When Anthony was far enough away that no one could see him anymore, the radio demon broke the spell of silence surrounding the hotel, "Well, that was quite the spectacle!"
Alastor was thoroughly amused. He'd originally thought redemption was wacky nonsense, but Hell was certain to be abuzz with gossip about this new development. He could be flexible with his entertainment, even if he had no intention of earning his own halo. To stay on top of Hell's news, he'd need to do a segment on Angel Dust for his radio show before the day was out.
Snapping his fingers, Alastor summoned a butcher whose soul he'd obtained ownership of back when they were still alive. Living humans were often foolishly seeking paranormal assistance with their dark deeds. This one had been looking for a way to get away with abusing and killing his wife. Alastor detested domestic abusers, so he'd delighted in tormenting this scum after they finally died.
"I have job for you," He grinned at the frightened butcher. Usually, Alastor only summoned him when he was in the mood for a little recreational torture.
"What job?" The butcher noticed Valentino's body on the ground.
"Have this man chopped up into some nice quality cuts, will you? I have tea with a friend this afternoon and would like to bring her a little gift. And make sure you get all the bullets out."
Elida wrinkled her nose at that, "I haven't commented on your cannibalistic tendencies, but don't you think this guy would taste awful?"
Charlie gaped at her, "Why is THAT the first problem you think about here?"
Elida poked the body with her hoof, "It seems a fool's errand to try to stop Alastor from doing whatever he wants, but this guy gives me the ick."
"He doesn't have any tattoos, so he'll taste the same as any other wayward soul," Alastor assured.
"What do tattoos have to do with it?" Vaggie asked.
"Tattoos ruin the taste," Elida answered, prompting everyone to stare at her.
After an awkward silence and several raised eyebrows, Husk asked, "How the fuck would you know that?"
Elida just looked at him innocently, soft eyes showing no sign of darkness or malice, "When I was alive, I'd listen to a lot of true crime podcasts. I found them relaxing," she shrugged, "It's a girl thing. Still," she turned to Alastor, "Is it really necessary to chop this guy up? Can't we just cremate the body and let it be? If we need to bring a gift to tea, I can bring some potions?"
Alastor began walking back inside, leaving the butcher to do his work, "Waste not want not. Why, dear Rosie regularly farms sinners for their flesh. They're killed, they regenerate, then she kills them again, and so on until they're permanently slain with an angelic weapon. It keeps everyone in Cannibal Town fed and happy. Quite resourceful if I do say so myself."
Horrific as the thought was, Elida understood that logic, even if she disagreed with the morality of it. She couldn't imagine the kind of existence those poor sinners were experiencing, but an infinite supply of food for an entire city at least made sense for people who were unconcerned with the moral failings of it. Wondering how many of those farmed souls had intentionally put themselves in front of an exorcist's blade just to free themselves from the torturous cycle, Elida decided that she wouldn't be eating anything that resembled meat when they went for tea.
When Marcel left, Elida wondered who Alastor had written to. He'd slipped three red envelopes into Marc's bag when he thought no one was looking. Two could have been explained by the two redeemed sinners, but who was the third for? She wondered if she should ask him, or if that would be too personal of a question. He'd obviously been trying to be discreet.
Once everything had settled down, Elida took a break from potion making to prepare for tea with Rosie. She wanted to be presentable, and a shirt splattered in Valentino's blood wasn't the best look, at least not in her own opinion. Choosing a classy cocktail dress with pink blossoms along the neckline, Elida tucked a flower from one of the unwanted bouquets into her hair and went to find Alastor. He looked exactly the same as he always did: singed red jacket, an oddly angled haircut, and heeled tap shoes.
"My, what a lovely color on you," he complimented, offering his arm, "Ready to go?"
She took it, "I am. Where's Charlie?"
"Right here," Charlie popped her head out from a room down the hall, "Just a sec." She disappeared and came back a minute later with a box of cupcakes in her hands, dragging Vaggie behind her. "Okay, let's go. I haven't seen Rosie since before the battle. Do you think she'll like these?"
"Be careful darling, or she may try to adopt you," Alastor joked, opening the front door for the ladies in his company.
The butcher had just finished carving up Valentino. He wrapped the cuts of human meat in paper and stacked them neatly in a box. He didn't want to know what would happen if the notorious overlord was displeased with his work in any way, so he'd done his best to ensure everything was immaculate. Alastor instructed him to follow behind them with the delivery. The box was heavy, but it was better than getting torn to shreds again. He did his best to keep up while they walked, despite the load. The angel with him, bless her, noticed his labored breathing after a bit and cast a spell to make the box drastically lighter.
