Things with Alastor were confusing, to say the least.
After Lollie's addition to the hotel's population, he'd disappeared again until midweek, only to pop back up on Clover's way home to further escort her, waving his Shadow of his duties and offering her his arm as soon as his demonic doppelganger had disappeared. Their conversation had been painfully casual as they walked along the well-worn path between the cafe and the hotel, the golden hour darkening far more quickly than before as Hell's harvesting season grew closer with each passing day. It was when Alastor had drifted off into musing over deciding an opportune time for their afternoon tea with Rosie, since they'd had to so abruptly reschedule, that Clover finally grew tired of the odd tenseness that had formed between them in their time apart. Her fingers gripped into the sharp bend of his elbow, stopping him beneath the awning of the hotel's front entryway with a short squeal of feedback that nearly knocked them both off balance. Alastor turned to her, his confusion written in the magnified widening of his eyes and the perkiness of his ears, and it would have been humorous if she wasn't so serious about the question she'd been preparing to ask for the last three blocks.
"Are we okay? I mean, I don't know how- What I said, means for our, uh… This."
For what felt like an age, Alastor was an image frozen in time. He barely breathed nor blinked; not even the cool breeze that fluttered her skirt around her knees was enough to unpause the demon in front of her, his hair unruffled by the hands of nature that caressed the bare skin of her arms. Clover nearly jumped out of her skin when he did, Alastor's body turning from hers so quickly she nearly stumbled as he moved to open the front door, sweeping her inside with the aid of his microphone as it popped into existence against his palm.
"I assumed that you're referring to whatever entanglement we've gotten ourselves into with one another." The smooth cadence of Alastor's voice as he pressed the hard length of his staff against the small of her back nearly knocked her knees out from under her, Clover gripping onto the door frame for support as she stepped inside. "My ego does not bruise that easily, dear. Do not fret, your decision is just that, and while I may disagree with you on this particular matter, that does not mean that I think any less of you."
As infuriatingly warm as her skin was due to his way of expressing his feelings on the matter, she was pleased that he had addressed them at all. Her conversation with Lollie had fully cemented that Clover had made the right choice in denying the dealmaker, and something about the way he was approaching her now made her wonder how he felt about her decision, truly. Who she was in the past might have hoped he'd be upset by the outcome of his offer, but Hell, or perhaps the people she'd met after passing into Pentagram City, had a healing effect she hadn't entirely expected. Who she was now remembered the way his thumb had pressed into between her shoulders while singing praises of how she'd handled Vox, how the phrase "Atta' girl" had dripped like honey from his lips, the blood he'd shed for her sake without a second thought, that wild flash that lightened his eyes whenever she'd said something particularly clever, the way his voice sounded when spoken against the shell of her ear; Everything he'd ever done to prove that if anything, he was as thrilled by their push and pull as she was.
"Good."
Clover cursed the cracking of her voice, letting him lead her into the hotel as their conversation continued. The lobby was mostly vacant, just the sound of speaking from somewhere down one of the many hallways and the hard-working Niffty dusting away at the banisters, just private enough that Alastor seemed comfortable with continuing their conversation.
"I hope you'll forgive me for being too forward."
He paused before they'd wandered too far into the room, his ears straying towards the rising laughter that came from the kitchen alongside the clatter of drinkware. The microphone which had so precariously pressed against her moments before stood barely balanced against the tips of two fingers, Alastor twisting it to the tune of the tinny piano that played from his radio. That paired with the twitching of his ears atop his head piqued her interest enough to push, Clover reading the red demon like a paperback romance as she twisted sharply on her toes to fully face him.
"Absolutely, it's something I've always liked about you." Crossing her arms across her chest, Clover took a measured step into his personal space. It was difficult to hear whether or not her charade was as convincing as it felt over the pounding of her own heart. "I think you should do it more often."
The drop in her voice wasn't entirely intentional, but the immediate reaction to her antics quickly halted any second-guessing. With a record scratch, Alastor's radio fell silent momentarily before it began to swiftly skip across the stations until it came to a stop on a fuzzy frequency that fell away from the sputtering of the man in front of her. Her head tilted fondly, watching his teeth click together as his once-slack jaw fell shut and fighting to hide her smile as he took a sharp breath at the sound of oncoming footsteps.
