Preface
Enter, Pursued by a Buck
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/53976328.
Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, No use of y/n, Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of All the World's a Stage, And You're the Star of the Show Stats: Published: 2024-02-22 Completed: 2024-04-13 Words: 146,742 Chapters: 30/30 Enter, Pursued by a Buck
by Sharkdukes
Summary
You've often fantasized about what it would be like to live in the world of your favorite shows. Who hasn't? But those fantasies were supposed to remain just fantasy.
You don't want to be here, but you have no choice in the matter. So, what's a girl to do aside from suck it up and survive?
How about you thrive?
Just don't go catching any unwanted or unnecessary attention and this'll all go a lot more smoothly.
You can do that, right?
Come Hither Fool
Chapter Notes
I tried to do a Hazbin Hotel fic back in 2019. Didn't work out too well, mostly because I wanted to wait until the show came out to sprinkle easter eggs of what was to come here and there before getting to the actual show chapters.
Yeah, I'm glad I ended up not doing that.
Now that we've got season one with season two currently being worked on as of typing this, I feel a bit more confident about writing a story that starts before canon, but also I've just gotten a bit more comfortable with writing in general and I'm just looking to have fun with this.
I hope you all have fun with this, too.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
There were just so many kinds of sand. Soft sand, rough sand, beach sand, kinetic sand, desert sand, the list goes on and on! And it was so moldable when wet. The possibilities of what one could build were theoretically endless so long as there was enough sand to pursue the endeavor with! So many people agreed with this sentiment that come summer vacation it wouldn't be surprising to see flyers announcing that sand building competition season had come once again. Yes, one could have so much fun with sand that it could be said to be endless fun!
You were not having fun with sand.
In fact, if you never saw sand again after you somehow made your way out of this wasteland, it would be too soon. You'd woken up face down with a mouth full of sand and you could still feel a few stubborn grains that clung furiously to the dry cave that was your mouth. No amount of smacking would rid you of the sensation, because your mouth was too dry to produce any spit. Why you were in a wasteland to start with was anyone's guess. Pure bad luck was the most probable cause if anyone bothered to ask you. Which no one did seeing as how you're pretty sure you were the only person for miles around.
You'd like to say that it could be worse. That you could have woken up dead. But the unsettling truth of the matter was that you were pretty sure you had woken up dead. The memories from before you'd woken up in the wasteland were hazy, but the muddled pieces you were able to pull together didn't paint a very optimistic picture. If you were miraculously somehow not dead, then this was the worst coma dream in the history of forever and if you couldn't wake up from it then you would like it to change to something much more pleasant.
No? Well, you'd never been one for lucid dreaming. And this all felt a bit too uncomfortably real to just be a dream. Was this Purgatory then? It was barren with nothing in sight for miles and miles, so maybe? So, what? Were you just supposed to wander around aimlessly for eternity until such a time that it was deemed that you'd spent enough time suffering from sheer and utter boredom that your soul would finally be allowed its eternal rest? Well, it wasn't like you had anything better to do with your time, so wandering around aimlessly it was!
Don't sound so excited there, champ. You're probably not going to stumble across anyone or anything out here in the nothingness.
It's so goddamn boring out here all by yourself. You guess you understand that Purgatory isn't supposed to be a hoot, but couldn't there be something out here to keep you mildly entertained? Though you suppose that would defeat the purpose of the place. Isn't it supposed to be somewhere where one reflects on what they did wrong in life and repent for it before Heaven accepts them in? You aren't sure. You aren't a very religious person; you'd never even read the Bible. You just sat there and let the preacher preach it to you up until your family just stopped going to church altogether. Were you supposed to repent for that?
It would be so great if you knew what you were supposed to be doing so you could hurry up and do it already!
Oh. Look. A small rock. How very interesting. You kick it and scoff at the bitterness wafting off your nonverbal sarcasm. It goes flying over a small dune and hits something. Probably a larger, just as interesting rock. Which is to say not interesting in the slightest, if that wasn't already abundantly clear. You sigh quietly and make to continue walking forward with no destination at all in mind, when something stops you.