The butcher listened as the group chatted with each other, the domestic image of a docile Alastor a confusing difference to the cruel and violent version he'd had the misfortune of coming to know. But he'd take this far friendlier face of the radio demon any day over the one that took so much sadistic pleasure in hurting him. He hoped he'd be dismissed before his owner got too bored.
"Ah! Alastor, Charlie, madame ambassador, right on time," Rosie's friendly voice sent chills down the butcher's spine. "And this must be the girlfriend you told me about!" He kept his distance as everyone exchanged hugs and greetings. He knew all too well what this other overlord was capable of.
"Who's this you got with you?" She asked, noticing him.
"Just a little present for you, don't mind the delivery boy. I thought you might enjoy some fresh cuts of meat," Alastor gestured for the butcher to present the gift, "Valentino made the mistake of visiting this morning." The interference in his voice increased, making his words sound even more threatening.
"Oh, aren't you just the sweetest thing!" She turned to the butcher, "Why don't you go ahead and give that me."
The butcher was all too happy to relieve himself of the macabre package, breathing a sigh of relief when Alastor sent him away. Rosie placed the box on a table and inspected the contents before handing it to another cannibal with instructions to put the meat in a refrigerator.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Rosie," Elida reintroduced herself politely, "Tell me about this party of yours."
They all sat together at a table laden with varied snacks. Some were innocent, like sweets, cheeses, and crackers. Others were less pleasant, like skewered eyeballs and literal finger food. Elida, Charlie and Vaggie all stuck to fruits and tea. Alastor helped himself to the lot.
"Every now and then I like to enjoy a bit of polite society, so the cannibals and I throw a formal ball. Alastor hadn't missed a single one until he mysteriously disappeared," She gave him a look, "Now that you're back, I expect you'll grace us with your presence?"
Alastor plucked one of the eyeballs off the tray, "Of course, darling, you can count on it," He popped it into his mouth.
"And you two?" Rosie looked affectionately at Charlie and Vaggie, "I'm sure you could use a night out after all that stress you've been under," Rosie refilled Charlie's cup.
She had stars in her eyes, imagining a magical night of fancy gowns and fairytale romance, "That would be amazing! When is it?"
"Next month, on Cannibal Town's founding anniversary. Madame ambassador, can I count on you lighting up the room as well?" Rosie ate a pickled finger.
"Feel free to call me Elida. And I'd love to go, but I have one little problem…" She cringed a little, "I don't actually know how to dance at a formal event. My own genre is a bit… wilder than that, you know? I'd either look ridiculous or just be standing there awkwardly the whole time."
"I beg your pardon? You can't dance?" Alastor clutched his chest incredulously like the melodramatic theatre kid he was.
Elida shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish, "I've never really had a reason to learn."
"Well, I'm sure we can sort that out," Rosie comforted, "Alastor is quite the dancer, why don't you teach her, darling?"
"Certainly! I can't bring a guest that's so woefully unprepared. We'll set aside one hour every day while your potions simmer. Agreed?"
Elida hesitated, "Well, I don't know h-"
"Oh! What if you taught a dance class at the hotel?" Charlie asked, leaning toward Alastor excitedly, "It could be a nice wholesome activity for people to do that could help our guests make friends and keep them occupied instead of going out to do drugs."
"Dear, you interrupted miss Elida." He turned to the blue doe, "You were saying?"
Charlie shrank a bit, "Oh sorry."
"It's okay sweetheart, it's a great idea," Elida reassured, happy that Alastor was paying enough attention to hear her try to talk. Usually, men tended to steamroll over her if she didn't speak fast enough. The more time she spent with him the easier it was to understand why her coven sisters were so comfortable allowing him into their private space. "I was saying that I don't know how much I can learn in a month. I've never been to a formal event. What about etiquette rules that I don't know about? Or even just a dress? This is the fanciest thing I have, and it's hardly enough for a ball."
"Oh, we can take care of that," Rosie stated, "We'll have something custom made to your measurements."
"That's only one problem solved out of three."
"I'll take care of the other two," Alastor declared, popping another eyeball in his mouth. They were so juicy. "As for dance classes at the hotel, I suppose that could be arranged, but not until after the ball. Elida's lessons are time sensitive. A larger group would be a distraction that would slow her progress. Should you two need assistance, however, I would be more than happy to prepare the both of you alongside Elida. You'll be my guests as well after all."
"That's okay," Charlie replied, "Dad's had me in lessons since I was little, and I've seen Vaggie dance before. But maybeeee we could get new dresses, too?" She gave Rosie her best puppy dog eyes, imagining Vaggie in an elegant gown surrounded by sparkles and rainbows.
