"-and that's when I learned how hard it is to get blood out of wool!" Alastor exclaimed, his arms swung out in front of them theatrically as he regaled her with tales of terror from his life. They returned to their resting place tucked behind him as they rounded yet another corner in the maze of mahogany hallways that made up his home, and Alastor gave a wistful sigh before returning to his normally chipper tone. "I do miss that coat. But! I suppose I am lucky, it was incredibly recognizable- Not the sort of thing you'd want to wear when avoiding the police."
"I think I heard about that in a podcast once." Clover hummed, her brow furrowed as she attempted to coax the remaining bits of sugar from the bottom of her cup.
"What the devil is a podcast?"
Alastor's impeccable comic timing sent the crystals cascading down her chin as Clover snorted at his response, and she scrambled to scoop them back into her mouth before he noticed. Their tour had devolved quickly into the two of the simply sharing stories as Alastor showed her the many empty rooms, which Clover didn't mind at all- Every chance to hear of Alastor's life before was one she'd take, even in hell. With a tiny hop, Clover spun herself to walk backwards so she could better see him now that she was not preoccupied with her coffee, and that a chance to talk about something more her speed had presented itself.
"It's like a radio spot, but it's not live. They do it for all kinds of things, like interviews or talk pieces, or even just sharing stories- Like how "War of the Worlds" was broadcast." Clover explained from behind her fingers, dragging them across her lips once more to be safe before continuing more openly. "I kind of miss them- There was this one, where they were telling a story about a version of the world where our fear has manifested into deistic powers that some parts of humanity have chosen to follow, and it followed just this guy- This sarcastic, grumpy posh type who was just working in this office that ended up being used as the catalyst for the apocalypse- I think you'd like it. It's nice to just be able to listen to things like that, it's no wonder radio became such a thing when it did." Her rambling tapered off into fond silence as they slowed to a stop, Alastor's eyes watching from where he'd paused just steps behind as Clover's brow furrowed beneath her train of thought. "I wonder if there's a market for podcasting in hell."
"Perhaps you should make one."
Any attempts she would have made to brush off such a suggestion jumbled together with the mess of milk and sugar that coated her tongue, sticking it to the roof of her mouth as her eyes followed the lean frame of Alastor to the silver sign set into the wall above his head. Its off-white lettering seemed to glow in the dim light of the lamps despite being unlit, and it took a second for Clover to connect the simple, sturdy soundproof door with its narrow window to the words; On Air.
"Is that-" Her pause raised Alastor's brow, and Clover wondered if she'd found another boundary she could not yet cross. "Can I see?"
Unmoving from his spot against the wall adjacent to the door, Alastor showed no signs of being uncomfortable with her request; In fact, it was quite the opposite. His eyes flashed at the question, free from the fog of his monocle and gleefully glinting in the soft lamp light that cast its sheen across crimson irises as he knocked his head back against the wallpaper behind him.
"If you would like, it's not quite fit for the public at the moment."
"There's not- Some body in there, is there?"
"Heavens no! It's perhaps a bit stained, but nothing as gruesome as that. Why, it would go rancid if I'd left it out this long!"
The watering of her mouth at the image of him leaning back against the wall with that damned turtleneck drawn tight across his chest dried up at the thought, and the leftover sugar stuck to her teeth turned to glue as she struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. Ignoring the churning in her stomach at the off-color comment from the cannibal, Clover asked a question that had been bothering her since before breakfast.
"...Alastor please tell me the meat in your fridge is not fresh."
Alastor barked a laugh, the sound layering over the radio's tittering as it echoed through the hallway.
"No, darling, it's simply venison."
The humor in Alastor's voice was visibly lost on her, the last of his laughter trickling off into a contemplative hum at her silence. Dark eyes softened with a tilt of his head, that teasing glint swallowed down into their depths as he uncrossed his arms from his chest and pushed off from the wall. His voice fell back into that sweet southern drawl as he circled her, drawing her to him like a fly as its honeyed tonality fell against her ears.
"Please believe me when I say I would never keep such things in the house while you are a guest Cher, I know you do not approve. I only hope that the reminder does not spoil your-" The tension that had begun to settle between her shoulder blades melted at the first touch of fingers against back, and the soothing stroke of his thumb across the skin that peeked through the keyhole beneath the dress's button sent a shudder through her. "Appetites."
Clover's head fell back against his shoulder as she looked up at him, her hair ruffling against the weave of his sweater as she twisted herself away from his temptations. Her throat betrayed her despite her attempts to clear it so they could continue the conversation, cracking on the first word she spoke and causing the threatening glare she shot at him to fall flat at his feet.