Or rather, someone.
"Who the fuck is out here throwing rocks?!"
You whip your head back around in time to see – a person? – a person(?) scramble to the top of the small dune you'd just kicked that rock over. Whoops. Looks like you shouldn't have done that after all. He sounds pissed and you don't like the look of that axe he's got clutched in a death grip. The man angrily whips his head side to side before he catches sight of you and his eyes narrow and his lips morph into an ugly imitation of a smile.
"Oh-ho-ho! Think it's funny to throw shit at people's homes you little shit?!" Both his hands are on the axe now, knuckles popping from how hard he's gripping it. "I'm about to show you something that's fucking hilarious!"
And then suddenly you're having to duck and weave out of the way of some psycho with a literal axe to grind. And he's under the mistaken impression that you're the whetstone. His movements are erratic and sloppy. It makes him hard to predict, which makes him dangerous. A fact that solidifies itself when he manages to hit you in the side with the blunt side of the head of the axe. You're pretty sure that some of your ribs are cracked now, if not entirely broken. What the fuck was this guy doing out here with an axe in the first place?
You're thrown painfully to the side by the blow, and you wheeze, agitating your poor, abused ribs. The asshole with the axe laughs low and dark at the state you're in and towers above you as he raises the axe high above his head to bring it down for what is sure to be a painful end (second end?). Unfortunately for him, the position he's taken has left him wide open for you to deliver a counterattack that is dreaded by anyone with common sense.
You kick him in the crotch. Hard.
The scream of pain he lets out is high pitched and breathy and he drops the axe as he defends his crotch from any further assault. He manages to stay upright though, which is a credit to his pain tolerance. Too bad for him that you rolled out of the way and are now the one wielding the axe. He barely has time to glance up from where he's hunched over before the blade is slicing through the soft skin of his throat. He doesn't even get to scream again, just gurgles uselessly as he chokes to death on his own blood.
You watch the light leave his eyes, and you feel nothing. No disbelieving relief that you managed to survive the encounter. No horror at having ended another life with your own hands. No disgust at what you'd done. He had been coming at you with the intent to kill. It was self-defense plain and simple. Still. It bothered you by how unbothered you were about the whole situation. Could be that you were in shock, and it was only a matter of time before you broke down about this. But out in the open was not a smart place to do so. This asshole had said you'd hit his house with that rock, right?
Calling it a house was an overstatement. It was a ramshackle shack at best. Still. Better than what you'd been staying in before, which was nothing. There wasn't much inside. A cot, a small stove, and there was a well just a few feet away from the shack which you'd greedily drank from, thankful to finally be rid of the feeling of sand in your mouth. There was a small saltbox filled with preserved meats and a few canned goods in the cupboards. It wouldn't last you for very long if you didn't ration it out. Should you feel bad about taking a dead man's things? Not when he'd tried to kill you, you shouldn't.
You weren't especially hungry, and your thirst had been slaked for the time being, so already you could stretch the food out for an extra day. You were mostly tired from all the walking and dodging for your life you'd been doing, and that cot looked awfully tempting. You were just about to lie down in it when the sound of pained grunting made itself known. It sounded like someone was dragging their feet outside. You grabbed the axe and flung the door open. The asshole from earlier was just a bit away from the door, throat looking fine save for the blood it was covered in.
You didn't ask questions, you just swung. And this time you made sure that his head rolled.
It was curious how this guy just kept coming back no matter how many times you'd killed him. You'd lost count of the exact number, but you did learn that the worse you hurt him, the longer it took for him to come back. You'd maybe been here in this rundown shack for three maybe four days – hard to tell with no way to track time – and the low food stores were edging dangerously close to being completely gone. Plenty of water though thanks to that well. You drowned him once and decided not to do it again. That was your drinking and bathing water.
