Isobel really started to question her life choices when she found herself three drinks in, sitting on the floor between Angel's legs as he wove a chunky Dutch braid out of her long dark hair. She listened attentively as he regaled her with all the ins and outs of recording sex acts for a living. It was actually quite interesting.
Charlie was worse off. Already tipsy with her blonde hair trailing down in twin French braids. She sat on the other side of the coffee table tracing the rim of her glass with a finger and watching the rain run down the big hotel windows.
"Are you really just biding your time until you find a way out?" Charlie sounded almost sad.
"Sure. What else can I do?" Isobel winced as Angel pulled her hair tight.
"But what if, not that I'm saying it will happen of course, but what if you can't find a way out?"
Isobel dropped her gaze.
"I try not to think about that."
"Stop moving ya head," Angel said as he yanked her back upright.
"You could stay here with us." Charlie continued.
Isobel smiled. Charlie was probably the sweetest person she had ever met, definitely nicer than most humans.
"And search for redemption? Would that even work for a soul that hasn't been properly condemned? Or do I just hang out until I get old and die? I wonder what would happen then."
"Would that be so bad?"
"Nah, but if that were the case, I guess I would have to find a purpose."
"A purpose?"
"I can't just drift around. I need something to do or I'll go crazy."
"We could find you a purpose. Right, Angel? What do you think?" Charlie looked up hopefully, just knowing that Angel would have some words of wisdom at this time.
Angel sighed putting the final touches on Isobel's hair, "I think you're depressing the hell out of me. Here." He picked up his little pet demon-pig, Fat Nuggets, who had been snoozing on the couch and plopped him down in Isobel's lap. Fat Nuggets always made everything better. "You," he pointed at Charlie. "Drink more until you're happy again."
They took Angel's advice, and even convinced Vaggie to join them. They drank as the rain outside turned into a storm. So by three in the morning they were all sloshed. The sound of thunder rattling the windows was only beat by the sound of four drunks singing and laughing at the top of their lungs. Unfortunately, their noise attracted the attention of the hotel's management.
Alastor descended the stairs, hands clasped behind his back. With each step the sound of merriment grew ever louder. He found Husker at the bottom leaning on the banister and looking on with an amused expression. Alastor stopped and gave him a disapproving look.
"What?" Husk shrugged. "It's funny."
Alastor said nothing and walked into the fray. Just as he came around into their view a flash of lightning threw shadows around the room and a loud clap of thunder followed causing them all to scream and then laugh. Piled on top of eachother on the couch, they were like hysterical teenage girls under the chiding glare of their stern father.
Alastor sighed, surrounded by children.
"Terribly sorry to interrupt," he said. "But it is quite late. Perhaps it is time to go to bed."
"Oh, Al," Charlie drunkenly said, rising from the couch to lean on his shoulder. "Don't be such a party pooper."
This caused a cascade of more giggles.
"No, no, Alastor's right," Vaggie, always the voice of reason. "Let's call it a night." She was far less drunk than the others, so she was able to throw Charlie's arm over her shoulder and half guided/ half carried her away.
"Husker," Alastor called over his shoulder. "Perhaps you can escort Angel to his room?"
Husk rolled his eyes and pretended to be very put out, even though everyone knew it was an act. He tucked Fat Nuggets under one arm and ushered Angel with the other. By the time they had reached the stairs Angel had practically draped himself over Husk.
Alastor turned back to Isobel, who was still lounging on the couch. He offered his hand.
"May I?"
Isobel eyed it, but rose on her own.
"Thank you, but don't worry about me. I'm fine." She started to walk away.
Believing that their previous interaction had put a healthy dose of fear in her and that she was now shying away. He called after her to reassure.
"It's no trouble at all. The stairs can be quite treacherous for someone in your state. Can't have you falling and breaking your neck. What would Charlie think?"
"Alastor," she turned back to face him and suddenly her demeanor had changed. Clear eyed, straight, and sure, she stood before him unwavering. There was no hint of fear on her at all. Not in her voice, not in the way she stood, not in the way she looked at him. "I'm not drunk."
That much was clear now. Then why the act?
"You certainly give a convincing performance."
"Well," she shrugged. "That's just what the situation called for." He waited for further explanation. It was an old tactic. Stay silent long enough and your opponent will confess all their sins. Apparently, Isobel was not immune, because after a small pause she continued.
"You see, I'm adaptable. At least that's what I'm told. I have the ability to judge a situation and adapt to what I need to be in the moment. So sometimes that means I'm casual and curse a lot, sometimes I pull out the four dollar words and engage in witty banter, and sometimes I'm silly and act a bit drunk."
"I see," he nodded. "So it's all a show."
"When you say it like that it sounds like I'm trying to be sly."
"Are you not?"
"It's not like I do it on purpose. Most of the time, I don't even know I'm doing it." She turned away and paced closer to the windows and the storm outside. "I'm told it's a defense mechanism, because I get anxiety in social situations. But I don't really buy that. I think I just rather be on my own and it's a bitch convincing people to like you." She sighed, and seemed to trail off somewhere inside her own head, like she was no longer speaking to him, but rather to herself. "People just take so much effort, but you can't ever be alone, because that means you're lonely, right? And lonely is unhealthy. So you have to socialize with people and all their incessant noise, because that's healthy. However, all you really crave is… silence."
A lightning strike illuminated the windows and Isobel's face. In that split second of eerie light, Alastor thought that he could almost see the demon Isobel would have been if she had come to Hell in the usual manner. Black horns twisting to the sky, smoldering red eyes, dark and formidable. In that moment he knew that if this creature was real he would have to destroy her.
In a flash the vision was gone as the lightning passed. She turned to him as if she had forgotten he was there. He eyes recognizing him for the first time. She must have drank more than she thought because she was talking far too much.
She held him in her emerald glare for an instant before smiling softly.
"Anyway, I'm adaptable."
Alastor nodded and took a step closer, he felt that perhaps he had a new understanding of this soul standing before him.
"In that case," he waved a finger and two glasses appeared floating between them, each with two fingers of scotch. He took one and held it up. "To being adaptable."
She gladly took the other glass (She thought to herself how wonderful it must be to wield magic.) and gave a little salute. They both drank.
"You know," he said, swirling the liquid in his glass. "I believe you sell yourself short by saying you don't belong here. You seem clever enough. In time you could be quite the formidable ally."
"No."
"Come again?" She had said it so softly that he wasn't sure he had heard right.
"I said, no." She sighed. "Listen, against my better judgment, I have grown a certain fondness for you, for everyone in the hotel, but I am not like you."
"And how is that?" He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.
"For lack of a better word? Evil. Psychotic. I'm sorry, but I'm not the ally you are looking for."
He stared at her slightly tilting his head to the side. He still could not quite understand her. Just when he thought he had the information needed to figure her out, her motives remained an enigma. What did she want?
She smiled at him again, a kind of sad unsure smile.
"I think you were right," she said. "It is late. So I will be off to bed. Thanks for the drink."
She handed her glass to him before retreating up the stairs. Once she had disappeared into the darkness, Alastor looked down at her drink and realized she had not taken even a sip.
