Here we are ! Another chapter of this little fanfiction ! I really don't how to write Niffty, I just hope she's not to OOC in this chapter ...

Anyway, like always, I hope you'll like it ! And just in case, I read all your comments, so don't hesitate to give your opinion ! ;)

Since their little bet, Vaggie had been less distant with him. This had surprised Alastor, but he'd come to appreciate this new closeness. Not only it was good news for Charlie's manipulation (what could be closer to the person you wanted to manipulate than her current partner!), he'd found in Vaggie a much more mischievous character than he'd first thought.

Although she had a military, authoritarian character and an unwavering determination for Charlie's project, he had noticed that she used her obvious intelligence with malice to manipulate residents considered "stubborn". When sternness didn't work, she would use words that, in Alastor's opinion, bordered on lies. Sometimes, when she found that one of their customers was not receptive, she would argue to get him to do what she wanted. Far, far from the suave manner Alastor used, and always with a firm tone, but she used more than dubious logic to fool her victim.

When she saw that Alastor was watching her in action, she'd just blush, frown and give him the finger before walking away. Needless to say, the Radio Demon was becoming increasingly fond of the ex-Exorcist, to his own surprise.

The little angel's polite hellos and friendly altercations didn't fly under Charlie's radar. The Princess made no remark, but those long looks and beaming smiles said more than any words he knew. He was winning points, and it was to his advantage. What surprised him, however, was that this wasn't something he'd planned. Up until now, he'd always had control over the relationships he established, so that they were as lucrative as possible for him. Befriending an aimless human made no sense, no matter what Angel told him during their rare drinking spree. However, he didn't trust too much of what the Spider Sinner told him. He was too sentimental, and although his emotional intelligence was high, it was clearly skewed by his constant need for attention.

For Alastor, in all his life and death, a human connection had a purpose. No one started a conversation without an idea in mind, whether benevolent, as in asking for help, or malicious, as in abusing another's kindness.

The Stag Demon was a thoughtful man. He understood that if he wanted to live in this shark-filled world, then every action had to be calculated, every gesture measured, every word precise. He'd always had a very Cartesian mind, and that suited him just fine.

The only person who didn't fit into his usual manipulative framework was Niffty, but for a frighteningly simple reason: she was purely and incredibly unpredictable. She wasn't sane, and that was the only thing he could really and concretely say about her that wasn't wrong. She had an obsession with insects too, but her relationship with them was the strangest. She would decimate them whenever she saw them, but sometimes, for no apparent reason, she would freeze and watch them live as if they were one of the wonders of the world. Then, she would resume their extermination with a fervor that obscured the madness.

He was very fond of Niffty. Not like he loved Rosie, who was a friend who understood him and with whom he had sensible discussions! But more like a pet who'd forgotten to be trained and was managing as best he could. She was erratic, insensitive, manic, obsessed, and all this amused him fervently. It was fascinating to observe and a major asset in his cards. Small, weak-looking, but with the danger of a piranha. It was perfect. What's more, the contract had been simple: she obeyed his every word, and he gave her free rein to carry out the task he asked of her. She hadn't even had the presence of mind to realize that this contract was in no way to her advantage, but he didn't care. It wasn't his problem after all.

The little creature was a little invasive, however, and although he allowed her a few close calls, he didn't appreciate being touched. She had a tendency to climb on him, position herself on his shoulder, jump on his head and spread those ears. It made him shudder every time, and a static sound came from his mouth as he gently removed the intruder from his person. His relationship with touch had always been... conflicted. He liked it when he was the one who could control it, not the one who was subjected to it. It reminded him all too often of the slaps and strokes of his spawner, when, as a child, he had done nothing to deserve such punishment. The joy of sticking the pitchfork down this man's throat, however, had been a delight.

It was a red night in Hell and Alastor was strolling through the hotel corridors. Charlie, in the wake of increasingly frequent and dangerous arguments, had demanded a curfew for these residents. No one was to be outside their rooms after 11pm. Angel had kindly pointed out that there weren't enough clocks in the hotel, but her horrible father, always ready to please his daughter, had created a multitude of clocks, each more abject than the last, all personified according to the resident who owned it. His own looked like a deer poop. He got rid of it the first chance he got.

Still, at night, hotel staff took it in turns to make the rounds to see if there was any disrespect for the established rules. More often than not, if not all the time, Vaggie, Husk and Alastor were on patrol. Vaggie, because she was in charge of the hotel and knew how to fight, Husk, because he spent his evenings drinking anyway, and Alastor, who didn't need much sleep. What's more, to his delight, the threat of being caught by the Radio Demon was enough to make the residents freezing deep in their silky beds.

It was located on the second floor, dedicated to Charlie's redemption group activities. As well as having classrooms for the illiterate, there was a music room, a small amphitheater, a workshop for crafts, a library for learning, and various rooms whose function he couldn't remember.