Currently, you were staring impassively at the pathetic wretch as he cried and begged for you to show him even an ounce of mercy. You supposed that being killed over and over again by the same person would make anyone crack given enough time. Maybe this was what Purgatory was? Someone comes along and stumbles across the only other person around for miles and essentially tortures them until they repent and mean it? You wondered who would come along after you and how long it would take you to break under pressure similar to what you've been doing to this guy. Probably not too long, you were kind of a weenie when it came to pain. A delicate skunk cabbage as your mom would say. Raising a big stink whenever something hurt just enough for you to feel pain instead of just pressure.
Speaking of stink, it smells like this guy either pissed or shit himself. It's odd that you can smell that given that you'd buried him up to his neck this time. You were thinking about punting his head like a football and seeing how long it took it to come rolling back to his body. You don't think that you were ever this violent in life, but you supposed that getting to stick it to your would-be murderer as many times as you liked would screw with anyone's head just a bit. Maybe that's why he was such an asshole during your first encounter?
He's blubbering again. Might as well get on with murder number whatever.
"Wait, wait, wait! Please! Please I'll do anything if you'd just stop!"
What could he possibly do for you? As he is now, he's worthless. Although, you are running low on food… No. Best let that intrusive thought stay a thought and not turn it into action. The thought of eating someone made your stomach squirm unpleasantly, even if it was directed towards the asshole who'd looked all too gleeful to bury that axe into you just a few days ago. You supposed it was good to know that you still had lines you wouldn't cross. You reared your leg back, ready to punt this guy's head clear across the dunes.
"Wait! What if," he scrambled, desperate to get you to stop. "What if I made a deal with you?"
That gives you pause. A deal? What good would it do for either of you to strike up a deal with one another? He has nothing to offer you and you have nothing you want to offer to him. He's clearly gone delusional with fear and is grasping at straws to try and stave off his next death for as long as he can, even if it's only for a few measly seconds. But your momentary pause is all the opportunity he needs to start talking out of his ass. And talk he does, shit he practically sings.
"Y-yeah! A deal! I'm sure a tough gal like you could hold her own against any old Sinner down here! B-but if you wanted to survive any of the Overlords then you'll need a few deals under your belt!" He's sweating, nervous in a way that's different from whenever you went to snuff out his life. This is his one and only chance to get you to stop and if a deal is what it takes then so be it. "I'll happily sign my soul over to you, b-but in exchange you gotta knock off the whole knockin' me off thing!"
He's laughing, a nervous and hysterical sound. Fresh tears are streaking down his face as he internally pleads for you to pounce on the offer. You, however, are distracted by some of the words he'd used. 'Overlord?' Now why was that niggling at your brain? You know you'd recently heard that term used to refer to a specific group of people before this guy brought it up, but for the life of you, you can't recall where off the top of your head. This was going to irritate you. Almost as much as the lackluster terms this worm was trying to set with you. Did he think you were stupid? He'd give you his soul and you'd leave him be? Awfully skewed in his favor. Left so much room for him to come back later for revenge. No. You don't think so.
You slam your foot down next to his head, his hair ruffles from the breeze the motion makes, and he eyes the tiny crater you made warily. His pupils constrict with fear, and you know that the smile on your face makes for an ugly visage. You can feel how it's stretched unnaturally wide and not for the first time since you took up temporary residence in the shack did you curse the lack of a proper reflective surface. You'd like to see if your body had been warped as badly as his had and the well water didn't make for a good mirror. You couldn't make anything out. You wonder briefly if you should be concerned about how much well water you've ingested and promptly throw that thought in the garbage where it belongs. Too late now anyway.
"Listen… whatever your name is- Don't!" You point at him sternly and his teeth click together from how fast he shuts his mouth. This is the first time you've spoken to him. "That wasn't an invitation to introduce yourself. Keep your mouth shut until I say you can speak. Understand?" He nods so fast you wonder if he'll knock his head off for you. "Good. Now then. This deal you're proposing. It's hardly fair to me. Sure, I get your soul. But you get left alone free to plot and scheme against me and come back for revenge later. Which would really paint you in a bad light seeing as how I only killed you in self-defense. I can see you want to argue about all the other times, so I'll just say this. Why would I let someone who tried to kill me once already live for very long? It only gives them time to try again. Get it?"
