She couldn't breathe.
The rain stabbed into her arms like needles.
Her hand reached out in one last desperate attempt to get the knife, fingernails scraping the frigid mud to try and grab the handle. The blade.
Anything.
The grip around her throat tightened and she could see the darkness swirling on the edges of her vision. Felt the world starting to fall away. Leaving only a pair of angry blue eyes glaring down at her.
Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt trying to push his arms away.
She couldn't breathe.
Claire gasped and sat up in bed, hands instinctively going to her neck as a pillow was knocked to the floor. As usual she was alone. Shaken, but physically fine. From the number of explosions echoing throughout the city she could tell it was night without even looking out the window. People here never seemed to sleep.
Maybe this was why.
Trying to shake it off, she stood up and got dressed, needing the clarity some night air might bring. The mirror in the bathroom had been covered since her first night here, too shocked by her appearance to want to come to terms with it yet. Her skin now a ghostly pale with eyes a strange amber that seemed to glow in low light. She still looked mostly human and she was grateful for that, but her hair, while retaining its deep brown shade, seemed to have a mind of its own. She'd marked up a new note on the board about 'magic hair'. Maybe mood hair was the better term? But it seemed content to keep itself in a thick, singular braid down her back with two triangular buns on the top of her head reminiscent of ears most of the time so she tried not to think too hard about it.
Hell certainly seemed to have a thing for animal motifs.
The walk up to the roof didn't take long and she leaned against the edge where the railing had broken in places, closing her eyes and letting the wind with its smoke-filled scent waft over her. It was just a nightmare. She shouldn't let it get to her.
"Trouble sleeping?" a voice from behind her crackled.
Claire didn't need to turn around to know who it was, she just continued looking out at the city, "I keep reliving my death. Or re-dying it, I guess," she corrected herself with a half shrug of one shoulder, "It's been happening every night since I got here."
"Ah, the echoes of Earth fade eventually," Alastor opined, leaning on the edge of the wall beside her, "Survive long enough down here and the expanse of eternity makes the life you've lived previously seem...insignificant."
Claire gave him an amused, sidelong look, "'Expanse of eternity'? I didn't expect poetry in Hell. At least nothing that didn't rhyme with Nantucket."
Alastor sniffed disdainfully, "I'm sure the others could oblige you if that's the sort of low brow humor you enjoy."
"I enjoy our conversations," Claire countered, tone still amused, "Your old-timey gentlemanliness and unapologetic sinister undertones really make being dead fun."
"How are you settling in to your new afterlife?" Alastor asked, his tone overly casual and she could feel his interested gaze on her as she shrugged once more. Both shoulders this time.
"No one has offered me a pomegranate or a deal yet," she mused, "It almost feels like I'm doing something wrong."
"Don't worry," Alator assured her with a wide grin, "You probably are."
"…of course," Claire continued as if he hadn't spoken, adopting the same casual inflection he'd used a moment before, "if anyone were offering a deal it would have to be a really good deal and the dealmaker would have to be very convincing since dealing with dealmakers is a dealbreaker for me."
The beat of stony silence that followed was deeply satisfying.
"…someone told you I make deals," Alastor said flatly a moment later.
"A couple of people mentioned it," Claire confirmed with nod.
"Of course they did." Alastor intoned.
"Vaggie mentioned it six times," Claire pressed, with winning smile of her own, "But if it saves you the hassle, I'm not the type to make deals in general."
"If only I had a soul for every time I heard that—oh wait," Alastor's eyes lit up and he leaned in menacingly, "I do."
Rather than leaning away, Claire fixed him with an inquisitive look. "Selling a soul is really something a person can do?" She asked, all business now.
"When properly motivated, yes." Alastor also dropped all pretense of fun conversation and folded his hands on top of his staff.
"And you own a lot of them?" Claire continued.
"Yes." Alastone intoned.
"And owning souls makes you an overlord?"
"Yes."
"And how many overlords are there in Hell?"
"How many questions do you have?" Alastor asked, narrowing his eyes a little in annoyance.
"All of them," Claire quipped, really regretting not bringing a pad of paper and a pen. "Just think of me as your friendly neighborhood nosy reporter.
"Mm," Alastor clasped his hands behind his back and looked out at the view, clearly signaling the end of the conversation, "While I have nothing against the papers, I should warn you I save all my best material for my radio broadcasts."
"I'd expect nothing less," Claire assured him, turning to head towards the stairs herself, "Luckily I don't need your best. Just your time and expertise."
Alastor glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow, "And how do you suppose you'll get that without a deal, hmm?"
Without missing a beat, Claire pulled open the door, bracing it with her heel while simultaneously pointing finger guns at him, pitching her voice to sound like an old-timey radio host, "For that answer and more I guess you'll just have to stay tuned."
She didn't look back to see his expression as the door closed behind her.
