"So, long story short, Hell gets crowded, so the big man upstairs decided that once a year, we all get to play hide n' seek with a buncha' angelic war criminals to keep the numbers down. Town goes to hell- Don't laugh! It ain't a pun! It goes to hell for about 48 hours, the clock tower resets and then we all go back to our lives until next year."
After Husker's quick rundown of the hierarchy of Heaven and Hell, only interrupted by bargaining with Angel Dust for claim over the last egg roll, she felt marginally better about the lapse of information, but only just.
"So they just…Come and kill us once a year? That doesn't sound very "Jesus loves you" of them." Clover asked somewhere between her second helping of egg-drop soup and her difficult task of choosing whether she wanted noodles or fried rice.
"More and more people are endin' up in Hell, this circle can only hold so many of 'em."
"Demons kill each other all the time, isn't that enough? I mean, there's at least three murders a week."
Husker sighed, running his claws down his face before he planted his elbows on the table and leaned in.
"There's two ways to kill'a demon. Either you slice 'em with one of the Exterminator's holy spears, or- " Husker's voice dropped as the commotion from the lobby seemed to die out, lowering to a near whisper that had Clover's ears straining. "Or ya' eat 'em. There's a reason Alastor is a big fuckin' deal, he 'n Rosie are the only two Overlords that actually put other demons in a permanent grave."
So many questions sprung to her mind, but a single, static laced line she'd once heard on the radio stuck out to her.
"I suppose, listeners, you are wondering whether we shall see this lucky bastard on our filthy streets again... Some meat is just too rotten for consumption-"
At the time she'd taken it as nothing more than a reveal of Alastor's eating habits, now that she knew more, it was so obvious what he had meant. Worried that their conversation wasn't long for this world, Clover cut her reminiscing short and spoke quickly.
"Eternal suffering, it makes sense. Demons would just die again if they didn't want to suffer. But where do they go? Double hell?"
"No-one knows, kid. We've got six layers of this place, you'd think some of the other rings could make room for the likes of us. But, that ain't up to me, that's up'ta the big boss, I guess."
"You mean Lucifer, Charlie's dad? Why does he let this happen, isn't he supposed to like, adore humanity?"
Her question went unanswered as the kitchen began to fill, Husker raising his voice again as their conversation came to its end.
"Honestly, the Exterminators kinda just go after the lesser demons, fuckin' with Overlords is a lotta' work. As long as you're tangled up with our sorry asses, you're golden kid."
The comment started another spin off into the finer points of redemption as the hotel's staff regrouped over fortune cookies, a conversation that did nothing to bring anything Husker had left in the dark to light as Charlie became absorbed with trying and failing to rope Cyrus into growing their roster of hotel guests. He'd left them shortly after dinner, slipping Clover a small paper parcel of green herb as they said their goodbyes and promising her the week off, only if she promised to swing by once she was back on her feet.
A few days of endless compassion from the hotel's staff later, and Clover did begin to feel better. She'd not been allowed to hide herself away despite her best efforts, but thankfully this time, the task of watching over her had been taken with more care, and she was far more receptive of their efforts. It was incredible what a traumatic experience could do for her temperament, she thought, as morbid as that was. Instead of attempting to fill her every moment with distraction, Clover's friends had offered up more options than she could have ever shifted through in their attempts to console her, and given her plenty of time for herself in between. Board games with Charlie, quiet co-reading with Niffty, and impromptu dance sessions with Angel Dust filled the hours that she was otherwise unoccupied.
Which is an incredibly vague way of saying "when Alastor wasn't around".
He excused his disappearances as matters of business, stating that there was much to be done if they were to continue to handle their "technical issues". It was obvious this meant Vox, but she'd realized Alastor did not intend on discussing the matter further after his third side-step of her attempts at steering conversation towards the topic. Knowing that it was probably for the best, Clover didn't question him about the sudden squealing library's radio that echoed through the hallways in the dead of night, and she didn't dare tell him that she'd returned to sleep while listening to hollow sounds of shattering glass and ripping flesh. She'd luckily gotten back into her bed before anyone else had noticed.
Even so, when Alastor was there, Clover barely left his side.
