"So, 6.2' at 240 lbs," Rosie confirmed as she jotted down a couple notes onto a flowery notepad. "That shouldn't be a problem at all, Sweetie. I've been doing this a long time." She handed the beady-eyed cannibal she'd been talking to a small business card with a wink. "We should have that nasty business all taken care of for you by supper tomorrow! No need to fret!"

The small bell hung above the door to her shop rang out. "I'll be with you in a second Sweetie," Rosie called out to the customer that had just entered, before in her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of red. She immediately took a second glance in disbelief. "Oh my stars, Alastor?! Is that really you?!" She excused herself and rushed out from behind the counter, lifting the hem of her dress to walk faster. "Lord have mercy, where have you been?! Just vanish without a trace for seven years—you had me worried sick! I was starting to fear you might end up in my inventory!"

She reached the Radio Demon and they both shared a kiss on each cheek. "Hello, Rosie," Alastor greeted her, his voice usually so full of life and energy, now tired and almost monotone.

Rosie pulled away in surprise and looked him over. His smile was subdued and only barely masking his distress. His eyes, nearly always emitting a faint red glow now appeared dark seeming to cast a shadow over his cheeks, while his skin which Rosie had always admired for its warm beige color now looked nearly as pale and ashen as her own. "Oh, you poor dear, you look positively dreadful…" Rosie cooed, stroking some of the vibrant red hair off his face. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and started to lead him toward the stairs to her apartment above the Emporium. "Come in, come in. Sit down, I'll get some coffee on." She momentarily turned her attention back to her customers as she guided Alastor away. "Sorry, Folks, an urgent matter has just come up, and I'll need to close up shop a little early," A moderate disappointed groan permeated the room. "I know, I know, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I promise we'll be able to get all your orders put in tomorrow."

The cannibal customers grumbled a bit but all shuffled out of the store without argument. Rosie left Alastor's side for just a moment to lock the door and flip the sign hanging in the window to 'closed' before coming back and leading him up the stairs and away from any curious bystanders who might peep in through the first story windows.

Once they got up to her apartment she opened the door and let Alastor in, gently closing and locking the door behind them. "Have a seat, have a seat. I'll fetch you something to drink," she encouraged as she hung her large sunhat on the hook behind the door and headed over to a small china set sitting on the counter. She lifted the elaborate decanter and poured the steaming black coffee into a matching porcelain cup. Then she brought it and the saucer over to Alastor who was now seated on the loveseat. She handed it down and sat next to him on the small couch. "Now then, what has you so out of sorts, my friend. This isn't the Alastor I've come to know."

Alastor closed his eyes with a sigh as he breathed in the aroma of the coffee, simply enjoying the warmth in his hand. "That, my dear, is a long and complicated tale."

"Well, we only have the rest of eternity," Rosie replied gently. "You had disappeared without a trace for seven years—it'd be foolish to assume the story wouldn't be long and complicated."

"My absence is of no consequence," Alastor replied. "I simply took a short respite—a holiday as it were. Nothing more."

"Poppycock," Rosie spat back in short order. "You expect me to believe that you, of all demons, the one that revels in the spotlight and set up the broadcast infrastructure of the entire city specifically so that there wouldn't be a spot in all of Pride that your voice couldn't be heard—you expect me to believe that you just 'took a holiday' for seven years without so much as a trace or going back to your broadcast even once? What manner of fool do you take me for?"

Alastor sighed with a weak laugh. "Well I suppose I should have known better than to think you would have believed that excuse."

"Darling, I'm worried about you, and I truly want to help," Rosie said, laying a hand tenderly on Alastor's knee. "But if you don't tell me the truth there is nothing I can do."

Alastor took a very small sip of his coffee, letting it sit in his mouth as he absorbed the flavor. He swallowed and his shoulders fell. "Rosie, my dear, you know I think the world of you. But unfortunately there are some things I simply can't disclose. It's part of the deal."

"Part of the deal…" Rosie repeated, her brow furrowing in obvious confusion. "How would—" her eyes suddenly widened in shock and horror as she pieced things together. "Oh, Alastor, tell me you didn't…!" She pleaded, her voice rising to almost a shout. Alastor's head dropped as he glanced away, giving her a clear answer. "Have you gone mad?!" Rosie exclaimed. "Selling your soul?! What on Earth could have made you so desperate that you would—" She stopped as Alastor glanced back up at her, then softened, already knowing the answer. "You were looking for her, weren't you…"

Alastor nodded subtly. He set the saucer down on the end-table, followed by the cup with a small chink. "After one hundred years, if she were in Hell I would have found her by now. Even if she'd met a fate at the end of an exorcist's blade, there would have still been something—the contract, or a soul note at least. There has been nothing. So that left only one place she could be."

