"Greetings Alastor," Zestial welcomed the Radio Demon into his temporary space. Beckoning him through a portal. The deer demon entered the void-like construct. Inside they would be safe from any listening ears or damning video devices.
Alastor wished he could conjure such a space himself, reminded once more of the power the older Overlord wielded. He admired his surroundings for a moment. It was similar to a cave. Gray and brown with earth, molded by the flowing water of many years.
"Zestial," he greeted, nodding. He took the first seat he saw, watching it grow from within the hard packed dirt, a tangled web of roots and black fibers. "Quite the comfortable hole you've got here!"
Zestial chuckled, his green eyes glowing in mirth. "'Tis a blythe sight to behold thee in such hale health. Might I inquire of thy plight's condition?" He summoned a set of tea and offered some to his visitor.
Alastor waved him off. "It has grown in size since we last met. The Mark is… troublesome, to say the least," he said, thinking of the way it reacted to his every emotion. "Why have you summoned me?"
"Thou does not mince words." The ancient demon sipped his tea. "In mine perusal of records, I have unearthed a case akin to thine own. There was no mention of any Mark of Judgment, yet there were intriguing tidings I deemed thou wouldst find of importance."
Alastor nodded him onwards. He had learned of another case from the insufferable King of Hell. He hoped there would be more to glean than just a book of poetry this time.
"There dwelt a creature who once bathed in the Supernal Sea, a hallowed pool in Heaven, accessible solely to the highest rank of angels. In time, a mark did grow from his flesh, akin in description to thine own."
"A pool in Heaven? How did a demon get up there?"
"He was no demon, but an angel. As punishment, he was cast into Hell."
"A fallen angel…" Alastor mused. "I thought only sinners could bear it."
"The Mark, it seems, does not discriminate."
"What became of him?" Alastor asked, tension growing in his jaw.
"Supposedly, he thrived in Hell, carved a path for himself. Perhaps he yet lingers amongst us."
"Or perhaps he was taken…" Alastor said darkly.
"Perhaps," Zestial shrugged, taking another long drink from his cup.
"What about this Supernal Sea?"
"Aye, yes, 'tis said all thoughts, all truths, all memories, doth return to the Sea. The black eyes doth gaze upon it. And that in the end, we shall all float upon its waves." The spider demon's cloak fluttered as he spoke, recalling knowledge of a bygone era.
"The black eyes?"
"Yes, the black eyes are likened to the shadowed veil that obscures the soul's sight, rendering it blind to virtue. They are also all that see beyond," his smooth voice pierced the shadows of the room.
Alastor had never heard of such a thing, let alone this Supernal Sea. The holes in his knowledge were more staggering than he thought. However… 'black eye' did ring a bell in his memories.
"What could it mean? Do you suspect the Supernal Sea is responsible?"
"'Tis a conjecture. What if Adam had indeed bathed his blade within the sacred pool? Perhaps he thought it bestowed upon him some Holy potency."
"Hmmm," Alastor rubbed his cheek. He didn't know what to make of any of this. Even if he determined it as the cause, how could he use this knowledge to stop its ever inching growth?
"Aye, it bears other names, the Supernal Sea. Ancient ones. 'Tis also called the Mare Amoria, or the Memoria Amoris. Canst thou decipher their meaning?"
"'The Sea of Love'? 'Memory of Love'?" Alastor translated, more confused than ever.
Memories made some sense. He had the Mark to thank for his latest run in with the princess and that fiasco with the poster. But love? How does love relate to his soul being sent to damnation in the dark? What happened to this marked Angel? Did this sacred pool even have anything to do with him? His head spun at the possibilities. More questions and even less answers.
"'Tis a tale of intrigue, is it not?" Zestial broke the silence, his green grin widening. "Art thou acquainted with love, Alastor?"
Alastor's expression remained impassive. But internally, he bristled at the concept, his mind racing with memories from his past. Love was something he knew more in theory, his existence in Hell being more of a solitary experience. He didn't have time for such a thing when he had dominance to assert.
"I've heard of it," Alastor replied sarcastically, "But it is not a subject I've given much thought."
Zestial's eyes gleamed with amusement. "A pity. Love hath a way of leaving its mark on us, whether we wish it or not."
"Indeed it does," Alastor uttered without thought. His mind was already adrift elsewhere. A nagging sensation from his chest stirred something within and he clutched at the fabric over his wound, his other clawed fist squeezing his cane.
Zestial took notice, a green eye rising in cool appraisal. "I see Carmilla hath managed to mend thy broken microphone. This brings good tidings."