When they did not join Husker at the bar, they returned to their movie nights in the library, their choices now limited to productions that pre-dated technicolor for safety. In the quiet darkness of the library, she could pretend that none of this had ever happened and lose herself in the still steadily growing attachment she was forming for her red-coated friend. The hot flashes of panic that spread across her chest whenever she heard the buzz of a cell phone, or when a car drove past on her walks around the block with Vaggie disappeared in his presence, every tiny touch he gave settled over her like a weighted blanket.
Now more than ever, she felt drawn to him, every moment spent apart setting an ache into her chest that did not subside until he appeared again, and it was beginning to concern her how much of her mood had become dependent on him. She'd fallen far and fast, and there was no climbing out of it now.
Bright, early, and exactly a week later, Clover had been struck with an idea. The night before had been filled with a private viewing of a collection of her most musical favorites, Clover disappearing into the depths of the library shortly after dinner and not appearing again until long after the clock had chimed the beginning of a new day. She was thankful that she'd picked up the gist of how to work the old projector from Alastor, even if the thing fluttered to life before she could lay a finger on any of its many levers and dials, because changing the reel was a task in itself. Her final choice's namesake had brewed a homesickness she'd never imagined she'd experience for her middle-of-nowhere upbringing, her nostalgia lulling her into dreams of summer humidity and endless horizons.
Niffty was in the kitchen when Clover appeared in search of her morning coffee, the tiny cyclops humming as she pushed a laundry basket across the freshly cleaned floors. Clover left her to do her work, learning long ago that trying to help the housewife was more trouble than it was worth, and instead sparked conversation while she went about her morning chores.
"Hey, do you have anything planned for dinner tonight?"
"Nope! Charlie said that we might order pizza, so that I could take a break, but I don't need a break! I'll have to go grocery shopping later anyway, we're nearly out of milk, and butter, and cheese, and fabric softener and-"
"Can I come with you? I…I was thinking of cooking tonight." Clover was normally happy to listen to Niffty's laundry list of tasks, but today, she had plans.
"Really?! Of course you can!" Clover watched as Niffty hauled the basket the rest of the way to the off-kitchen laundry room, continuing to talk even as her voice became muffled as she leaned inside the machine. "Do you want help, or are you like Mr. Alastor wanna do it all by yourself?"
"Will you help me do some of the prep work? I really hate cutting onions."
"Sure!" The echo of Niffty's exclamation was swiftly silenced as she slammed shut the washing machine door, using her step ladder to reach the top of the machine and begin selecting the correct cycle. "Let me put up the dishes, and then I'll get my purse and we can go! That way, you'll have time to drink your coffee! You're less fun when you haven't had coffee, the same way you're less fun when Alastor isn't here!"
Clover blinked at the tiny demoness, trying to figure out how to respond to her blunt, and incredibly correct, statements but the sharp turn of her head back towards her work was final. With their conversation unceremoniously ended, Clover returned to her room with coffee in hand, the iced concoction of malted chocolate and sugar forming a wet ring of condensation on the top of her dresser reminding her to send Cyrus a message that she was ready to return to work. His reply came in the form of a voice message spoken over the ruckus of what sounded like a morning rush, and the small fanged smiley face that followed.
" Thank fuck, I'll s-s-see you tomorrow at lunch time, you can have closings until the weekend."
By the time Clover made it back to the oddly empty lobby, Niffty was ready and waiting beside the door. She led the way to the nearby market while they chatted about mundane affairs of the hotel, from whether it was time to buy new towels or how they should decorate for the upcoming Halloween party. It was a welcome change to just have average shop talk with another demon, Clover thought. Niffty's cheerful attitude carried them through their shopping, the two demons conversing over which produce seemed the freshest and which spices they needed to stock up on, and left no room for any of Clover's anxious worrying about the quality of her cooking to take over. It wasn't until they were waiting for the butcher to retrieve their choices of meat that the conversation shifted into something of more weight, the cyclops tilting her head back to look up at Clover from under a tiny, wide brimmed hat.
"Are you and Alastor going steady?"
Clover nearly dropped the bottles of oil she'd been comparing at the question.
"I'm sorry?"
