rate. Neither of them breathed until the preview had reached its end and began to loop, Clover sliding shut the privacy cover on her webcam before relaxing back into her pillows with a soft sigh.

"Coward." Alastor grumbled, his tight smile shifting back to a cheerier expression as he settled back into his seat.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing at all! So, what shall we watch?"

"Wha-"

Clover didn't know if she would ever get used to the ease in which Alastor's mood shifted.

"Well, you didn't expect us to forgo our nightly entertainment, did you? Your personal computing device seems to be in working order, for now."

"You…You want to watch a movie on my laptop?" She spoke slowly, watching as he sunk down in her chair and adjusted the fuzzy blanket she kept tossed across it behind him. This situation was becoming increasingly odd, even by their standards.

"Unless you oppose, of course."

"Of course not, I just-" It was so distracting, having him in her room. She wondered if he felt as out of place as he looked. "Sure, just give me a minute to find something you'll-"

"No, little doe, you may play whatever you would like."

Clover blinked through the mild amount of fluttering that his newest name for her spawned in her stomach to stare in disbelief at the demon who sat at her bedside. Nevermind increasingly odd, this situation was moving into the territory of outright unusual if Alastor was willing to interact with modern technology. Where was the man she'd had to twist the arm of so she could do something as simple as photograph now? Not that it really mattered, Clover was happy to be continuously indulged by this more open version of the demon she'd come to know and lo- adore, for as long as he'd allow it. Her fingers met the keyboard with a clatter, the noise drowning out her spiral of romanticism before she could fall into it completely. Finding what she'd been looking for, Clover turned to him, apprehension wavering her words.

"I think that you'll like- I think that you might find this one amusing, at least."

Her nerves were getting the best of her, Clover clearing her throat before moving to apologize for her stumbling explanation. The lights dimmed, a feature she was not aware the hotel's bedrooms possessed, as Alastor reached over her dangling knee to tap the spacebar, and the movie began. With a sharp twist of his wrist, a bottle appeared in his palm, Alastor holding it out towards her before nodding to the box of popcorn that sat between her thighs.

"Enjoy, cher."

"Are you trying to butter me up for something?" Clover replied, tossing a yellow kernel into her mouth for good measure and taking the bottle from him before he could drop it as Alastor crumpled into a fit of giggles.

In the time it took him to recover from her horrid pun, Clover examined the bottle. She turned the heavy glass between her palms, squinting in the darkened room to see if it was a vintage green or the clear absence of color she knew and smiling at the familiar white script on red paper that was banded around it. Before she could lift the bottle to her lips, Clover paused as a fact rose to the forefront of her thoughts, bobbing in the ocean of useless knowledge while she pondered whether Alastor would know any better. When she turned, she found him already smiling at her, his eyes soft with something her heart painted as affection.

"It's not a true vintage, sadly."

With the ugliest snort she'd ever uttered, Clover wheezed through the entire opening number of the film she'd chosen. She tried her best to muffle the noise into the palm of her hand, her laughter finally dying off as the sounds of gunshots echoed through the room. All questions of whether or not he'd enjoy this particular favorite of hers died with the first victim, Alastor leaning forward in interest as the dripping of water on metal signaled the beginning of another song. Clover found herself lost in him once again, paying far more attention to his shifting expressions as he became engrossed in a world so much like the one he'd left behind than the screen that reflected red in the glass of his monocle. It was a shame that she was unable to capture him like this, she thought. Her melancholy memories weren't the proper home for this moment, not when the images of Alastor smiling behind his fingers or correcting an aversion from the times with an annoyed curl of his lip would fade into the mess of her mind with time. She could take a thousand photos and still feel like she'd not savored enough, not that he would ever let her, of course. For now, it was all she could do to use the burning he sparked inside her to sear him into her vision, thankful that he was thoroughly distracted by the tales of mayhem, murder, mistresses,

And all that jazz.