He nods again, diligently keeping his mouth closed. Good. Seems he can be taught a thing or two.
"Good. So, you want me to stop killing you in exchange for your soul? I can do that. But here are my terms for the deal. You don't plot or scheme to get revenge on me. You don't hire someone to get revenge on me. You don't tell anyone that you've made a deal with me. If for some reason I need you, you do whatever I say. If you violate those terms, I will retaliate with force that I deem acceptable."
He nods once more and it looks like he wants to say something, so you let him speak.
"Sounds fine to me. But we can't exactly seal the deal unless we shake on it." He sweats more profusely at your skeptically raised eyebrow. "Honest! That's how it works! I wouldn't risk making you mad just to get a cheap shot in!"
Fine. You yank him out of the ground far enough that one of his hands is free and he's all too eager to thrust it into yours to make the deal official. The moment your hands clasp, an inky black aura erupts, surrounding them in its eerie glow. You hear the faintest of whispers but can't make out what's being said. The chime of a bell. A woman's laughter. Then it stops, the light recedes to nothing and a black collar is wrapped around his throat with the chain in your hand when your hands separate. It dissipates into smoke and flows into your body.
You feel stronger.
Your new friend was quite eager to point you in the direction of civilization when you'd thought to ask if there were any other people around. Almost too eager. It was like he wanted to get rid of you as quickly as he could. Now why would he want to do a thing like that? Joking aside, you were just as eager to wash your hands of him and his resurrecting ass. You'd asked it thoughtlessly, if there were people other than you and him. The fact that there was an entire city of people waiting for you to discover it lit a fire under you. You were more than happy to distance yourself from him and the cold emptiness his sniveling face made you feel.
You hadn't felt like yourself since you'd arrived in Purgatory. You were sure that once you were surrounded by people you'd start acting like your old self in no time. Surely not everyone would be an asshole right from the start like he had been. It was just a matter of finding those you could relate to and connect with and then Purgatory might not be so bad. Waiting who knows how long for one's sins to be forgiven sure would go by a lot faster with decent company to keep. You were more than a little excited about the prospect.
So, your disappointment when you'd found out where you really were was understandable. See, you could be forgiven for not immediately knowing where you were when you arrived, given that you'd woken up in a wasteland with nobody except what's his face around for miles. But now you had no excuse. Here it was staring you dead in the face as if it hadn't just slapped you silly and turned everything you'd thought on its head. A dark, sprawling city stretched out before your eyes. The sky glowed red and you hadn't even thought about looking up in all the days you were in the shack, to preoccupied with keeping him dead. A pentagram gave off the light that illuminated a large sign in the distance that read: Welcome to Pentagram City. Beyond the pentagram in the sky, far, far in the distance, was a heavenly gate of white.
It was beautiful in a profoundly sad way. The sight of salvation far beyond the reach of any one of the wayward souls wandering the streets. How impossible the place you were was. How fantastical, how mystical, how… How? How were you here?
Not 'how were you here in Hell,' no. How were you here in a world that you knew to be just a cartoon?
You had stuck with this piece of media since first seeing the pilot on YouTube. You'd waited patiently for the day it would be turned into a fully fleshed out show. You'd been so excited when you heard that it'd been picked up by an animation studio and that the first season was in production. You watched the announcements for merchandise come and go and when the day finally came that you could binge the first season you did. Many times. It made you laugh and cry and feel all sorts of things. You loved it.
That didn't mean that you wanted to live it.
You were more than content with this fantasy world staying a fantasy. It shouldn't be real, shouldn't exist and yet here it is right before your very eyes. Only… Pentagram City looks quite a bit different from the few overhead shots of it the show gave. There was no enormous television broadcast building to be seen. In fact, the entirety of what you knew to be the Entertainment District seemed to be… subdued. Like there was nothing particularly entertaining to hold anyone's attention over there. A second look over the entirety of the city made an unsettled feeling sink into your guts.