"Well! I have some work to do with Miss Morningstar in preparation for the oncoming festivities! If you need me, I shall be in my office."
Alastor muttered a farewell as he skirted around her, the tails of his coat catching the tender skin of her thighs as it fluttered past. By the time he'd made it to the crossroad of branching hallways, Lollie had appeared from the kitchen and stopped short of turning into the lobby to watch him pass. He regarded her with a barely-visible nod of his head before disappearing, both women stopping to listen as the door to his office closed with the sharp click of a lock.
"I always wondered how a man like that would look blushin'." Lollie sighed, leaning back against the wall behind her. "Now I know."
The girls looked at each other for a short moment, Clover's skin beginning to grow warm at the realization of what she'd done, until it was broken with a soft snort that tumbled them both into a mess of giggling that they carried over to the bar, much to the dismay of it's tender once he'd reappeared.
As hopeful as their interaction had seemed, Alastor was as fickle as ever as time went on, just without the added weight of uncertainty about the state of their "entanglement" holding them back from moving past this particular hiccup. He came and went, one moment including himself in the growing conversations surrounding the suggested Halloween party, only to leave without much explanation the next. He was attentive when he was around, but shied away from lingering for too long. It was similar to how he'd conducted himself before their friendship had truly started, but Clover couldn't help dwelling on it.
Much of the task for planning the Hotel's first big public event had fallen to Clover at her request, with Vaggie as a close second set of hands due to her more modern knowledge. It provided ample, welcome distraction. This season was something that Clover was quite fond of, both due to the pleasant nostalgia she felt for the holiday and the overall themes boding well for her more gothic sensibilities. Her sense of the macabre had mostly settled into phases of movie mania or spirals into the world of true crime during her life on earth, with a good dose of her darker tastes inserting themselves into the color palette she'd used to paint her persona. To call her a proper goth would be a disservice to the subculture, her interests swung as wildly as the moods of the man that had earned her affection, but the term was a decent description of her sensibilities.
It was not lost on her as she delved further into her darker tastes that the man who had stolen her heart away seemed to be the culmination of her interests all tied together with a shiny, red bow.
So, Clover threw herself wholeheartedly into her new hobby. With Vox's sudden shutdown, she was free to peruse the digital database without fear of his possession, though she still kept her camera covered and defaulted to DVDs, if only to please her personal sense of paranoia. Nights after work became horror-movie marathons, sometimes with the added company of Lollie and Angel on the evenings when they were not otherwise occupied. Much to her surprise, even Husker began to show interest in her journey through horror history, poking his head into the open doorway at the well-known rising strings of a slasher coming through her computer's speakers. Eventually, she began testing her luck by watching in the lobby, her computer set atop one of the coffee tables as she sprawled across a nearby sofa to scrawl party plans into her notebook. It had worked wonderfully, and soon enough she found herself surrounded by the hotel's staff well into the late hours of the evening, the group scattered in front of a freshly rolled-in television screen, spitballing decoration details or sharing shrieking laughter at whatever campy jump-scare had managed to shock them.
It would have been a perfect picture if only she'd been able to bait Alastor into it as well, but she understood his replenished distaste for modern media.
He was always in the back of her mind, in one way or another. The constant appearance of his shadow did not help in her obsession, the wispy replicant meeting her at the bottom of the stairs to accompany her to work, or simply sliding beneath her bedroom door to loom just beyond her vision as she watched whatever retelling of horrors she'd chosen for the night. It, which she was still forced to call the Shadow since it refused to answer her questions, seemed to thrive on making itself known at the most inopportune moments possible. The only solace she found in its presence was its protection and the knowledge that she equally occupied at least some portion of Alastors thoughts in his absence.
When she was not using the thrill of turn-of-the-century thrillers to substitute the adrenaline of Alastor's affection, work provided ample distraction. Cyrus refused to allow her to work alone, much to her dismay, but the antics of her employer kept her mind from wandering in between orders. His newest trick was seeing how badly he could mispronounce names that she'd spelled correctly, and it was a miracle that only one of those interactions had ended badly. But, she preferred Cyrus's bullshit over Overlord drama any day of the week.