"You and Alastor, has he asked you to go steady yet?"
"I- No, he hasn't. We're just friends."
Giggling as she reorganized her basket to make room for the stacks of wax-paper wrapped protein she'd collected, Niffty thanked the butcher with a wide smile before turning her attention to Clover once again.
"No you're not. I'm little, but I'm not young. I know what dating looks like."
"...Has he said anything?"
"No! We don't talk about that kind of thing. But, I'm the maid, I see things." The sharp nod of Niffty's head made that point hard to argue with. "You should ask him to sign a contract, then he has to keep you safe, like he does for Husk and I!"
"I don't have a talent like you, what good would a contract with me be?"
"Hmm, I guess you're right…Oh! You could be his official temper-handler, you're good at that! And then you could be part of our family!"
Clover smiled at the sentiment, leaning against her shopping cart as she thought of how to word the question that was eating away at her confidence. She decided to just get on with it.
"Do you think he'll like what I'm making?"
Niffty tapped a tiny finger against her chin in thought, bouncing on her toes to peek over the side of the cart.
"He'll like it, because you're the one who made it! Don't worry"
Feeling her flush fully taking over as they made their way to the check out, Clover tried her hardest not to think about the implications of what Niffty was suggesting and her worries that she'd said any of this to Alastor himself. The silence sped them through the rest of their trip, Clover double checking that she had all of her needed ingredients for their evening meal before they headed back to the hotel.
Husker was back at the bar when they arrived, long arms dangling against the customer facing side as he lounged across the countertop. His twitching ears drew her attention, standing alert despite his otherwise lazy posture, and Clover slowed her steps so she could listen more closely. Voices grew louder as she moved towards the hallways that branched off from the lobby, and she paused just shy of turning the corner towards the kitchen to listen.
"No, absolutely not. There has to be another way. She's our best shot at getting someone out of here, and I'm not going to let you ruin it."
"There are many ways to ensure her safety, but none as air-tight as this, I'm afraid."
"Charlie, you can't let him make her do this-"
"Nothing can be done without her agreement, I cannot make her do anything, nor would I ever attempt to. That is and will continue to be the truth of the matter, even if you do not believe me."
Alastor's voice carried best, the deeper cadence of his voice echoing off high ceilings even without radio amplification. She assumed the other, more feminine voice belonged to Vaggie. Approaching footsteps signaled that her time to eavesdrop was at its end, and Clover moved forward as quickly to avoid the embarrassment of being caught.
The trio stopped as soon as she'd stepped into the crossroads that connected the two branching hallways to the lobby, Charlie shutting the door to the hotel's makeshift manager's office with a wide, too-sincere smile. Even as she pretended not to notice them in favor of rushing her shopping into the kitchen, Clover couldn't help but turn to catch the crimson gaze that followed after her.
She gave him a short wave before escaping fully into the kitchen, the rapid tuning of a radio reaching her ears just before the door closed behind her.
The kitchen had been left to her alone for what felt like hours now, but that didn't bother her. Having people crowd over her while doing something had always been a pet-peeve of hers, worried that whoever was around would find something wrong in the way she did things, the same way her Grandmother had when she was a child. Even Niffty wasn't immune to her anxious avoidance, Clover busying herself with pulling spices from the cabinet in preparation for cooking while the housewife minced onions and peppers with precision. The only interruptions came in the form of Niffty returning to retrieve the laundry from the dryer, and Husker wandering in halfway through her mixing cornbread batter to grab a jar of fresh olives from the cabinet, Clover calling out to him as he disappeared into the hallway to please bring a bottle of white rum with him when it came time for dinner.
Now she was just waiting for her oil to heat up enough again to begin frying the last few bits of the evening's meal, Clover taking a break from chopping bananas for their vanilla-wafer topped desert to sip at her second coffee of the day and lean against the counter while she searched for a new song to entertain herself with.
"I don't wanna seem the way I do, but I'm confident when I'm with you… "
Her phone met the countertop with a clatter, Clover allowing her fingers to tap against the screen and turn up the music to its full volume.
"Lately all I feel is bad and bruised, tired of tripping on my shoes… "
A little on the nose, but a vibe.