Forget about the Entertainment District, you couldn't see the silhouette of the show's namesake in the distance at all! Actually, no, you could see the building, but that didn't mean that you were looking at the hotel. There were absolutely no lights on in that direction whatsoever and you knew that you would surely at least see the marquee lit up from your vantage point. Whenever you were, you arrived before the show began. That unsettled feeling grew, making your stomach churn aggressively. You held off from vomiting and would you look at that you're having normal reactions to stressful situations again. How about that?
You were incredibly tempted to just turn around and walk back into the wasteland to try and find a different city in the Pride Ring. Unfortunately, your logical side won out by reminding you it was only through sheer luck that you'd stumbled upon that shack and its unpleasant occupant. Lightning seldom struck twice, so it was best that you sucked it up and played the cards you were dealt. Still, it would have been nice if you'd arrived at a time where you knew at least a little of what was going on in the city. As it stood now, anything was fair game.
You looked down at your hand and squeezed it shut until it felt like your nails were going to break the skin. You could make this work, absolutely you could. You already had a leg up on most other Sinners in that you owned somebody's soul. Were there Sinners out there who could easily overpower you without the aid of a deal? Absolutely. A certain radio host was proof that even those who'd been known as the strongest since time immemorial could be toppled. No idea if he'd done all that without any deals under his belt, but maybe at the beginning at least he struck down a few Overlords with nothing but raw power until that wasn't enough.
The point was, if you wanted to survive down here, then you'd need to amass power. But that was not going to be as simple as it sounded. You got lucky in that you'd broken the spirit – and possibly the mind – of your first deal, but that wasn't a method you could rely on, wasn't a method you wanted to rely on. You think a little piece of you broke out in that wasteland when he tried to attack you, but you were steadily coming back to yourself. Still didn't feel the least bit guilty for what you did to him though, and you aren't quite sure how to feel about that.
You smacked your cheeks gently and smooshed them around until you regained your focus. First and foremost, shelter. You needed it. You probably weren't going to find anything good right away. You would make do with whatever you found and move on from there. Once again, your feet carried you forward, but this time you had a goal in mind. You had no idea where it would end up being though. Nowhere was safe in Hell, so you'd have to make yourself a safe place to live. No matter what it took.
You were going to claw your way to power even if it ended you.
Chapter End Notes
By the way, what do you think of the title? Trying to pay a bit of an homage to my previous Hazbin fic. I may have dropped it, but I never stopped thinking about it. In a way I suppose this could be considered a reboot of that work, but honestly not really. The premise of the two are just too different.
Fine Young Cannibal
Chapter Notes
I don't have a planned upload schedule for this fic, I'll just write and when I feel like the next chapter's as good as it'll get is when I'll post it.
I will say that I haven't been this excited to write since the pilot first aired, so that speaks to the grip this show already has on me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It's interesting to see what people will do when things like laws and morals no longer have a significant impact in their lives anymore. Case in point: you are currently observing as two demons circle each other with blades brandished and glinting in the dim… you guess night light would be the most accurate way to describe it. You aren't convinced that the red sphere hovering over the city is actually a moon, but hey, you've been wrong multiple times in your life before so who knows really? Anyway, the two demons. Knives out. Focus on that.
You don't know who started the fight, and you don't actually give a shit. What you do know is what the fight's about. A little bit further in the alley the two morons are trash talking each other in is a woman. She's crying and begging the two of them to let her go and let her be. The two idiots occasionally stop sniping at each other to yell expletives at her and what each of them will do to her as soon as they shank the other. It is vulgar and disgusting. Just because they're in Hell doesn't mean that they should just abandon their common decency. Assuming they ever had any in the first place.
For all you know they were like this when they were alive, too.
You tap the axe your wasteland chum had so graciously gifted you against your shoulder as the two men finally stop yapping and actually get to trying to kill each other. From how they've been screaming to one another, you glean that they are familiar enough with the other that this is a common occurrence for the two of them. The same woman happens to catch their eyes and they each stalk after her, only to run into each other and do this song and dance. You'd be impressed by the amount of coincidental run ins these two have had if the context of why they were consistently meeting up didn't make you want to rip their heads off and puke down their throats.