As the event grew closer, the threat of technical intervention seemed to be the least of everyone's worries.
The countdown to the "Happy Hotel Halloween!" had truly begun on this particular morning, Clover and Charlie bouncing ideas for themed cocktails off Husker up until the time she was due to leave for her evening shift. Husker had accompanied her along the way, mumbling that he'd stop at the liquor store on the way home to look for "whatever frilly shit" the two girls had decided upon as he dropped her at the cafe door and went off on his way. The jingling of the cafe's bell among the quiet chatter lifted Cyrus's head from his work, the lizard hissing something that just barely counted as a greeting in between taking customers.
"Hey, I'll be right th-" Sneakers squeaked against the tile floor as she stopped dead in the doorway, the flat push handle bouncing against her back.
She'd experienced deja-vu before, but never like this.
Dozens of demons stared back at her as she looked around the busy cafe, all watching as she prepared to cross the minefield that the tile floor between her and the backroom had become. Clover gave a glance behind her, just to make sure that she'd not been unexpectedly tailed by the only demon she'd ever seen silence a room so sufficiently, but only found the freshly cleaned windows of the cafe door reflecting her startled expression back at her. Every inch of her skin was being analyzed, she could feel their gazes burning across her casual clothing and hunched shoulders as she made measured movements toward the shielding metal of the espresso machine. Every step she took seemed to ripple the surface of the masses, Clover drowning in their silence as she weaved between them, surviving only on the single breath she'd gasped upon realizing how dangerous the waters she's unexpectedly wadded into were.
Then the whispering started.
The once busy cafe shifted in its frozen state, the branching line of demons that waited to be served shifting together with a creaking hiss that her ears strained to make sense of over the frantic pounding of her pulse; and what she heard made her wish she'd enjoyed the silence while it lasted.
"Her?"
"She stays at that hotel...has to be a publicity stunt…"
"Ridiculous…never gave me a second glance…"
If any comments were spoken of her more cruelly, the ringing of her ears blocked them out before they could further shatter her. Cyrus became aware of the situation that was forming in his cafe just as Clover made it to the door to the back office, the sound of her employer's voice rising over all others as he shouted.
"Who's-s-s next?!"
Clover nearly missed the edge of the wooden table that served as Cyrus's desk in her scramble to find purchase, letting the door slam shut behind her as she finally gave into the hot flash of panic that spread across her chest. Her breath came in short huffs, wheezing against the constriction of her closing throat as she fought back sobs that would surely carry. It took every ounce of her remaining strength for her to push back against her oncoming breakdown, Clover shaking her hands to rid them of their trembling as she attempted to regain control of her breathing. She was glad she'd not given into her urge to turn tail and run, or to rush through the crowd into the privacy of their backroom, because it allowed her at least a single shred of dignity to work with. The longer she waited to take her place behind the bar, the more room those waiting for her had for speculation, but speculation of what, exactly? She couldn't be sure quite yet but if she had to, she'd guess that she wasn't the sole center of their chatter.
"Damn them all." Clover sighed, drumming her fingers against the desktop decidedly before her shoulders straightened with a soft crack of her spine.
Her quick walk to the bar flap, lifted for her by a worried Cyrus, felt more akin to taking the stand for a trial of social standing than the pleasant beginning to her workday that she presented. Hands unfolded from their place behind her back as she lifted the first mug of the line of orders to read its stuck-on description and begin the task of knocking out the line of people that continued to stare over the top of the espresso bar. All it took was one look for Cyrus to understand what she wanted from him and join her on her mission to clear the cafe. Her hands became a blur before her own eyes, simply going through the motions of making drink after drink, twisting back and forth between the many stations of her bar space, and handing out every completed order with a wide smile that she refused to let fall. As her head cleared, she began to recognize the faces of the demons who had continued to converse about her in barely-hushed tones; The gaggle of cannibals that greeted Alastor on their walks, a snake-haired demoness that often read near the cafe window, and a three-eyed gargoyle-esque demon that always ordered his coffee black but still asked for cream at the end of the bar, to name a few. Every one of them refused to regard her cheerful farewell as they left the cafe, and Clover couldn't decide if the aversion to her pleasant attitude made her feel empowered, or isolated.
