Alastor adjusted his bowtie, his signature grin already plastered onto his face and walked up the elegant steps that led up to the Montenegro mansion. He had never looked so dashing, he thought and had never been so confident.
His tuxedo had never seemed so sharp, never so colorful, and complemented his look quite so well, and if he had previously had any nerves in regards to seeing Anthony again, they had been quite quelled by a particularly delicious murder he had taken part in the other day.
In all his time straying from the path, ignoring his true calling, he had never stopped listening, passively gaining information.
He had been to his fair share of Montenegro's parties, and through him had occasionally been invited to parties of other big fish that typically liked him. His networking could've been better, of course, but that was all about to change.
In those parties that he had never failed to attend, he heard casual name drops, heard murmured conversations through doorways, and even simply used a little bit of magic to extend his hearing and listen where people did not want him.
He knew much more of Montenegro's inner dealings than the man would've liked him to - that included his enemies, his friends, and those among his allies who coveted what he had, and that Montenegro had to keep an eye on. A while back, before the whole scandal with Anthony, Alastor had heard an unsettling conversation between two of Montenegro's higher-up henchmen.
They were discussing a paid crony of D'Emilio's, a rocky ally of Montenegro's, whom Montenegro was always on the fence about. He had seen him grimace when his name was said, and looking overall dissatisfied at his involvement with D'Emilio.
In any case, the henchmen were speaking of a young girl that the man had raped - some girl from some random family or other, probably of a person far below the food chain, with no right to complain and no way to, unless they wanted to be killed. Despite the savagery of the act - which, from what Alastor understood of the men's descriptions, had been quite savage - D'Emilio had done his job to cover up the incident loosely, though people had still heard of it due to the extremity of the act.
Alastor had still heard. And so, one pretty evening not too long ago, Alastor delighted himself in a little killing spree. Oh, he had been careful about not being seen, he had planned the details, hypnotized all he needed in advance, and laid everything out as if he were playing with little dolls.
And a few days before Montenegro's party, he had exterminated D'Emilio and his cronies. Well, them and a few other hired guns, necessarily - he couldn't be too obvious about it, anyway. He had had a rough time getting that burned tire smell off of him after he had set them all aflame, but what a sight they had provided! How beautiful it had been to make a little s'mores party out of them! Oh, they hadn't liked being invaded like that, but then again, neither had their victims.
Too bad. Indeed, seeing their flesh melting off their very bones had been something like music to the eyes, and Alastor had cackled until they'd been reduced to quiet, sad little charred remains. With a cheeky little bounce to his step, he rang the doorbell to Montenegro's party. This party was a particularly big one - it seemed that Montenegro had been planning it for some time, now.
Alastor was waited on with exceptional politeness and attention, and the live band that played was barely a decibel above the polite chatter of the massive crowd, all in their best garb. To the untrained eye, the conglomeration of people made sense as it was a large party, even if that untrained eye could spot all the big fish that had made their way here tonight.
But Alastor knew better. There were a few characters that rarely made their way out of the holes that they typically came out of. Here he could see Weisz, there Sanchez, Antonopolous, Ksiven - big names, belonging to big men, lured out by the murder of D'Emilio. Oh, D'Emilio certainly hadn't been as important as all that, not to cause a real stir in the community - but Alastor knew why they were all here. They had found nothing. He was traceless, an invisible ink that disappeared in all light.
He had left nothing - not a hint, not a mark, not a witness. D'Emilio and six of his men had vanished one lovely Tuesday evening, and then been found the next day so burned that it had taken a few days of forensics to recognize their remains. Alastor could've giggled - he had expected a turnout, but this was next level! No speculation served, no real suspect, no real motive, nothing.
It was enough to put everyone on edge, for all these big fish to look around their pond for a shark, wariness and distrust behind their stiff smiles, the tension leaking into the firmness of their grips as they held their glasses of champagne.
He accepted a cigarette that he would not smoke, and a glass of champagne that he would only sip at, and was immediately wrapped up in conversation from the very beginning of the evening.
He was much more forward, much more involved than he had been in other parties, and his presence seemed to be quite popular, people calling to him here and there so that if he so desired, he might be actively speaking to people all evening. There was, of course, one eye of his that remained out for Anthony, but at least for the first couple of hours, the boy was a no-show. Good.
It would be best if there was nothing to distract Alastor from the task at hand. The evening went by smoothly, and halfway through it, Alastor even found himself in Montenegro's inner circle, laughing and enjoying himself with all the other big fish. He fixed his sights on one, and then the other, and then the other. And he took great pleasure in knowing that none of them knew what he was thinking, that he would end them, that he would devour them.
He wondered what each of them would taste like, what their screams would feel like when he slipped them into his mouth, how their eyes would turn from arrogance and hatred to pain and pitifulness.
Oh, how he longed to flip them all like socks, as he should've been doing for some time now. Well, he had joined the party late, but it still wasn't too late. He didn't know what had taken him so long to truly activate, but he could feel all his potential bubbling within him like a champagne bottle about to burst.
He momentarily excused himself from the circle that he was in to go to the bathroom, needing to gather himself a little - he was simply getting too excited, getting too wrapped up in his ideations, in all the different ways that he might end them, in all the elaborate plans he could concoct.
He knew he would have to wait, that he was a longer game, that he would have to see and analyze each interaction that his chaos inspired to measure how he would topple them all. He grinned at the lot of them after cracking a particularly good joke and then slipped away from all those disgusting old men.