One of the men is victorious, his rival laying face down in a pool of his own blood. He turns his attention to the woman and stalks towards her while keeping his blade trained on her. She's stopped crying and is just staring at the man as he advances towards her, shaking violently. She's probably too scared out of her wits to call out for help. Not that it would help; this is Hell after all. And there are no heroes in Hell. However, there is a woman on a roof with an axe and a goal and this situation would do nicely.
You'd always been more of a fan of vigilantes and anti-heroes anyway.
You haul yourself off the roof and the man and woman hardly have time to look up at the noise you make when you did before your axe is bisecting the scumbag clean in two, his entrails becoming your abstract street art as his blood paints the pavement along with his fellow cockroach. You stand up straight and sling the axe over your shoulder. You turn your attention to the fresh pair of corpses and consider. You wonder if you really have the time to sit around and wait for them to regenerate to try and force a couple of deals out of them. The wasteland was just an opportunity the universe gave you. But you needed to gain power. As quickly as possible was simply your preference. You wouldn't be sticking around.
You glance back at the woman, and she's stopped shaking so violently. She's still trembling a bit, but it isn't full body tremors anymore. Her eyes keep drifting to the bodies before quickly snapping back at you. She keeps swallowing, like she just can't seem to wet her throat. Do you really paint that terrifying a picture? Well, if you were in her shoes, you'd also be terrified of someone coming from out of nowhere and cleaving your attacker in two with an axe. You wouldn't know if they planned to strike you next, so you can understand her fear. You could try and calm her down, but given what you did and where you are, you doubt she wouldn't be suspicious of your intentions.
You sigh. Looks like this was a bust. Still, maybe it wasn't a total loss. Rumors spread life wildfire no matter where one is. Perhaps just the sight of a deceptively weak woman wielding an axe would be enough to scare some people into wanting to make a deal with you, for no other reason than that they'd very much appreciate it if you wouldn't turn your blade on them. It wasn't a very sound plan, you're sure there are way scarier people lurking about the city that don't need a weapon to strike fear into the hearts of others. But it's the best you've got for now until you have more deals – and therefore more power – under your belt. You climb the fire escape back up to the roof, turning your back on the woman and the bodies.
You look out over the city as you gather your thoughts. If you want power, you have to make deals. If you want to make deals, you have to have people for that. The one deal you'd managed to make was by pure luck and you couldn't use the same methods to try and get more deals made. Or rather, you wouldn't. It just came across as distasteful to you to endlessly torture someone until they gave you what you wanted. You think you might have snapped a bit out in the wasteland and being surrounded by civilization again was stabilizing you. Possibly. You don't want to think about it too hard.
But yeah. Deals required people and the city proper was full of them. You shouldn't rely on hopping from rooftops and hoping to come across someone desperate enough to sell their soul to some no name nobody for peanuts. You might have to take a heavily edited page out of those two graveyard stuffers and pick targets to stalk and hopefully sweettalk into a deal. A shame for you that your social skills sucked so bad. You gripped your face as you ran your hand down it, already dreading having to do so. But this is what you had to do to gain power, so you'd do so. Begrudgingly. You run over the rooftops to another part of the city, never once looking back down at that alley.
The woman peeks out from the mouth of the alley, her own smeared with blood and stretched wide in toothy grin.
Remember how you said that nowhere in Hell was safe? Yeah, that's still completely true. A week of running around the city dodging turf wars and petty personal squabbles only served to cement that fact deep within your mind. Currently, you are squatting behind a pile of garbage as you watch yet another one of the squabbles unfold. You can't be bothered to pay attention to what's being said right now. You're so tired and all you want to do is curl up and sleep. But the aforementioned running around the city meant that you haven't gotten around to finding even a temporary dwelling yet.