"Ho-oh," Alastor laughed, his pain momentarily forgotten as he recalled the events that led to the recovery of his prized object. "Carmine was unable, this came from our own Princess of Hell."
The black coated demon's head bobbed in surprise, his crooked mouth falling open. "She is a formidable one. Why would she undertake this action for one such as thee? What motive drove her to such deeds? Was a deal struck?"
"Tsk, I find your lack of faith in me disturbing. No, no," Alastor shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My darling Charlie did it out of the goodness of her heart."
"Thy darling? Her heart?" Zestial let out a bellow of a laugh, his voice high with delight. "And thou sayeth you know not of love!"
Alastor grimaced as his companion continued to laugh as if something were funny. This conversation was not going in any direction the Radio Demon could have predicted and he wished to wrap it up as soon as possible. The subject of 'love' did nothing to soothe his aching wound and further yet it brought to mind more unsavory thoughts best left buried.
Like deep roots loosening from soil, Alastor felt himself breaking through some barrier that had ground him in his ways. As if he realized something for the first time that could just not be true.
He shook his mind of the thoughts, but they did not perish, reentering unbidden and unwelcome.
A grimace turned to annoyance at the fellow Overlord for instigating the topic in the first place, who was still raving on. Alastor quickly interrupted the gleeful soliloquy of the spider demon, said his most grateful thanks and bid him adieu.
At the doorway to the portal, the ancient demon stopped him once more to thrust upon him one last offer of knowledge.
"Love holdeth more power than all the dominions in Hell! Be wise in how thou dost cradle it within thy hands."
With an off-kilter smile, Alastor exited, thankful to be away from the demon. As much as he respected the older Overlord, he sure does talk a lot about things that have nothing to do with anything. He often felt like a child in the presence of the man, despite his own lengthy years. Why did it feel like he had been lectured about courting his first sweetheart?
The Radio Demon shook his head free of the conversation, more determined than ever to deep dive into the real information he had learned that night, the nature of his Mark. He had a few new leads and this inspired in him a new profound hope he was sure would delight the princess.
He paused in his tracks, why was his first thought always to her? And why did he immediately want to share with her this knowledge as if she'd care?
Well, because she did care, that was something he knew for a fact. And it was something he had slowly learned to accept over time, whether he wanted to or not. But would she care now when all his actions had shown her lately was how little she mattered in the timeline of his life? She was not privy to his past, but would she be privy to his future? She wouldn't be if he continued to shut her out.
The deer demon groaned, kicking a nearby rock into a trash can with a dull clang. Some nearby rat demons poked their heads out, saw who it was, and immediately ducked back down.
Here he was, brooding like a teenage boy, while the woman of his thoughts was on a date with another. One who despised the very air he breathed.
Why did it always come down to this these days? His need to open up or else this locked cage of his soul would remain closed forever.
He condemned the Mark again, blaming it for all of his ruminating. He blamed Zestial for all of his flowery fixating, the olde language of the demon pushing poetry through his skull. And most of all he cursed the damn princess with her beguiling charm.
Alastor kicked another rock, this time sailing it through the air. He heard a 'bonk' and then a loud curse and a smile sprung on his face. The inevitable confrontation that was now headed his way would surely lighten his mood.
…
It was late before the Radio Demon returned to his quarters, covered in some splotchy red substance. His breath was ragged and deep, strained from the use of his powers. He knew he was playing with fire but there were some habits that could not be broken and some frustrations that could only be solved through certain means...
And since his options were limited, he chose violence.
He shuffled through his bedroom door, appeased, when he realized his door was not fully shut when he entered.
And he was further perturbed when he saw what looked like a bag and heels strewn upon his floor. And what was by far the most disturbing of all was who was laying on his couch, curled in a shivering ball, wearing a black dress and loose tights.
"Charlie?" he choked out, voice raw. She was the last thing he needed to see right now, and in such a compromising position.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes before spotting him. She offered up an apologetic smile. "Hey, sorry Alastor, must've dozed off… hope you don't mind I let myself in."
He minded. He minded a whole lot. Especially when the person of interest had on a too-short dress riding up her thighs and the most haunting bedroom eyes one could imagine.
Alastor averted his gaze and immediately removed his coat to offer it to her when he saw it was covered in blood. He tossed it aside and stomped over to his bed, ripping off the covers.
"Al?" Charlie questioned, her head following him around the room.
"Darling, where is your coat? You'll catch your death of cold."