While the Stag Demon loathed his demonic animal form, it nevertheless had the accommodating ability to possess good hearing. And that night, in the mute silence of the floor, a faint sob echoed from a classroom. His smile grew more carnivorous and those eyes were already turning into a dial. He would soon make the resident's sadness at the horror of his presence disappear. Via those shadows, he teleported into the room, which he filled with darkness. He emerged, like a biblical pest, ready to unleash his wrath on his poor victim. He lost all consistency when he realized the tiny creature crying before him. Niffty's single eye was streaming, flooding the bottom of her tiny face, which was taut with distress. In her tiny hands, she held yet another cockroach that seemed to be dead in every way, though not criminally so. On the contrary, it appeared that the insect had simply died of old age. He looked incredulously at the little servant who continued to whimper. He didn't really understand the reason for such a state and, quite frankly, he didn't want to know. He had neither the patience nor the compassion to be an emotional support. The very term would have made him howl with laughter if the situation hadn't been so disconcerting. Niffty was certainly unpredictable, but it was nevertheless clear that she didn't hold arthropods close to her heart. Yet her devastated face meant that the disappearance of this particular vermin seemed to affect her. He didn't move when she leapt on him and began to cry on his shoulder. Stupefaction quickly gave way to disgust, which flashed across his features, and he wanted to free himself from the imposed embrace as quickly as possible. There were many ways in which he could remove the wretched creature from his person. He was perfectly capable of tearing it away with those arms, those black tentacles, of teleporting through its shadow to extract himself from those tiny arms that encircled him. However, he did nothing when, in a broken, miserable breath, she murmured:

"He's not coming back."

And then, Alastor's icy heart froze with a pain he hadn't known for a long time. A scar he thought he'd long since healed and had disappeared in the meanders of time. At that precise moment, he remembered. He remembered the tiny red-winged blackbird he had rescued after his nest had been destroyed. His mother had immediately taught him how to care for the animal, how to make a nest for it, how to feed it, before two days later, his progenitor deliberately crushed it under his boot before beating them for doing something without his authorization. Alastor mourned the loss of his little Armstrong in his mother's arms, and said these exact words to her. In response, with her bright smile despite the bruise and yellowing teeth, she hummed a song of her own, a little jazz tune that spoke of the ascent to Heaven for all living beings, be they animal, Black or White.

Without realizing it, he sang the melody whispered in his ear, as if his own mother had descended from Heaven to remind him. He rocked the little woman slowly, carried away by his own nostalgia. As she began to calm down, her erratic breathing resuming a slower, more controlled rhythm, he stealthily heard footsteps receding down the corridor. He wanted to send out one of his invocations to check who it was, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the little being in his arms.

"It's pretty song." she sobbed a little more, as she wiped her face against her jacket.

"It's a creation of someone who was very dear to me," he replied, simply, as he pulled it away and, with a gesture, wiped all traces of snot and tears from his suit.

For once, Niffty seemed shy, as if she wanted to ask who it was but knew she wasn't allowed to, which was much smarter of her than he'd imagined.

"Thank you." she finally whispered, looking at the cockroach's corpse, stiff on its back. Though he didn't care, he glanced at her servant.

"My dear." he began, in his softest, most suave voice "Why such a reaction to the death of..." he didn't really know how to continue. In view of the young woman's condition, calling this insect a vermin seemed inappropriate, just as it would have been for Armstrong.

"Sinatra." she named him. "I've known him since the day he hatched from his egg. I've tried to eliminate him countless times. I've done everything, really everything. But in 1 year, I've never managed to even touch him."

A tear fell from her eye.

"I wish I'd killed him when he was alive."

Dubious logic, but from a sick mind. Strangely enough, it made sense to Alastor, which said a lot about him. He preferred to ignore the question. With an almost friendly gesture, he took the little woman in his arms.

"I'll take you back to your room." he assured her, as she gave him a slightly surprised look. "Take as much time as you need to grieve, I'll take care of the household chores until you get better."

She didn't answer, her cyclical eye resting on him as she laid her head on his shoulder, too exhausted by her distress to make another move.

He simply made his way to his room in silence.

Niffty had been locked in her quarters for several days, and whenever anyone wanted to see her, even just to check up on her, Alastor discouraged them, claiming that she was in a murderous phase and that he had, for the good of the residents, taken the decision to lock her in her room.

In view of the many misgivings of his adoptive family, he had finally put a one-way shield around the little servant's room. This had caused quite a stir one day in the kitchen, when Charlie was indignant about her treatment.

"You simply can't stop us from seeing her!" she assured him, in an authoritative but benevolent tone.

"Of course I can!" he replied, sipping his cup of tea with his usual elegance. "Charlie, dear, although she's your friend, she's still my property. And for the safety of everyone, including our new residents, it's best to wait until she gets these urges under control again."

"But she must feel so alone!" the Princess finally says, revealing at last the real reason for her stubbornness.

"Baby." intervenes Vaggie, taking her hand. "If Alastor thinks it's best to isolate her for now, then maybe we should listen to him."

"She's not wrong," intervenes Angel. "She tends to want to kill bugs and I'm a spider. I trust Smiley."

"You're probably right," Charlie finally conceded, his face expressing genuine sorrow.

"Is it true?" suddenly intervened an angelic voice that made Alastor tense in his chair. He didn't even turn his gaze to the King, his very presence confirming that those eyes were not focused on him. The Fallen Angel's attention was on Husk, who hadn't said a word of the discussion, enjoying what appeared to be a mixture of cereal and jam. This was a real problem. Much to his chagrin, Lucifer had ample opportunity to destroy his handiwork and thus reveal to the others that Alastor had shamefully lied to them. The Manager and the Barman didn't even exchange a glance, no indirect threat was made before the Cat Demon replied in a natural tone:

"Yeah, it happens to her pretty rarely, but when it does, it's a massacre. You might want to let the boss handle this one, Your Majesty."

The lie flowed from Husk's lips with such fluidity and transparency that no one in the room saw the murky stream water. The Radio Demon set his eyes on the Cat Demon, his face still impassive but Husk's more mysterious. When he set his yellow irises on him, a ball of rage formed in his abdomen and it took all his control not to eliminate this pest. The message he'd just given him was crystal-clear: he knew.