"Was that just a thing you started after death, or is there something about your life that the police reports didn't touch on?"
"It's nearly a necessity now, consuming other vermin wipes them from the immortal realm and keeps my powers fresh," Alastor replied, barely biting back a smug smile as he attempted to feign innocence by picking a nonexistent loose threat from his sleeve.
"...Well, I was always taught that you shouldn't hunt for sport alone."
"Precisely!" A set of keys appeared with a twirl of his fingers, their heavy iron ring swinging between his claws as Alastor moved to unlock the studio door. Their jangling felt far too loud despite the constant stuttering static radiating from the radio, but Clover's ears curiously pressed forward as Alastor continued to chatter. "Forgive the clutter, while this room might be for entertainment it's a rare occasion that I allow guests inside my private studio."
The key turned with a hollow click and the door swung inward with a horror movie-worthy creak that ended abruptly with a sharp look in Alastor's direction. As she stepped inside, Clover felt a bit let down by the perfectly acceptable scene that was laid out before her; Alastor's blood-soaked broadcasts had made quite an impression, but instead of the crime scene she'd expected to stumble into, what waited behind the door was exactly what was on the tin.
The studio was far bigger than the tiny sound-proof booths she'd run into during her single semester of Radio Broadcast seminar, seeming more like a proper workspace instead of a refurbished coat closet. Much like the rest of Alastor's home, the Red Rooms' wide windows were framed with thick velvet curtains, though these looked far more tattered and dark around the bottom than the others, and wafted a notably more acrid scent as she brushed by them in her short trip around the room. When her next step resulted in a squishing noise, Clover froze and shuffled back to better look at whatever she'd stumbled into, and found a scattering of moss spreading across the dark corners of the carpet. Its verdancy grew into the cracks of the floorboards that peaked around the edges of the decorative rug that coated the rest of the floor and wove itself into the threading itself. If this had been in any other room of Alastor's home this might have raised questions, but upon further observation of the rest of the studio, Clover decided it fit the feel- If she hadn't known better, she might have been tempted to take a peek out the window to make sure it was still the city below them and not the dark waters of a swamp, rippling with life and dotted with the reflective eyes of reptiles. A coat rack of carved bone draped with what was decidedly a dead man's coat sat in the corner beside a butchers block, a plush loveseat sat near the window, and pinnings of withered newspaper clippings decorated the wall above it, leading her eye with their haphazard placement to the centerpiece of the room.
Her hands found the top of the sound desk before she'd even looked at it, Clover carefully stepping over the web of wires that cascaded from its far side and carved valleys into the carpet as they funneled towards the large electrical cabinets that occupied the far wall. The radio panel was as dated as she expected, dotted with dials and displays that seemed vaguely familiar in function; Sliders to control volume, gain, and other such elements of audio were pushed to varying purposeful positions, meticulously marked with small swatches of white tape, but something about the setup felt incomplete. A rattling behind her tore her attention away from the technology, and Clover turned her head to find Alastor standing beside her, his claws still pressed into the worn leather desk chair from where he'd rolled it out of her way. He watched her with an intensity far different than anything he'd looked at her with before, his eyes shifting between hers and the expansive mess of cables and consoles set out in front of her, the ghost of a smile lingering along the edge of his teeth as he drew short breath between them. Clover quickly realized that he'd been anticipating her commentary, and as she turned back to his workspace, she noticed the lack of an incredibly important instrument.
"There's no microphone-"
The sudden appearance of Alastor's microphone against his palm, perfectly timed to make a point as its trademark feedback cut her sentence short, earned a fond sigh in response- Which only seemed to bolster the Radio Demon's theatrics, his transatlantic transmitting so clearly through his newly acquired prop that it startled her.
"You seem surprised."
"Not at all- I just like those really old ones, the disc-shaped ones. Like the ones in 'Singing in the Rain'."
"I'm assuming you mean a carbon microphone, the ring-mounted models."
Alastor's eyes wrinkled endearingly as his voice equalized, falling back into the more casual candace as he shifted past her, leaving his microphone standing in his place. Clover rose on her toes to watch as he riffled through one of the desk's many drawers, pulling out a battered wooden box and setting it on the desk between them. Metal latches creaked with age as they opened with a wave of his hand, revealing the crimson velvet lining and the vintage microphone cradled within.