She focused on the way the melody drummed against her still-tense nerves while she moved to season her fry batter, her steps lighter as she twisted herself down the length of the countertop to reach for a shaker of bright red spices and added a hefty pinch to the peppered cornmeal.
"But when he loves me I feel like I'm floating, when he calls me pretty I feel like somebody…
Even when we fade eventually to nothing, you will always be my favorite form of loving… "
Her coffee cup hung limply from her fingers as she moved across the kitchen, taking the time to clean up after herself while she waited. Along the way she picked up an empty bowl and set her phone inside, the old trick allowing the round ceramic to amplify her phone's speakers to a more pleasing volume. It was impossible to keep herself still as she began to absentmindedly sing along, mumbling the lyrics and bouncing on her toes as the song went on. With a quick glance to the door to double check that it was indeed closed, Clover allowed the restless tapping of her feet to grow into something more.
"Lately, I've been feeling not alive, but you bring me back to life… "
By the time the second chorus came around she'd completely given up on trying to maintain appearances. She was alone, dinner wasn't for another hour, why was she trying to hide it? She wasn't a dancer, but she was allowed to dance, you could even say she deserved a moment to let loose and vent out her frustrations with a violent swinging of arms and legs. Her coffee was abandoned on the kitchen island, Clover leaving her hands open to swing freely and able catch herself should she lose her balance.
"But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating, when he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody… "
Familiar steps found the rhythm, a bastardized version of dated dance moves throwing themselves together with her careless twirling. Words tumbled from her lips as her heart twinged, the lyrics sparking forth a flustered fluttering as her mind connected them to her own experiences since falling into Hell. It all rang a little too true for her liking, feeling her face flush as her solo-performance brought forth memories of dancing demons pressing together too closely in a smokey Jazz bar. If she thought hard enough she could bring forward the memory of dark claws pressing into her waist from beneath her skin. Frustrated with herself for so easily falling into fantasy, Clover let the tenseness pulling at her joints release as she hopped to the music, breaking away from anything that felt choreographed in favor of a perfectly imperfect mania.
She'd finally lost herself completely when a sharp twist of her hips turned her towards the doorway, and Clover promptly screeched at what, or who she saw.
"Holy fu-"
Ducking beneath the counter top as her hands clapped over her mouth with a loud "smack", Clover collapsed into herself, her normal reaction when someone happened to catch her off guard. Once her heart rate returned to a more reasonable pace, she raised her head just high enough to peer over the top of the counter and greet the two intruders with a sarcastic salute.
"Hello boys..."
A moment of silence passed between them, Alastor's wide eyes flickering between what he could see of her face and Husker beside him before both demons devolved into laughter. Wide shoulders shook with the force of Alastor's cackling, the red demon doubling over at the waist and bracing himself against his knees. For a moment Clover felt the beginning of a smile pull at her sour expression, unable to ignore how adorable she found Alastor's outburst, but the hot flood of embarrassment that was quickly turning her skin red outweighed her affection.
"I despise the both of you." Clover pouted, ears set back against her skull as she lifted her chin to rest on top of the cool countertop.
Alastor's slowly fading giggling fit was renewed as he took in her current position, his head falling to one side as he gazed down at her. She swore his cheeks were beginning to flush from exertion, but it was hard to tell behind the claws that attempted to hide his wide smile in an attempt to spare her further embarrassment. His companion was no better, Husker gripping at his sides as he attempted to talk around a belly full of laughter.
"Yeah, we all know that ain't fuckin' true."
Clover blew at the hair that had gotten stuck behind her glasses as she stood up, leaning across the counter to grab her phone and turn the music down to a more tolerable volume.
"Now that you've scared me half to double-death , what can I help you with?" She sighed, returning her attention to her cooking and tossing a sprinkle of flour into the hot oil. Satisfied with the sizzle that followed, Clover turned to tossing her vegetables in their batter while they talked.
"My apologies, it was not our intention to move you swiftly towards an unearthly demise. Husker and I were just checking on how things were coming along!"
Her nerves began to tighten again as Alastor paced the kitchen around her while he talked, peering into her many dishes and humming various tones that she hoped signified his approval as he went.