"Of course, honey," Rosie laughed, "We'll get you all measured before you leave."
The rest of their little tea party was cozy and pleasant, with Alastor treating them all to a slew of food-related puns. One even managed to make Vaggie laugh, much to her chagrin, as she snorted hot tea out through her nose. It hurt like a bitch.
Elida enjoyed the little break after such a stressful week. Moving to Hell was a scary transition and as peaceful as she appeared outwardly, it was tough being on edge every minute of every day. She hoped she would get used to it enough to make it through the next 5 years. But Rosie was friendly and disarming, and Elida felt welcome with her. It helped.
She elected to shrink and ride on Alastor's shoulder on the way back, enjoying the heat he radiated and listening to Charlie yammer on and on about how excited she was for the ball. It made her a bit sleepy after all the tea. She hadn't noticed herself dozing off until she woke up, still 3 inches tall, but safely in her bed at the hotel, door locked, and radio turned on at a low volume. It wasn't very late, but she decided to stay there and call it an early night. She'd earned a bit of rest.
After finding Elida asleep on his shoulder and placing her safely in her room, Alastor got comfortable in his radio tower. News of Angel Dust was already all over Hell due to those infernal cell phones everyone had, but as the host of the hotel, Alastor had all the juicy details leading up to the event. He made sure his segment included details that no one else had shared, watching as his ratings spiked again. His satisfaction at mentioning Valentino's humiliation was particularly amusing. The other Vees were going to be livid with him. After he regenerated, he was going to have a rough time.
When his show was over and the station switched back to music, Alastor sat back in his chair, considering what he would need to teach his guest for Rosie's party. Picking a typewriter out of a cabinet under his desk, he typed out a few things that she would need to know. Dance cards, the itinerary, classic partner dances, social faux pa's to avoid, and the like. The list was intimidating to the untrained eye, but he wasn't worried. Elida was intelligent and had a sort of natural grace that would come in handy.
He leaned back, considering for a moment. Eventually he picked up an old rotary phone and dialed Rosie. She answered. He requested that Elida's dress be made in his signature strawberry red. Rosie agreed, knowing Alastor's shade well by now.
If Heaven's ambassador showed up to such a formal event both on his arm and matching his attire, it would only solidify the image he'd been working on building of them being close. Deals took time to cultivate, and maintaining the idea that people could only get to her through him would require effort. The devil was in the details, and he was no stranger to playing the long game. He also just really liked the color red.
He checked on Elida through the radio in her room. She was still the size of a fairy and passed out cold. It was odd how she'd dozed off so easily. Most people are too uneasy around him to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep until they thought he was gone. It was for good reason. He wasn't a safe person to be around for most people. But Elida almost seemed to trust him. Then again, she was an angel; Most people in Hell couldn't hurt her if they tried. Perhaps she was just naïve and overconfident.
As his mind wandered, he thought about the letters he'd sent up to Heaven with that pathetic lovestruck boy who'd been foolish enough to follow Elida all the way to Hell. He'd sent two letters of congratulations to Pentious and Angel Dust, as manners demanded, and one that was significantly more personal.
He'd hoped no one had noticed him slip the letters into the courier's bag. He didn't want anyone asking questions. He had a ruthless reputation to maintain, and writing heartfelt letters to anyone, let alone a citizen of Heaven, would mess with the carefully curated image he'd built. He left the envelopes unmarked, but the letter itself was handwritten and signed with his full name.
He planned what excuse he'd make if someone mentioned the letters to him. He'd insist there were only two; And anyone who claimed otherwise would be laughed off. No one needed to know about it.
He would need to find a way to hide the letters if he received a reply, which he suspected was inevitable. His first thought was to burn them once they were read, but he knew he could never bring himself to do that. Not after all this time of painful separation.
No one ever went into his radio station; everyone was too terrified of him for that. It was an obvious hiding place for anyone who grew suspicious, but there weren't many better options. Perhaps he could commission a spell from Elida that would store them in some pocket dimension, but then he'd need to figure out an excuse as to why he wants it. She might insist on knowing the reason. He could ask a different witch, but that might offend her, which he couldn't risk at this early stage.
He had his own magic, but despite having a vast range of abilities, hiding something small and fragile without damaging it would be a tough feat for him. He racked his brain a bit more before settling on simplicity. He'd keep them in a box under his desk, buried under a pile of old newspapers. If it looked innocuous enough, then even if someone came snooping through his stuff and lived to tell the tale, they would be unlikely to bother looking there.
Despite how complicated it would make things, Alastor desperately hoped he would receive a reply. After all, his mother had been the only person in the world he'd ever truly loved, and he missed her more dearly than any letter could possibly express.