"It was what we used in the studio in my day," Alastor continued as he carefully removed the microphone and placed it into her reluctant hands. "But now I find myself preferring the flexibility achieved with my personal model."
"Wireless- How modern," Clover said flatly, her sarcasm vibrating against her lips as it echoed back to her from his radio; But the phenomenon raised more questions, and by the time Alastor's laugh track had died off alongside his chuckling, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. "Your microphone transmits straight into every radio, so why have the studio at all?"
Alastor's smile grew wider at the question, the demon bristling with energy despite his leisurely lean against the desk's top. Dark palms splayed against the surface as he hummed with casual contemplation, but all the while his eyes watched her turn the microphone between her palms with rapt attention, following her fingers as they traced the five points of its crimson star.
"Habit, I suppose. Though, it's not so simple. My microphone, when active, does just as intended, it amplifies my voice and any other sound of my choosing- But it does have a limited range. By broadcasting through a proper tower, I assure that I reach the homes of every sinner in the city." The explanation paused her exploration, the heavy metal base of the microphone thudding against the desktop as she set it down to turn her full attention to him; This only seemed to spur Alastor onward, his shoulders straightening and his voice rising with new vigor. "Also, this studio is soundproof, and by giving myself more control of what is being broadcast I can assure that nothing slips through the cracks, so to speak."
"Because you don't always control your radio, it's part of your personality."
A comical "Ding!" sounded off from beside her almost on cue, and Clover couldn't help but snort at the slow blink Alastor gave his microphone standing beside her before jumping back into the conversation.
"That is one way to put it. As long as that light remains off, there is no way for anything to be transmitted in or out of this tower."
"You said it's a dead zone, but don't they just overlap when you're on air?"
"Not exactly. By flooding the frequency with a more stable sound from the same source and broadcasting directly from my microphone, it makes it harder for my radio to intercept that transmission. It's a fail-safe, in case I get- Well, carried away."
Clover hoped that the soft noise she made feigned understanding rather than the confusion that was currently setting a throb between her eyes. In theory, it all made sense she supposed, but the intangible was never her strong point when it came to the technology of entertainment- She could digest the intricate symbolism of a short film or describe why color grading changed the emotional tone of an image, but to explain the technical terms of motion capture or -Hell forbid- audio channels? She'd be at an utter loss, with most of her knowledge beginning and ending at the function of a camera.
Her hands returned to the microphone on the table, her thumb pressing over the woven steel of the screen as she thought back to her limited knowledge of radio. She supposed she understood, but perhaps by only the simple standards of her anecdotal evidence; It all sounded much like the instruction manual for the Bluetooth radio transmitter she used to shove into her beloved VW Bug's sole adaptor to play music from her phone, the memories of struggling to find a strong enough signal coming in far clearer than the stations she'd shifted through back then. Before the thought could wander into the more morbid territory of wondering whether her car still sat on that garage rooftop where she left it and the gnawing regret that would come from worrying over its loss, Clover cleared her throat with a somewhat strangled noise and said the first stupid thing she could think of, as usual.
"I'm guessing there's not really anyone else fighting for airtime down here."
"There was, for a time," Alastor replied mistily, his eyes fading into the far-off for a moment before they returned their focus to her. "Then they all died out."
How does one respond to that? Clover snorted to herself. The swing of her still-damp hair against her cheeks as she shook her head at the ridiculousness of him settled the unease that had begun to grip her lungs, as did the slow, not-so-stealthy slide of Alastor making his way closer to her along the edge of his desk. She waited until the heat of his leg fell against her knee before she spoke again, and Alastor was more than happy to welcome the press of her weight against him in the interim.
"...Audio never was my strong point, pictures seem so much simpler."
Those dark eyes of his watched as her nose wrinkled in frustration as she gave up on trying to understand the muddled gray area between the supernatural and science- Which, if she was remembering correctly, had never been her best subject. Something rustled beneath Alastor's planted palms as he leaned into her, drawing her attention downward to the stacks of papers littered across the desk. There were what seemed to be scripts scrawled in shorthand on plain paper with ink, the handwriting a rushed and precise cursive that she struggled to read scattered among the newsprint. She'd been too distracted to notice them before, but now it was impossible to ignore, and not only because of the stark splash of crimson that coated the pages. Every edition of Hell's newspaper that ever mentioned them sat stained on his workspace, their centerfolds ripped from the rest of the paper and the headlines warped by the crinkling of their pages between Alastor's palms; The only image that remained untouched was her own.