"N' I was just bringin' the booze you asked for, I'm not stickin' around kid." Husker placed the bottle of rum on the counter in front of her, sending a look to Alastor as he leaned over her cooking behind her before shoving his paws into his pockets and turning sharply on his heel to leave. "Smells good in here, I'll give ya' that much."
The mumbled "thanks" was lost to the sizzling of hot oil as she dropped a handful into the pan, Clover watching Alastor out of the corner of her eye as he continued his trip around the kitchen. It wasn't until she'd scooped out her first batch and set it aside to drain while she fried the next that Alastor stopped his examination. The red demon settled himself at the wooden table, the day's newspaper appearing in his hands with a soft pop and a rustle as he opened it to the center.
Well, so much for cooking alone.
"Do you want me to change the music, turn it off so you can-"
"No, darling, it's quite alright." The smile that tinted Alastor's interruption kept the fire that lit the flush beneath her skin burning, crimson eyes tilting upward at the corners as he peeked at her from over his newspaper. "You may continue as you were."
"Very funny."
"I wasn't aware I was making a joke!"
Clover snorted as she returned to cooking, trying her best to keep herself from smiling at his good humor. A few moments of silence later, her music volume returned with a click of a button, Alastor's radio providing a pleasant background static from his spot sitting at the kitchen table. The tune that had been quietly playing during their conversation filled the room, and Clover quietly cursed at the lyrics that came through.
"Across the room, your silhouette starts to make its way to me…
The playful conversation starts, counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy…
And it was enchanting to meet you… "
If listening to a love song was too much for her alone, it was certainly more than she could handle with Alastor in the room.
Her fingers fumbled to pluck the device from the countertop, quickly skipping the song and waiting to see whether the next one would prove as embarrassing as the last. The beginning piano was promising, but a glance at the title showed only a marginal improvement. Even so, this one had a sentimentality that kept her fingers hovering above the arrow forward. She could feel Alastor's eyes on her, even if they were hidden behind his paper when she chanced a glance towards him, and she gave in before her hesitancy became too obvious and drew his attention to the music.
"Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on…
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in,
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin… "
He'd never notice if she acted like it didn't matter, or at least she hoped he wouldn't.
The freshly fried assortment of vegetables went into the oven to stay warm with the rest of what she'd already prepared. She could hear Alastor's shuffling through the paper over the music, watching his ears twitch as she let herself hum along to the lyrics as she resisted the urge to sing along again.
"And if you have a minute, why don't we go…?
Talk about it somewhere only we know... "
It was so painfully domestic to have him sitting there, in the most stereotypical of senses. Even though they'd done this before, though the other way around, the idea of the two of them spending this time alone together in the kitchen felt incredibly intimate. Where she'd been unable to leave Alastor alone while he worked, he seemed perfectly at ease existing alongside her now, legs crossed over each other as he flipped through his paper and listened to her music for a change. As unsure as she felt about Alastor being forced to listen to her more modern tastes, he seemed to be enjoying himself, Clover catching his toes bouncing gently to the rhythm and his ears twisting as the melody rose and fell. They were both quiet as the song played out, Clover moving through the rest of her preparations and allowing herself to quietly mouth the lyrics when her back was turned.
"This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go…?
Somewhere only we know... "
Alastor barely moved as she retrieved her dual pitchers of strawberry lemonade from the fridge, thankful the trash can had a lid to hide the cartons she'd poured the base from, and tossed the final slices of fresh berries into them both before topping off one of the two with the rum Husker had brought for her. The spiked pitcher was marked with a lemon slice stuck onto the rim and placed nearest to Alastor on the table, the linen table runner she'd found in one of the drawers already becoming damp beneath the heavy, chilled glass.
The photograph that covered the front page of Alastor's paper caught her attention as she passed him, immediately recognizing the battered building that was Valentino's Club covering the majority of the page beneath the glaring headline.
"Battling Overlords Blow Their Load In the Red Light District!"
Alastor chuckled at whatever disgusted look must have crossed her face as she leaned down to better read it, dropping the paper enough to look at himself as his own lip curled.