It irks you so bad that you haven't even managed to complete what should be the easiest part of your quest for power. Having an actual bed to return to at the end of the day would be a significant improvement to the little power naps you've been taking all over the city until the sound of fighting woke you up again. You're starting to get cranky and a cranky you is a snappish you and a snappish you isn't someone you'd trust to make a deal that's skewed in her favor. Your impatience along with your lack of sleep would only be a detriment to your goal. You're trying to get other people to give you their souls, not the other way around.
The two demons currently duking it out are a fair bit larger than the handful that you've had to handle so far. It'd take more than a few whacks of your axe to take either of them down and you don't feel confident that the weapon would last long enough to take even one of them down. Aside from the blade, it was already pretty worn when you'd gotten it. Try to hit either of them and you'd probably find yourself with handfuls of splintered wood. As you were now, they weren't viable targets. You needed to find smaller and weaker demons to make deals with and hope that their souls weren't already spoken for. But not anytime soon. You just had to hope their little spat would be over soon so you could move on.
"Evenin', gents!"
Your attention is drawn to whoever is foolish enough to get involved with this fight. He's lanky, dressed like a paperboy, and has his cap pulled so far down that you can only see the lower half of his face which is split wide by a toothy smile. His skin is like ash and what little of his hair you can see sticking out from under his cap looks like dried straw. He's casually leaning against a lamppost and has his thumbs stuck in his pockets. He's the epitome of carefree.
"Now what could you two be so out a' sorts wit' each other about that you feel the need ta' be so rowdy this late at night?"
One of the men spits at the newcomer. "Mind your own business you fucking twig."
His smile twists from easygoing to something a bit more sinister. "Now that's no way ta' be. Didn't anyone bother teachin' you lot proper manners?"
He pushes away from the lamppost and strolls casually towards the two men. They've lost all interest in each other at the moment and are focused solely on him. But it isn't a good time for you to try and make a break for momentarily less violent waters, so you stay put behind the pile.
"When someone greets you, it's proper ta' greet 'em back, yeah?" He's in front of the man who spit at him. He's snarling down at the newcomer, and you can feel the animosity rolling off of him. Paperboy just keeps smiling away like he isn't mere moments from getting turned into a fine, red paste on the ground. Given his demeanor, maybe he isn't.
The snarling man growls and rears a fist back. "How's this for a greeting?!"
The fist flies and is stopped in its tracks by a delicate, boney hand.
"Well, I'd say you got the spirit a' things, but it's not quite right. Still, it'd be rude a' me ta' not return your greetin' back." Paperboy grips the man's knuckles so hard that they pop and shatter in an instant. He howls in pain as he's brought down to Paperboy's level. "Pleasure ta' meet you, chum!" And then the man's face is being caved in by a returned punch from Paperboy.
He doesn't stop there either. He twists the man's arm and yanks so hard that it's pulled right out of the socket. The man's on the ground writhing in agony and Paperboy stomps on his head until it's nothing but a pile of mush. The other guy is doing his best to back away slowly unnoticed. His efforts are for nothing as Paperboy's attention snaps to him once he's done grinding the snarling man's brain matter into the ground.
"A real shame, that. Ain't too often I get a 'old of such prime meat. Ah well. Don't matter none in the long run. 'e'll fix 'imself up good as new sooner or later." The other man has slipped and is trying to crabwalk away from Paperboy. He puts a stop to that by breaking the man's kneecaps and arms. "As for you, I've got somethin' else in mind. I'd tell you not ta' go anywhere, but it ain't like you've got a choice!"
You think now's a perfect time to beat a hasty retreat. Unfortunately, as though he could hear what you were thinking, Paperboy's head whips around and now his attention is on you. Great. He moves way too fast for you to be able to hit him, and you doubt you could outrun him. You can only hope that he quickly grows disinterested in your presence and turns his attention back to the two he just brutalized. That hope is quickly dashed when he saunters over to where you're still squatted down and offers you his hand.