"We all have our areas of expertise," Alastor said, following her gaze down to the papers beneath his palms. "And some of us are content with the mediocre, I'm afraid."
"But you still read them."
His eyes narrowed as a heavy sigh dropped his voice down, its nasal quality catching on the slowly sharpening edge of his tone.
"Another habit- One that feels far easier to break under these circumstances."
"I only ever read the comics anyway."
Clover's shrug seemed to shake off the foul mood the reminder of the public's newfound interest in their love life had put him in, Alastor smiling softly at her commentary before quickly sweeping the papers into a neat stack. As he knocked it against the table to straighten the edges, the last few papers bent backward to reveal half of a familiar centerfold staring back at her.
"? ﾝﾕﾣ? ﾝﾕﾦ? ﾝﾕﾝ? ? ﾝﾕﾟ -
"Runaway Radio Demon leaves lov-
The pages disappeared into a filing cabinet as he lazily tossed them into the depths of a drawer and nudged it closed with his knee. Alastor turned to her with a calm smile, his fingers reaching out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear before he reached for the vintage microphone and began to unwind its cord. Watching as he slid it around his wrist with practiced ease and bent over the side of this console to find the proper outlet, Clover wondered if this was the right time to tell Alastor what had happened that night after his departure. He could already know, of course, but to what extent? That in itself opened up a conversation; Each perspective of that party could provide different details, and depending on the viewer, have purposely erased others entirely. Was it naive to expect Alastor to be all-knowing? As a demon of communication, his connections were endless, but Alastor was an enigma of epic proportions, so one could never be quite sure. Clover had nearly chewed off the first layer of skin from the inside of her cheek by the time she'd made up her mind, the taste of blood slowly overtaking the residual sweetness that her coffee had left behind and its color staining her lips as her tongue darted out to wet them.
"Al, about the other night-"
"If it's about the catastrophe that was your party, I've already heard from Rosie," Alastor's voice came muffled from where he'd bent down to plug in the dated technology, a thud and a radio appropriate curse interrupting him momentarily. "I regret how things had to happen, dear, I wish that I would have been by your side then but I am glad that your other comrades were there to help."
"Oh…"
His ears flicked up at the disappointment that had slipped into her tone and his head quickly followed after, Alastor still half bent over the table's edge as he turned to look back at her.
"Is something wrong?"
"No I- I just wanted to be the one to tell you about the thing with Valentino."
The microphone sprung to life with a click as he found the socket, followed by an electrical hum as Alastor froze; When he moved again, it was with a sharp crack of bone as his spine straightened, and when he spoke with such clarity it made her ears ring.
"...What 'thing' with Valentino?"
"About me punching Valentino in the face."
Alastor stared at her for a moment longer before the tension in the room released with an audible "Pop!" that echoed through his speakers as he blinked through the beat in conversation. Then, the radio rang out with the combined cackle of canned laughter and manic glee as the sharp lines of Alastor's posture crumbled like a puppet without strings.
"Hah!" The desk rattled at the fist slammed against it as he let out a classic, barking laugh. His palms cupped her cheeks quicker than she could blink, Alastor pulling her close to smush a quick, enthusiastic kiss laced with teeth against her lips. His voice was amplified to its fullest as a smile split his face, and for the second time today, Alastor swept Clover up into his arms and spun her around as he laughed. "That's my girl!"
Clover clung to his neck as she shrieked at the sudden theatrics before devolving into giggles alongside him, and by the time they stopped, she was too unsteady to stand; Not that it mattered, since Alastor had decided to drop her down onto his desk instead of returning her to her feet, an action that was becoming an incredibly endearing habit of his. The room spun around the image of Alastor all but falling into his desk chair and rolling it towards her in one fluid motion, and the effects of his antics had just begun to burn beneath her skin when he plopped an elbow onto the table by her side and propped up his chin.
"Well- Go on! Tell us the story then."
"Uh-" Clover said stupidly, resisting the urge to reach up and knock her slack jaw closed. Her captive audience waited patiently, gazing up at her with his smile half-squashed beneath his fingers and his leg bouncing in anticipation; The fact that he was being aggressively adorable about this was decidedly not helping her stage fright and was only further muddling the cocktail of emotions keeping her dizzy. Clover blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear her head, but another look at the man beaming up at her as his fingers tapped the table dangerously close to her knee sent her stomach swooping all over again. She was drunk on praise and enthusiasm, a dangerous combination that came only from the dashing demon that had laid himself almost literally at her feet to listen, and when he looked at her like that there was no doubt that he knew it. Shaking her head at the excited ripple of static that ran across him at the breath she took to speak, Clover tried her best not to disappoint.