"Cold? In Hell?" She snickered.
Alastor ignored her and flung the blanket over her shoulders, wrapping it around her front. She knew damn well the freezing winds of Hell were no joke.
She grinned gratefully at him and snuggled in while the deer demon peered at her, hands on his hips, waiting patiently for an explanation. He tilted his neck, an urging gesture.
"You're so nice sometimes, Al," she said in lieu of anything resembling sense.
He huffed, feeling this was going to be a long night. He snapped his fingers and summoned a hot mug of something. It could've been plain water for all he knew, but he offered it to her and she accepted, warming her pale hands on the ceramic.
"Only sometimes?" he asked.
"Well sometimes you're an asshole," she replied, teasing.
"That's more like it." Alastor took the seat at the far end of the couch from her, an appropriate distance from the woman whose red eyes only beckoned him closer. He crossed his legs and leaned back, allowing his companion to say whatever was clearly on her mind.
"If you were nice all the time, you'd be a lot more popular," she mused, sipping on her mystery drink. She pulled back, licking her lips. "Peppermint!" she declared, a warmth coloring her cheeks.
The deer demon looked everywhere but her mouth. "I'm popular just as I am, you realize? The girls at Cannibal Town swoon every time I walk by," a teasing lilt to his staticky tone. Might as well join in on the mood.
"They do?" Charlie asked, far too surprised than she meant to sound.
He raised an eyebrow. "As shocking as that may seem, indeed they do."
"It's not a shock," she said, matter-of-factly. "Have you ever… gone on a date with one of them?"
Now both of his eyebrows were in his hair. "Never. None of those ladies have ever caught my eye."
She exhaled, puffing on her drink. "Why not?"
"Chatty tonight, aren't we?" Alastor turned until he was facing her, his back against the arm of the couch.
She shrugged, avoiding his red gaze. "Just curious…"
He thought about his answer for a moment, tapping his chin. "Hmmm, none of them really approached me, and when they did, the thing they were attracted to was just a shadow of myself. Something they thought they saw. The real me would scare them to absolute pieces."
"How do you know that? What if they liked the real you?" Charlie asked, eager. The blanket slipped off her bare shoulders, her skin glinting in the dim light of the room.
Alastor fought the impulse to pull it back into place and answered instead. "Anyone I've shown myself to, well… let's just say it never lasted. They were quite literally… scared to pieces."
Charlie ignored his sinister implication, her tone serious. "I want to see the real you." She put her drink down, as if she'd need both hands for what might come next.
Alastor blinked at her, not expecting the words currently coming out from the demoness's lips. He barely knew what to say, his original response dead on his tongue. He stuck with what he knew best and deflected. "You want a lot of things, dear. How about focusing on something that matters?"
"This matters to me." She pointed square towards her chest, black nails pressing into skin.
The deer demon slapped his hands against the couch, his smile incredulous. "So serious! So needy! Is this about the collage this morning? About what I said?"
"No…" she shrunk back, but then regained her strength and sat upright once more, her eyes fierce. "But also, partially, yes! Why can't I know about your past?"
"Like I said, you aren't prepared for what that entails."
"But everyone needs connection!"
"I am not everyone, dear," he spoke with impatience. "The more you show, the more you give others to use against you. You should know this already."
"But that won't happen, not with me. You hide behind a smile and pretend everything is okay, even when it's not!"
Alastor clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking, his temper growing in pitch. "I apologize if I upset you, but I stand by what I said. People aren't prepared for the realities of what they'll see."
"But if it's in the past, it shouldn't matter anymore!"
"The past has made me who I am. A murderous, blood-soaked demon in Hell! The last person I'd ever want to witness that part would be you!"
"Why not?!"
"Because I don't want to lose you!"
He fell back into his seat, his words hanging heavy in the air. Charlie's eyes went wide with disbelief. She hadn't expected such a raw admission from him. The room fell silent, Alastor's chest heaving with the weight of his too real confession. He swiped his hand over his face, mortified and exposed.
Charlie's heart raced in her chest. She hadn't meant to rile up the deer demon. She hadn't meant to have such a conversation in the first place. The original reason for her visit was so far away in her vision, she couldn't see it anymore. All she could see now was her companion, her business partner, her beloved… friend, Alastor.
She reached towards him, wanting to offer him some comfort, some sort of apology, but hesitated. She focused on his crimson eyes, now turned towards the wall in front of him, and searched for a semblance of what he was thinking, what demons of his past he was attempting to hide from sight.