As soon as the cafe had been emptied to a more manageable two demons and a loitering imp, Cyrus was cramming himself into her personal space with a concerned hiss.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Clover mumbled, keeping her voice low as she pulled down on the bar's silver handle to let off steam. "What was it like before I came in?"
"S-s-same as always, buncha' assholes scrolling through their phones and barkin' orders at me, then you walked in and it was like the Devil himself was at the door, or, ya' know-"
"Or Alastor."
The ringing of the bell above the door signaled the arrival of new customers, pulling Cyrus out of their conversation to quickly take the order of the Hellhound that had wandered in. Clover completed the vaguely familiar order quickly, slotting the drinks into a carrier while the gray wolf lazily watched over the top of her cell phone and handing them off with mumbled well wishes. Her hands itched to reach into her back pocket for her own phone, but the idea of exposing herself to whatever had the population of Pentagram City in a tizzy plummeted her heart into her stomach, even though the unknown was equally unsettling. The tingling in her temple of another set of eyes staring turned her head to find Cyrus standing over her with a grim expression, his scowl softening as scaled fingers laid against her arm.
"Do you want to go home? I can close the s-s-shop, I'll even walk you there myself."
"...You don't have to do that."
"Didn't say that I did, but I want to."
Clover leaned into him as she thought, allowing Cyrus to wind one arm around her shoulder and set his chin atop her head, a small comfort in the cafe's current climate. She felt the sharp sting of her lip splitting, continuing to chew through the pain until it snapped her out of her spiral, the throbbing pulse of blood filling her mouth a welcome distraction from the tingling anxiousness that had begun to numb her jaw. What could she do, really? She could run, disappear into the safety of her hotel room and pretend none of it had ever happened, but what good would that do? If this truly did involve others, they deserved to know, and as she scanned through her limited memory of the other interested party's current schedule, she realized she knew exactly where to find him.
"I'll go home after the 5 o'clock rush, you don't have to walk me. I'll make sure that I do as much of the closing tasks as possible before then."
"Cloves, I-" Cyrus's sigh deflated into a hiss at her stern glance, the demon raising both hands defensively as he drifted back towards the cash register. "Whatever you s-s-say, doll. You do whatever you gotta do, that's fine by me."
The next few hours went by in a blur of productivity, Clover fully committing to her word of making her early departure as easy on Cyrus as possible. She was out the door before the last customer of their final rush of the day had even picked up their drink, Cyrus's call for her to text him once she'd gotten home safe lost to the wind at her heels as she took off down the empty street.
Clover raced shadows all the way home, ignoring the stares of the demons that dotted the dirty sidewalks in favor of following the darkness that spread before her. The hotel door swung open for her as she reached it, welcoming her abrupt disruption as her voice echoed across the otherwise quiet lobby.
"Alastor!"
Sitting just where she'd expected him, Alastor startled at the sound of her voice, turning away from the conversation he'd been having with Husker with a confused twist of his brow. His daily paper sat half-folded atop one knee, his fingers pausing between the pages in preparation for reading as his head tilted curiously at her panting form crossing the carpet towards him.
"You're back earlier than expected, I was under the impression you'd be out till the evening."
"Something's wrong, I-"
Clover's explanation was cut short by the sudden ringing of her cell phone, the change in setting a newer development for party planning purposes now that they'd thought that the days' of Vox's telemarketed temptations were over. The sound still sent sparks across her nervous system, shocking her to stillness before she'd reached the safety of Alastor's side, but the persistent ringing pushed her to pull it from her pocket. Thankfully, the name flashing on the screen was far more friendly than what she'd feared.
"Lollie, sorry, but this isn't a good ti-"
"Where the fuck are you right now?" Lollie's voice was strained by static, too soft to carry properly through the bustling background noise behind it.
Even through the distortion of crackling speakers, there was urgency in the simple question that sent a buzzing of apprehension across her skin. The rustling of paper drew her attention, her eyes meeting Alastor's over the top of the newspaper as he snapped it to straighten the pages and turned to the centerfold. Their gaze dropped to its newsprint in the same moment, and Clover barely had time to recognize her own smile spread across the front page before it burst into flame.
"I'll call you back."