"It wasn't anything heroic or anything. The Vee's showed up looking for a fight- Obviously, you know that- but it was just so… Pointed. They showed up in matching costumes to Angel and I, it wasn't exactly discreet. And! Vox changed my music!" Clover shouted as her residual fury began to bubble up again, her heels thumping against the wooden drawers as she resisted the urge to stomp out her agitation. "Anyway- Vox wasn't leaving me alone as usual, and then Valentino joined in and started getting into my personal space- As usual. When Angel tried to get him to stop, Valentino snapped at him to shut up and I saw red. I just- Swung. I hit him square in the jaw, I broke his glasses."
Guilt reared its ugly head as they relieved that night all over again, followed swiftly by a harsh hit of regret that landed squarely in the center of her stomach and twisted her features. Clover was surprised by how calm she sounded as she continued, the addition almost sounding like an afterthought despite the weight bearing down upon her chest.
"I broke my camera too."
"Now why would you do a thing like that?"
"I threw it at Vox."
Looking up from fiddling with her fingers, they locked eyes for a beat that lasted just long enough to count as comedic before they both let out an ugly snort and devolved into giggles once again.
"Well, we'll have to get you another one! Perhaps a sturdier model." Alastor's voice was still laced with laughter as he reclined, stretching his arms wide as he rocked back his chair, but quickly became rough with an enthusiastic growl the longer he went on. "I bet that bastard Valentino is seething, too ashamed to show his face in that crude clip joint of his. That must have been one hell of a story for the morning news."
"Oh, they're trying their best to not let it get to the public- The only people who saw it were the people who were there or the few that managed to catch a glimpse before the post was taken down."
Alastor's head lifted from where it had been tipped back to dreamily ponder his rival's social ruin, and Clover could already see the wheels turning behind his tilted brow.
"It sounds like you're telling me it was photographed."
"Recorded in technicolor."
"Now that just won't do."
Something in the daring flash of his eyes as he leaned forward sent her heart soaring; She'd almost expected him to reach for her again, her nerves alight with anticipation for his touch, but instead he moved past her and began to flick the switches on his soundboard. Clover could do little but watch as he busied himself around her, hoping his microphone would not pick up the hammering of her heart once it had sprung to life. Trapped between his arms, Clover was face to face with the full force of the bombastic, bouncy version of the Radio Demon that she'd first met all those months ago, her vision swimming with the cunning of his crooked smile and her skin vibrating with the enthusiastic humming he'd picked up alongside the music he played. It all mixed with the sound of warming electricity, a crackling of dust-ridden speakers barely turning his head as Alastor reached for a set of dated switchboard headphones and set them atop her head. The chair rolled across the carpet as Alastor fell into it, sending him spinning across the room only to return with a deft kick of his shoes, a vinyl twirling between his fingers. What he prepared to do hit her like lighting as he dropped it into the record player, and the final bit of information she'd gathered from that night came tumbling out before she could think twice.
"Alastor!" Clover's shout felt so foreign coming back to her through her headphones, and if she'd had the mind to, she might have marveled at how he'd set the system to keep it from peaking at such a sound, but she had better things to say. Alastor paused, holding the player's needle centimeters from the record's grooves as looked towards her expectantly, his posture drawn taut in suspense for what came next. "I know Vox's name."
Alastor's eyes widened, the air crackled between them, and the needle dropped into the groove with practiced precision as he reached out to flip the final switch. Through the slim window, Clover watched the dark hallway glow with a thrumming red of compressed hydrogen as the sign outside flickered on.
They were live.
"Good morning, sinners! It's a bright day in Pentagram City, but we all know that I have not graced your ears simply to report the sunny skies or the state of traffic in the town center." Alastor's voice filled her ears as he snatched his microphone from the floor beside him, his chipper transatlantic layering over the bright jingle he'd chosen to welcome in the morning with. "As many of you know, our charming charity The Hazbin Hotel opened its doors to the macabre masses in celebration of that most hallowed eve- And I must say, it was a hit on all accounts!"
Clover quickly covered her mouth so her snort wouldn't be caught by the microphone at her hip, but it was audible behind the canned laughter he played anyway, and she was helpless to stop the giggle that bubbled forth when she caught sight of how proud Alastor seemed of his own quip. The chair creaked beneath him as he kicked up his feet, resting his heels against the desktop and rocking his toes back and forth as he talked.