"Yes, I'm afraid not all minds burn brightly. But! This gossip rag is all that we have, aside from daytime television of course and that-"
"That can't be much better, knowing who runs the studio."
"Precisely!" Alastor grinned, closing his paper with a rustle as he stood and followed after her. "May I be of assistance?"
"Uhm.."
Clover took stock of what she still had left to do, pressing her mouth into a hard line as she thought. Most of the food was in the oven staying warm, and with only half of an hour left until dinner time, she'd left very little for anyone to help with. The counters she'd kept clean, every dish she used was already rinsed and placed in the sink for later, and anything else she'd left out she was still needing to use.
"I guess you can put the food that's ready on the table…" She mumbled, ducking down to open the oven and retrieve the hot dishes from the rack.
"This is quite the spread you've prepared, I didn't know your culinary talents went beyond your ability to brew a delightful cup of coffee."
Alastor's voice was muffled as he leaned down to fetch the hot pads from their drawer, using one to pick up the dishes she'd placed on the countertop and carry them to the table.
It was so painfully domestic that it made her head spin, and it wasn't until he raised a brow at her silence that she snapped out of what she was sure counted as starry-eyed staring to respond.
"My, uh, my dad was a cook for a long time. Food was kind of a big deal in my family. Southern, ya' know."
"I thought you said he was an artist before, if I'm not mistaken."
"Wha- Oh."
Her heart leapt into her throat and her ears began to burn. It felt like such a distant memory now, their conversation in their spot hidden inside the Cannibal Colony that she'd so fondly named "their secret garden". She'd almost forgotten that she'd told him about her family, even though she'd committed every word he'd said about his own to memory.
But Alastor remembered.
"He, uh-" Clover had to pause to clear her throat, moving quickly around him to begin placing plates in their positions around the table. "He was, he worked as a graphic design artist when I was little, but when he resigned and moved back with us he started working as a cook, one of two or three jobs he had on and off. He still was an artist, he sketched a lot, but he had lots of talents."
Alastor hummed, the sound turning her head to look up at him as he placed himself beside her.
"He sounds like a good man."
She cursed the dampness that collected at the corners of her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to break herself from his gaze. There it was again, that damned sincerity that caught her off guard every time. Alastor dropped all pretenses to allow himself to speak plainly to her, his voice clear and calm despite the slight panic that widened his eyes. His smile twisted as it opened and closed, and for a moment she thought he was going to say more on the matter. But, his radio clicked back to life and overlaid his voice with static once again as he softly sighed. Alastor's expression returned to its normal cheerful ease as he swiftly changed the subject.
"I almost forgot! Rosie has invited us for tea, if you are free Friday evening, of course."
Blinking at the sudden change of pace, Clover thought as quickly as she could.
"I- I just told Cyrus that I'm good to go back to work, but I guess I could ask if I could work the morning shift on Friday."
"Splendid! I'll inform her after dinner, she's been asking about you, you know!"
"Really?"
Clover returned to her cooking as they talked, a quick glance at the stove's clock telling her that her time was nearly up. The ingredients for the final piece were retrieved from the refrigerator, her anxiety about having another person watch her while she was cooking bubbling to the surface once again as Alastor leaned against the opposite side of the countertop to continue their conversation.
"Well, I believe she never truly got to hear how that dress of yours had come out. It is a rare occasion that she finds new clients."
She hummed a response, turning to read the screen of her phone as another song began to play, its slower, somber tone drawing her attention.
"Something bad is 'bout to happen to me…
I don't know it, but I feel it coming… "
Alastor's head turned towards the sound, but he said nothing. It was unclear whether he approved or not, the only signs the slightest, interested flicking of his ears towards her device. Trying her best to ignore how the bracing of his arms against the counter stirred the heat that had begun to constantly sit in the bottom of her stomach whenever he was around, Clover focused on properly measuring her butter before tossing it into the warm pan to melt. She hesitated as she reached for the next ingredient, her fingers barely brushing the top of the open flour bag as realization hit her.
There was no way in hell she was letting a Louisiana native watch her make a roux, especially not when it was Alastor.
"Alastor?" Clover's voice turned his head away from where it had been focused on her cell-phone, the softly seeking of stations that had begun to form shutting off with a sharp click as a soft sound of recognition reverberated from his chest. "Will you turn around for a second?"