Her phone clattered to the top of the bar as she rushed forward, the flicker of green flame still dancing between dark claws as her fingers wind between them. Alastor's expression is the most confusing it's ever been at this moment, his eyes wide as he stares down into the place the paper had occupied moments before but lacking the light that normally glowed from within them. She feels the static building beneath his skin before it ever breaks the surface, ignoring the way it was beginning to warp the air around them as she forces himself into his perspective and pleads a soft question into the sputtering static that surrounds him.
"Al, what did it say?"
Husker's stare burns through the hair that hides her face from him, the cat watching every shift between the two demons sitting at his bar as he fixes himself another drink. The clattering of the glass on the counter tightened Alastor's fingers around hers as he finally lifted his head, glassy eyes staring beyond, but not into, her own as his smile snaps back into place.
"You know how those gossip rags are, all mindless blabber and busy bodying."
As unconvincing as his performance was, Clover didn't have time to deconstruct the dialog now.
The television tucked away into the far corner of the room, still surrounded by the remnants of last night's stroll through camp-cult classics, clicked on with a fizzle of static that attempted to rival the growing growl of Alastor's radio. A few seconds of scrubbing landed the channel on a crystal clear image of contrived professionalism, the final frames of a fiery logo fading into a glaring sickly green that clashed against bold colors of the screen's subjects.
"Good afternoon, I'm Katie Killjoy!"
"And I'm Tom Trench! Love is the talk of the town today in Pentagram City," The broadcasters signed on with an overly chipper introduction that pushed her ears flat, but Clover couldn't bring herself to move from Alastor's side to adjust the volume as they continued. The camera cut in close, and a flash of red overtook the screen as the masked host swiveled in his seat, feigning a look of surprise at the less-than-flattering representation of the man currently clutching Clover's hand that faded in from flames in the top third of the screen.
"The Radio Demon, longstanding terror and talk show personality, has been spotted stepping out with an unlikely new face."
The story-book style sketch she'd seen plastered across Pentagram City to warn of The Radio Demon's terror faded away as the camera cut back to both broadcasters, and her heart dropped into her stomach as another image was cut into place atop the ghastly green background.
"That's right Tom! This little bunny seems to be hopping mad for Pentagram City's most eligible bachelor."
Katie Killjoy's crimson claws curled beneath a badly-cropped candid photo of Clover during work, the image blurred slightly by the reflection of the photographer's camera against the freshly cleaned glass the photo had been taken through. The lack of quality hid her mildly ruffled appearance, the only saving grace of this particular photograph; Any more might have revealed the odd steam-curled position of her bangs or, more importantly, any other telling features that would reveal her workplace's whereabouts to the unaware masses. Before she could think too long about when exactly this affront to her privacy had taken place, the gas-masked host was leaning forward onto the desk in front of him with a waggle of his brow that twitched Alastor's claws into the tender skin of her palm.
"Talk about a Playboy!"
"Too bad the only thing you'll see bouncing is your paycheck after that two-bit, no-balls excuse for a joke." Katie, who Clover recognized only as the woman who never seemed to be able to grasp what 'extra foam' meant, drug her nails across the desktop in front of her with a screech that nearly rivaled the feedback filling the air around the hotel's trio of viewers as she turned to her co-host.
"I think you mean, lowball, Katie."
"The fuck I do!" The sick crack that punctuated the sharp slam of Katie's elbow into the lap of the man beside her served as the sound cue for the camera's next cut, pushing in on the show's now-sole hostess as she continued. "Our sources say that these two have been seen rubbing elbows all across town, could this breeding couple be the cause of The Radio Demon's latest and greatest performance at Voxtech Headquarters? Who is this new sinner who's caught his eye, and where did she learn to make such a mean cup of coffee? How long does it take to marinate a rabbit? Tune in for live updates here, at 666 News, Hell's most reliable news source-"
The weight against her palm disappeared with a soft pop, Alastor reappearing from the shadows beside the television set seconds later to crush its cord beneath his heel. Static silence fell over the lobby as the TV went dark, both demons at the bar not daring to breathe until it was first broken by a teasing, transatlantic tone.
"Nothing good on nowadays, it's a shame, really."
The joke fell flat, slamming against the harsh wall of tension that threatened to split the room with a splatter. Clover's mouth was moving before her mind had fully caught up with the situation, running away with the first unanswered question she came up with.