But instead she saw fear and uncertainty. The mask she claimed he always had up had been slipping all this time and it feels like only now she allowed herself to see past it.
Charlie shifted till she was next to him on the couch. He leaned away from her, his face still half concealed. She picked up his limp hand on the cushion and cradled it in both of hers, cradled it with all the gentleness in her heart. "Alastor," she whispered, tentative and soft. "I've already lost you once, you think I want to feel that way again?"
He lolled his head back in her direction and the pair faced off. The deer demon was grinning as always, but his eyes betrayed his turmoil.
She did as he often did when she was in a rut and placed both her hands on his cheeks and pulled. His lopsided grin became even more deformed and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped at his expression. No wonder he did this all the time.
"I'm sorry," she said, a little unsure. His silence was worrisome but he no longer looked entirely upset. "I'd tell you to smile but…"
"Why did you come here tonight, my darling?" he finally spoke, his voice devoid of static. "Surely it wasn't just to torture me."
"Oh right," she said, already having completely forgotten about her original mission. She had come to examine his Mark after missing out on its progress for far too long. But it seemed so far away now, so unimportant compared to the significance of this exchange, despite the life and death consequences of the other.
Charlie released him and brought her hands to her lap. It was her turn for admissions now. Maybe he'd feel better if she opened up her own heart to him. At least they'd be even.
She stared at her knees, no longer able to maintain eye contact as she spoke, a rambling rant that had built up inside of her. Her hands waved in the air, animated and hurried in her explanation.
"Vaggie and I had another fight tonight…" she began. "About you." He propped his head up and looked at her, listening intently.
"And I keep trying to tell myself that she has reasons to be so mad. And sure, she does! You've committed atrocities… but we're in Hell! Everyone here has. Not to mention you're all violent and mysterious and you walked in here smelling of some poor demon's blood, but for some reason…I can't convince myself that there's anything wrong with you. And I feel like…" she swallowed, her throat dry. "...I like you just the way you are."
She glanced once at the Radio Demon, his expression indecipherable.
She continued, "But it makes me feel like a terrible person and a worse girlfriend that I'm even in your room tonight! And the most fucked up part of all is that I wanna be here, with you. Even if I'm just sitting on your couch doing nothing."
She finished speaking, and clenched her mouth shut, so tight she wished it would sew itself closed forever. The demoness said more than she meant, too much about her relationship with Vaggie, too much to be said to the Radio Demon. But she wanted to say it and wanted him to know. It was only the truth.
Charlie peeked over to her companion, briefly expecting an expression of mockery. But she was met only with warmth. His smile grew, genuine this time, and his eyes became mischievous instead of anguished.
"You like me just the way I am?" he asked, voice playful.
She swatted at his shoulder, laughing away her self-consciousness. There was a lot that went unsaid, and Charlie was sure that the pair would have to continue the rest of this conversation another day.
"And you're always welcomed to my couch, even if you are breaking and entering…" Alastor continued. Charlie had the wherewithal to look sheepish.
As the hour grew late, neither moved from their respective positions. Charlie opted to leave the rest of their conversation for later and she could tell that Alastor felt the same, too exhausted to continue after such emotional tangents. Both of them couldn't even begin to tackle what either of them had said.
They both decided, without words, to let the tired comfort of the night weigh on them like a warm blanket, until next time. Though speaking of blankets…
"Are you cold?" she asked after a brief lull.
"The fires of Hell warm me just fine, dear."
"Alastor…" her voice warned.
He rolled his eyes, reading the mind of his damn darling demon belle and scooted closer. She grinned merrily and threw one half of the blanket over his back. She just had to do that, just had to have her way and take care of him, the perpetually un-care-able Radio Demon.
"You could use a TV in here," she joked.
He bumped against her, worn and tired, and yet at ease. "I ought to kick you out just for that."
She laughed again, a bright and airy sound, and placed her head against his shoulder, testing some sort of limit. She felt him stiffen but then slowly relax. She sighed in relief.
He pulled the blanket around them tighter, making sure she was covered. Her eyes drifted closed, warm and cozy in the heat of his presence and inched closer. She felt hidden away from the rest of the world here, away from prying eyes and far too much pressure. She felt she could do anything she wanted.
Charlie snaked her arm through his and squeezed. And he squeezed her back. A mutual show of support.
They stayed like that and chatted the night away, though about much lighter topics.
AN: Ayyy Zestial makes an appearance! I'm pretty sure I went a little too hard with his ye olde language but I was having too much fun with it lol.
More confessions in the dark...
Thanks for reading!