His brow furrowed as he looked at her for a moment, crimson eyes darting between her and her pan as his smile grew wider.
"Why?"
"Just…Please?"
Clover twirled one finger to further prove her point, the motion drawing Alastor's eye. His soft sigh was almost fond as he straightened, turned his back to her and leaned back onto his palms to rest his weight against the countertop. She waited to make sure he would continue facing forward, counting to ten in her head just in case he was attempting to fake her out. Satisfied with his corporation, Clover added her flour and swiftly began whisking it into the now-melted butter.
"Will you at least tell me what you're doing back there?"
"I'm making pepper gravy, for the potatoes and steak."
Alastor's ears twitched towards her, his head tilting to the side as he just barely turned his head to speak over his shoulder.
"And I am to turn around because?"
"...I'm making a roux, and I don't want you to know if I'm doing it wrong."
There was a long pause, and then Alastor was laughing again, his shoulders shaking slightly as he chuckled to himself before launching into full-radio splendor.
"We really must do something about that confidence of yours, my dear! So what if you've done something incorrectly? We can only learn the proper way to do things either by the tutelage of others, or the knowledge we gain from failing and simply trying again. May I tell you a tale?"
Terrified that he would turn around just as her roux was beginning to seize up as she added her first bit of milk, Clover jumped at the question, nearly spilling the remaining milk into the pan too early as she fumbled to reply. Luckily, he was off again at the first mumbled sound of agreement she made in her sputtering.
"The first time I ever attempted my mothers gumbo recipe, it was completely inedible! Not only had I given it enough heat to remove the paint from any automobile, I'd nearly ruined the pot by burning the bottom beyond repair, at least to the eyes of my ten-year-old self. My mother caught me attempting to lug the whole thing into the garden to bury it. After a well-deserved earful over attempting to discard what was essentially a family heirloom, she taught me how to properly clean burnt ends from copper and made me sit on a kitchen stool while she made a fresh pot. The next time I attempted to cook, I'd learned a lesson in patience, and was better able to understand how to properly balance the flavors of a meal."
"...I bet you were a cute kid." Clover hummed.
Shit.
She hadn't really meant to say that out loud, it was supposed to have just been something she kept to herself, but her mouth had run away from her again. Her whisking became nearly frantic as she fought to keep her blush at bay, hoping the sound of metal scraping against the iron bottom of the pan would drown out her mistake.
It didn't, of course.
Alastor's radio roared to life, its cheerful tune suffocating her own music before the stations flickered rapidly. She could see how he'd stiffened, his shoulder pulling back just enough that she noticed. Despite her embarrassment, the movement distracted her, and she began to wonder why she hadn't noticed how attractive his angle of Alastor was. It was most likely because he rarely had his back turned to her when they spent time together, his attention usually politely turned towards her during their conversations. Or maybe it was just another unfortunate side effect of her steadily growing infatuation with him, either way, Clover couldn't help but stare as his jacket shifted across his back while Alastor adjusted his position, wondering vaguely what that might have looked like if he'd been not wearing-
"Clover?"
"Yes!?"
Sighing to herself, Clover fought the urge to slam her hand in the oven door after that over-reaction, and instead tried to focus on the question he was repeating.
"May I turn now?"
Clover dumped in the rest of the milk quickly before answering.
"You may, I'm nearly finished."
Head quickly turning over his shoulder, Alastor watched as she finished her whisking gravy and added a hearty dash of black pepper before she removed it from the heat and poured it into the porcelain boat she'd found in the back of the cupboard. It joined the rest of the meal on the table, and soon the hotel's occupants were slowly filing into the room with their array of interested looks and wide smiles. None of them seemed to notice as Alastor hovered near the kitchen island as Clover placed the final dishes into the sink before she joined the steadily filling table, and even she didn't catch the long fingers that tapped the touch screen of her cell-phone to silence the stuttering song that spilled from it's speakers before they moved swiftly to pull out her chair.
Only Husker paused when the head of the table was unexpectedly left empty, the feline sinking into the chair as Alastor settled into his newly chosen spot by Clover's side.