"What the fu- What did Vox say to you?"
Alastor was beside her again in a few sharp steps, his radio changing stations with every clack of shiny black shoes that echoed through his microphone. Her heart fluttered at the fury of his movements as he reached around her, taking the bottle of whiskey from behind the bar and pouring himself a more-than-healthy dose. The moment it took him to knock back the elixir gave her ample time to assess the situation, her eyes darting over the downward twist to his grin as he glared into the empty glass and lingering on the sloping curve of his shoulders as he sank into the seat beside her.
"I did tell you that he would not give up so easily, his tactics are as distasteful as they come." Alastor began with a hiss through gritted teeth, refilling the glass and pushing it in her direction with a grim smile. "As are mine. Does this persuade you to listen to my offer?"
"Does it make you want to talk about what happened?"
Despite the sudden intensity of her sharp reply, Alastor did not seem phased. The slow grinding of the glass against the countertop as he drew it back towards him shattered the thin amount of control she'd maintained over her frazzled nerves, Clover's fingers twitching against the bartop as her claws caught the broken skin beside black-polished nails and pulled. Liquid swirled between his fingers as he turned the glass thoughtfully between them, his voice echoing as he spoke into its depths and his lip curling around its rim.
"Quite the opposite. This- Gossip, is highly inappropriate."
Sharp teeth ground together as he swallowed, snapping back into that wide small that he fought so hard to hide behind, even now. Clover inched closer, hovering just inches from his shoulder as she attempted to gauge his current tolerance for touch. When he regarded her raised hand with the slightest of nods, it fell against him, smoothing the tenseness beneath his suit with the gentle brush of fingers across the fabric. Leaning into him, she attempted to block him from the world beyond the bar, fighting against it to bring him back into this moment with her by clearing her throat of its earlier ire and dropping it to a near whisper.
"We've not exactly been discrete about our friendship, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed."
A pointed glance to Husker behind the bar earned a huff in return, the barkeep taking Alastor's empty glass with a sharp shake of his head.
"Don't look at me kid, I don't know anythin'."
It was a lie, she knew it was, but pressing further felt contradictory to the current conversation.
"It's a low blow, even by Vox's standards." Alastor scoffed, fiddling with the edge of his glove as his radio flickered.
"It only matters because it's the truth, you wouldn't care if it was just another rumor about the 'ruthless Radio Demon', or whatever."
Husker nearly dropped the glass at the sudden rise in frequency that followed, Clover's fingers tightening around Alastor's shoulder as its wail set an ache into her teeth. The bottles of the bar rattled where they stood, knocking into each other with every breath that rose and fell through the static, each more ragged than the last. It was so different, to experience the change in close comfort to him. That haze of heat that often warped his image from a distance surrounded her as she stepped closer, its heavy humidity clinging to her skin as she dared to lean around his defenses, reaching out to brush against the skin that stretched taut across solemn features.
"Alastor-"
It was too easy for him to disappear into the depths of his own madness, slipping between her fingers as he turned his back on her to stand. The rough edges of his movements pressed into the raw, bloodied bits of her emotional state and pulled, ripping open her wounds and ruining the hard work he'd spent sewing her back together with nothing more than soft strings of sincerity and the glinting needle of his wit. He bit at his words as he returned his attention to her, straightening his suit with a sharp tug that forced a finality over the conversation.
"I will handle this."
Her hand caught the bend of his elbow as he attempted to blow past her once again, tightening around him until she began to feel the rapid rushing of blood beneath the stone of his current exterior. The radio peaked, screeching at the sudden affront to his personal space. His neck twisted with a sick crack, but he didn't yet dare to look at her as his frequencies struggled against the mess of static that fought to smother them all. Clover waited, unwilling to allow him to continue to further complicate this catastrophe without first attempting to clear his cluttered mind. Ignoring the twisting shadows that had begun to collect at their feet, Clover spoke up at the first break in the Radio Demon's noise and hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"It's done, everyone already knows. If you go out there and blow up again, you're giving Vox exactly what he wants."