Rosie was silent for a few minutes as she absorbed this news. "Well," she finally started slowly, "barring the question of how you managed to find a demon that could get you up to Heaven in the first place, since I would assume that would be confidential—"

"It is," Alastor interjected, but Rosie ignored him and continued.

"—I suppose the only other question I have right now is…were you successful?"

Alastor sighed again after a long pause. "Not completely. My end of the bargain was called in before I was able to locate her." He paused again as he recollected his thoughts. Then he chuckled to himself and continued. "It's funny: the story they tell is that the exterminations started as a way to control Hell's overpopulation. However, you would not believe how many souls are up there. I should say the numbers surely surpass the population of all seven rings combined by at least a few score."

Alastor picked up his cup of coffee again and took a sip as Rosie sat silently beside him. Her mind whirled with all this new information. Finally a new question emerged. "The princess's hotel nonsense—you don't actually believe that could work, do you?"

He swallowed shakily before replying. "My dear, after the past seven years I've had I don't discount anything. But truthfully no, I don't believe this redemption nonsense she was going on about on the picture box the other night will do any good," he paused, his hands quivering slightly as he held the small china cup. "I have my own reasons for engaging in this absurd Hotel endeavor."

Rosie didn't press any further, merely reaching out and steadying Alastor's hands around the cup. She lowered it down into his lap to keep the contents from sloshing out in his shaky grip. "Well, whatever the case may be," she said, dropping the subject, "you know, should you need help you can always come to me."

Alastor chuckled lightly. "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don't think there is anything that a mere sinner—Overlord or not—would be able to do for me now."

"I don't just mean about this, I mean anything," Rosie insisted, her sweet voice taking on an almost maternal tone. She pulled the cup from Alastor's weak grasp and set it aside on the end table as she continued, "For example, when was the last time you slept? You look as though you haven't so much as shut your eyes in those past seven years!"

Alastor's face scrunched up, and though he still wore a smile Rosie could see the immense pain behind it. "Rosie dear, you know why I can't…" he whimpered in a voice uncharacteristically weak and timid.

Rosie laid a hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her, "Al… that magic can't keep you awake forever. Sooner or later you'll need to pay the dues," she paused to push some of the vibrant red and black hair off his face. "And at least here you won't be alone."

Alastor sat silent. As much as he wanted to deny it Rosie was right. Even if he wanted to keep the spell going, at this rate it would start to fail soon. He simply didn't have the energy to keep it up for much longer. He sighed, wearily letting his shoulders drop as he rubbed his sore aching eyes. "You are right, Rosie. As always you can be counted on to talk sense."

Rosie gave a short good natured chuckle. "Well, it's about time you acknowledged it," she said, wrapping her arms around her friend and pulling him in, laying him against her shoulder. She leaned back into the crux of the armrest to the loveseat."Just rest. I'll be right here beside you."

At first Alastor's body tensed, ready to flee again like a stag that had just caught whiff of the hunter's scent. But soon he relaxed, sinking into Rosie's embrace, his forehead nestled against the side of her neck. Rosie gently traced her finger along the ridges of Alastor's antler as she listened to his breathing quiet and slow. As long as they had known each other, Rosie had only seen him sleep a few times. It had been back when he had first appeared in Hell, but each time he'd been plagued by horrible nightmares which would jar him awake shaking in a cold sweat and cursing to himself about how he was never going to sleep again. It wasn't long until he'd used his skill with voodoo to make it so that he could get by for decades on only a light doze, but even that wasn't a perfect solution. Each time he cast it the effect would drain more and more of Alastor's energy and life away. Rosie didn't know the full content of these visions that had cursed her closest friend—when asked, Alastor would refuse to talk about it—but she had managed to piece a few things together: that they all had to do with his mother…and what had happened to her. Again, when asked Alastor would avoid the question, but it had been something horrible. Something he had witnessed. Something that had essentially broken him. And realistically she didn't need to know any more than that.

Alastor's fluffy ears slid and dropped off to the side as he finally fell asleep. He was always so stiff and tense, seeming to constantly be right on the cusp of fighting or flying, to have him there lying prostrate in her arms, for the first time not flinching at the slightest touch, it was magical as holding a newly born fawn. She hugged him a bit closer, resting her cheek against the top of his head, carful to avoid the points of his antlers. The soft fur that covered his cervid ears tickled her face gently as they twitched unconsciously in his sleep. She smiled thinking how she'd be willing to sit like this with him forever. "Just rest," she whispered again. "I'll be right here."