On his way to the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of one of the hallways, and his reflection seemed to smile at him before he did.
In the mirror, there was a dashing young gentleman - his suit was perfect, his smile was impeccable, his teeth gleaming, and he had a fire that would not be quenched burning within him. He felt on top of the world, the great snake that would devour all it desired. It was almost New Year's, the year about to become 1931, and New Orleans was preparing itself for a booming winter.
It was dawning on a new day, and it would be Alastor's to take when it did. And then Anthony appeared in the reflection behind him. "You like what you see?" He asked, clearly referring to the fact that Alastor had narcissistically been watching his own smiling face in the mirror.
Alastor turned around, his shock and feelings immediately becoming buried by his conscious mind as he was Anthony. This time, he wouldn't let his facade drop in front of Anthony, not like he had been allowed before.
And somehow, it worked. "Anthony!" He greeted, and the falsity of his tone even made him cringe, too. "I hope you're feeling well," he said, still smiling. God, did it pain him, deep, deep down to speak to Anthony in such an artificial way. But he was riding his wave of insanity, and there would be nothing to stop it as it crashed into the buildings of his life. Besides, he could never return to the familiarity that they had once had, not now that Anthony hated him.
He raised an eyebrow at him, at his stiffness, probably. "Great, I did a few lines of coke before coming here," he joked. Alastor paused, unsure of how to react. That had always been the problem with Anthony - he took him off script. At his hesitation, Anthony snorted, amused. "Well, aren't you back to being my daddy's little puppet?" He said, almost laughing, but Alastor thought he could perceive a tinge of bitterness, of pain behind his tone. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." "Oh, nothing, nothing," Anthony said with a sarcastic little sigh, he looked like he was about to leave, but there was something about Alastor that seemed to call to his attention. He neared him, his brow furrowed, as if inspecting him. Alastor stood very stiff as he was being observed, unsure of what he should be doing, or how he should even take Anthony's actions.
He was looking him so deeply in the eyes it was almost unsettling. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was bloodlust in your eyes," he told him, and though his tone was still light, there was a seriousness to it that he couldn't conceal.
It completely took him aback. "Ant!" Someone suddenly called from behind them, saving Alastor from having to respond to that incredibly unsettling comment. They both looked back to see Ashton walking towards them. Despite all his time interacting with the family, Alastor had never really spoken to Ashton - he saw him hovering around Montenegro like a little fly, always trying to look intimidating.
And technically, the boy certainly looked the part. He always had a crisp suit on, his hair combed back in a classic old-timey-bully do, gelled to the point where Alastor worried for his pores. The good family genetics had found their way to him, what with his square jaw, his prominent chin, and his slanted cheekbones.
He might have been the poster family man of the 1950s if it weren't for the fact that the 1950s were still twenty years away. But there was something… insipid about Ashton.
It wasn't just because Alastor had been negatively predisposed towards him by Molly and Anthony's comments, but there was simply something off about his face like he was a brute. Dumb, and tasteless, Alastor did not doubt that a man like this would taste like barren vegetable broth. "Are you disturbing our guests?" Ashton said with a little sing-song voice as if he were scolding a naughty child.
He paused when he realized that he was talking to Alastor. "Oh," his grin widened. "Mr Cormier, how kind of you to entertain my brother." "I assure you I am not entertaining him," Alastor told him, smiling through the ire that suddenly burned through him. Ashton neared - despite the fact that both he and Anthony were quite tall, he was still a head above them, the great jock. "Oh, that's right - Dad's not paying you to be his babysitter anymore," he added as a casual comment. Alastor was completely taken aback by his rudeness.
The two of them had barely exchanged words before for him to make such a bold statement, even if it did involve his brother, who he was close to. Alastor could tell that Anthony had utterly withdrawn with that comment, that he had gone into his shell and would never answer. Of course, just the fact that Anthony had addressed Alastor was a milestone, but now any sort of progress was gone. Alastor didn't skip a beat. "He never did in the first place," Alastor told him, his tone cruel but the smile still on his face.
Ashton had been taking pleasure in watching Anthony become small, but he snapped back to Alastor, not having expected him to reply in such a manner. Ashton ran his tongue through his teeth. "Maybe if he had paid you, Anthony wouldn't have ended up in the hospital," Ashton said, trying to keep his voice level but failing pathetically. "Perhaps you would like to join him there next." "ASHTON!" Came their mother's saving voice. She had saved Alastor.
If she hadn't interrupted the conversation, only god knew how it would've ended up. All three of them seemed to have been slapped by Alastor's comment, so out of place, so violent and silencing of Ashton, utterly unexpected considering Alastor's manners. Ashton looked from Alastor to his mother, who called him again, as if unsure what to do.
He pursed his lips and made his way towards her like a good little lap dog. Alastor was appalled at what he had done, could not believe he had gotten so out of control, and had risked the good disposition of Montenegro by insulting his son in such a way. He felt his heart slamming in his chest.
And here he thought he had finally gained some indifference. "Alastor-" Anthony began, but Alastor needed to isolate himself immediately and gather himself properly. "Excuse me," he interrupted, rushing away to finally go to the bathroom and get some alone time.
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legal disclaimer I do not own either franchise
that are being used in this story. This is purely a fan work for fun no money is being made. Please go support the official releases for both franchises.