Alastor grew impossibly still beside her, stuck staring off in the direction of the door, but even he couldn't hide the slow, flickering realization that softened the hard line of his jaw and pulled warmth back into his eyes from her attentive stare. He fell back onto his heels with a slow breath that popped, unfiltered, against his microphone. When he spoke again, it was without the heavy alteration of audio interference, leaving only the structured cadence of transatlantic and the echoed clarity of his microphone behind.
"So are we, by continuing to argue about this without resolution."
"Either way, he wins."
"Only if he succeeds in separating us, which will be impossible if-"
Clover dropped him like the live wire he was as her patience finally began to wear too thin to withstand his constant prodding. Her frustrations spun out of control, twisting her away from him as she wore circles in the floor between them, and Clover was unable to stop the sharp thud of her feet against the hardwood as she stood toe-to-toe against the Radio Demon.
"What the fuck does that do? This isn't just about me anymore, it hasn't been since the second Vox realized he could use me to get to you."
Alastor sputtered, his ears falling back against the sudden volume of her voice as she finally snapped. The single twist of surprise that faltered his smile was enough to sow seeds of regret in her, but he gave them little time to grow.
"Your safety will give me, and the rest of us for that matter, the peace of mind we need to be able to move forward with our lives."
The sincerity in his speech as he loomed over her was startling, Clover staring up at him as those crimson eyes shifted chocolate as Alastor nodded pointedly towards the lobby's third occupant. Despite that small glimmer of softness among the chaos they'd once again been forced to face, the inclusion of others in this painfully intimate problem they'd found for themselves further soured her opinion of his offer. It was cruel, to prey on what he had referred to as her "swiftly bleeding heart" at a time like this, but if she looked deeper, she could see the wavering resolve he was desperately grappling to maintain behind it all. His ears twitched forward, hopeful to find resolution in the softness of her voice, but Clover could give him none. She refused to allow him to so selfishly dictate the path they walked together.
"Al, I-I can't in good conscience talk about that-'' His eyes followed her vague gesture to the world beyond, narrowing as her fingers came to hover a hair's breadth from his chest but showing no signs of discomfort. "Until we talk about this, I'm sorry but it's my turn to be stubborn. I don't want to bicker with you anymore, I hate it, don't make me do this again."
Alastor stared down at the space left between them, his brow twisted in thought. The radio shifted thought stations, catching a word here or there, but she paid no mind to the contemplative hum it added to the room's tone. She hoped he'd catch her purposeful return to respecting his personal space, knowing that her constant pushing of his boundaries was equally as unfair as the soft blows he'd taken at her sentimentality. His chest rose with sudden breath, nearly filling the space between them as Alastor moved to speak, but paused once again, before finally leaning forward to press her palm flush against him.
"Sometimes you can be truly infuriating, my dear."
She couldn't help the giggle that lifted her response from the serious softness she'd settled into, the endearing tilt of his head as she slipped her fingers beneath his lapel lightening her mood. Her next play balanced on the tip of her tongue, almost too much to be spoken in front of an audience, but they'd both come this far already.
"So can you, you're very lucky that I like you."
Another flicker of uncertainty flashed across those dark eyes, Alastor's gaze glancing back toward the reflection of their position on the darkened television screen. That tightening claw of irritation took hold of her throat once again as she was reminded of the most recent affront to her affections, threatening to stop her from further smoothing the wrinkles that had formed between his worried brow. Clover stepped sideways, tugging him back to attention by red lapels and silently thanking Husker for making himself scarce for this moment in particular.
"I'm not going anywhere, nothing will change that. Not Vox, not them, and definitely not something as silly as a disagreement." Her fingers traced the line of white that now decorated his suit as her hand fell away, folding them both behind her back as she rocked forward onto her toes. "And I refuse to be used against you."
Her momentum carried her past him, feeling his eyes turn to watch as she swiftly climbed the stairs, Clover pausing briefly on the landing as her feelings fought to turn back, but she pushed forward before they could catch up with her completely. Once she was safely around the corner into her hallway, Clover fell back against fuschia wallpaper, her ears pressing forward to listen as the rumbled tones of Husker's voice drifted up from downstairs.
"What the fuck did you do?"
The beat of silence that followed was broken by the sudden tuning of a radio, and a comment that not even Clover could bring herself to disagree with.
"Husker! I'd like that television removed."