"It is common that events such as these often get jumbled up in the heat of the moment, swallowed down by the drink and lost like a ladies glove-" Alastor met her eye with a dazzling smile, pausing the rolling of his wrist to grip his fist with fervor, acting out his words for an audience of one. "But those of us who live to shed light on what might have gone unnoticed to the hustle and bustle of nightlife should hold ourselves to a higher standard. That is the true nature of journalism, not this nonsense that newspapers print now! But, make no mistake listeners, entertainers are dishonest by trade, but there is a line between fair use and twisting the narrative. I would like to reveal the truth of the matter if you are willing to listen."
Alastor looked to her, his brow rising above the mania that had overcome him as it broke for a split second as he searched for confirmation. It returned with new zeal as she fumbled to keep her headphones on as they nearly slipped off from the enthusiasm of her nodding, Clover inching closer to the edge of her seat as he twirled his microphone between his fingers.
"It seems the media circus has pulled yet another side-show trick on us sinners- While you all were too busy being dazzled by a simple show pony like me, the true torrid event of that fateful evening has been swept under the rug by our resident snake oil salesman!" Alastor paused, lips drawing back as his smile stretched so wide it revealed the black of his gums. "Isn't that right, Vox?"
Their phantom audience gasped at the mention, a barrage of oohing and ahhing taking over the broadcast as Alastor chuckled behind his claws.
"Now I know that romance is the easiest story to sell, but I find a good old-fashioned brawl far more entertaining. And! I have it on good authority from the most reliable of sources that one of hell's finest finally got what was coming to him on that fine Halloween evening- Right in the kisser!" Canned laughter punctuated the wide swing of Alastor's arm as he feigned a punch, but it stopped dead as Alastor's lip curled back in disgust. "Or whatever other horrid thing men do with mouths like his. Now, I know my lollygagging has got you all at the edge of your seats now, listeners- I've been dragging you along for far too long, so I will put this plainly."
The music stopped with a record scratch, Alastor leaving the silence to hang for what felt like forever before he dropped his feet to the floor with a thud that rattled the room. His voice echoed, hollow without the backtrack of sound effects and song, as he continued.
"It has come to my attention that Vox and the terrible two he aligns himself with have been removing evidence of a rather embarrassing situation; In which Valentino was struck by the talk of the town herself, the girl with the camera, my dearest friend and constant companion- Why, here she is now! Say hello, my dear!"
Clover startled at the sudden shift in conversation toward her, staring dumbfounded at the open palm Alastor stretched out towards her. Her eyes widened incredulously, and his darted to the microphone sat on the table beside her in return, his smile so self-satisfied Clover couldn't find it in herself to argue against it. She leaned down to what felt like an appropriate distance from the device, clearing her throat of its timid squeak softly before speaking into the microphone.
"Uh- Hi."
"It was a rather poor attempt to save face on their part, don't you think?"
"I think it's a little too late to save that face."
The roaring laugh track covered Clover's choked sputtering as deft fingers crept up the back of her calf as Alastor rolled closer, and the teasing tone he carried on with felt too profane for radio when combined with the heaviness of his gaze at it dragged across her form. A flash of claws against the thin skin at the back of her knee sent a shiver down her spine, Clover's muscles turning to mush beneath the warmth of his fingers as boldly lifted her leg from where it had crossed over the other.
"Hah! Well, it must be rather embarrassing, to be bested by someone who you've underestimated. Valentino surely seems to think so, since he's not allowed its evidence to spread to the watchful eye of the Seven Rings- Or perhaps Vox has finally realized what poor company he keeps? We may never know, but what we do know, dear listeners, is that this silly business regarding my relationships can now be put to rest- I don't believe I need to spell it out for you all, it is quite obvious, is it not?"
Clover's heart stuttered as Alastor's sinful touch turned soft, his thumb thoughtfully stroking the side of her knee as their eyes met. He gave her a playful wink as the needle dropped back onto the record with a snap of his fingers and a symphony of strings began, the volume slowly climbing as their broadcast came to a close.
"Everybody loves somebody sometime…
Everybody falls in love somehow...
Something in your kiss just told me, my sometime is now… "
"This is Alastor-"
"And Clover!"
"Signing off for now with a song."
With a flick of two switches, the buzz of Alastor's live feed faded away to leave only music behind, leaving her deaf to the world as a hand caught her wrist before she could remove her headphones.
"Everybody finds somebody someplace…
There's no telling where love may appear…
Something in my heart keeps saying, my someplace is here… "