"Now you're an 'ard one ta' find you are, Miss. An' 'ere I was thinkin' I'd never get to properly thank you for the favor you done went an' did me the other day!"
You eye his hand distrustfully as you absorb his words. Favor? You're pretty sure you'd remember doing anyone a favor. Especially someone like this. And you know for a fact that you hadn't spared any time to do anyone any favors. You'd spent the week fruitlessly looking for anyone to make a deal with. Who was this guy?
Paperboy was undeterred by your lack of grabbing his hand and let it stay there. "Ah. You probably don't recognize me since I ain't all done up like I was last we met! Allow me to remind you then. I'd just managed to lure two unsavory sorts into an alley and one of 'em 'ad already went an' offed the other an' was comin' at me wit' a knife when out of nowhere you show up an' bloody cleave the git in two!" He cackles, amused by the recounting. "An' I thought to me self, I thought: "Now Conroy ol' boy, there's someone worth gettin' ta' know." So, I went lookin' for you, but was always just a little too late. But now I've met you an' it's a right pleasure it is." He shakes his hand a bit. "C'mon now. Ol' Conroy don't go around bitin' anyone that's gone an' done 'im a favor."
You don't really have a choice here, so you cautiously place your hand in his and he hauls you up to your feet as soon as they brush together. As soon as you're steady, he offers you his arm and leads you towards the man whose limbs he'd mangled when you take it. The man is whimpering in pain and looks at Conroy with a healthy dose of fear. You don't blame him. He and his fellow victim both look like they don't lose fights easily, so the fact that some spindly guy who looks emaciated took them both down in mere moments must have him rattled.
"Now then, you're probably wonderin' to yourself: "Now Conroy what sort a' favor 'ave I gone an' done you?" To that I answer, you've actually done me two. The first was cuttin' that bloke up so nicely that it was easy as pie ta' get ta' his innards! The second was that because you cut 'im up so well, I didn't 'ave ta' get me clothes all bloody. Not that I mind when it's me normal wear. But me disguises are another matter entirely! Don't much care for getting' them all sullied, takes longer than you'd think ta' get 'em all nice again."
He turns you to face him and grips your shoulders firmly but gently. "So 'ere's what I thought'd be a proper way ta' thank you! Now these last few days I've been followin' you followin' others an' I think I know what it is you're after. So, as thanks for the innards, I present you wit' a demon prime for the deal makin'! An' as for the second, well we can get back ta' that once this 'ere dullard quits draggin' 'is feet an' gets to signin' 'is soul ta' you! An' if 'e refuses," Conroy's jovial tone turns dark as he turns back to the man who'd opened his mouth to protest. "Then I suppose ol' Conroy'll be goin' back 'ome wit' a bit more meat than 'e thought 'e was. An' I'll 'elp you track down someone a bit more willin' ta' make a deal wit' you."
The man snaps his jaw shut and his gaze falls onto you. You aren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. For whatever reason, Conroy feels like he owes you and you're not going to do anything to disavow him of that notion. You don't know if the strength of the individual is reflected by the soul, but even if it isn't you'd have two deals struck and thus more power. Quantity over quality may end up being the play you make for gaining power. Not that you mind, more power is more power. So long as you're not the one losing your soul, you don't care.
"This is very thoughtful of you, Conroy. Thank you." Unlike the brutalized men, you do have proper manners and know how and when to use them.
Conroy smiles and grips the back of his neck bashfully. "Ah! Think nothin' of it, Miss! Just returnin' a favor is all! So, then," he asks the man. "What'll it be? Sell your soul ta' the nice lady? Or is me dinner plate goin' ta' look right and proper full for a while?"
You learned that so long as someone is perfectly willing to make a deal, they don't need to be able to control their limbs for the handshake to be considered valid. The terms you set with the broken man were mostly the same as the wasteland worm's. No plotting against you, no getting others to plot against you, no telling anyone about the deal, doing whatever you said. It was entirely skewed in your favor, seeing as how he asked for nothing from you. Not that Conroy would have let him. He'd kept his smile pointed at the man as if daring him to do anything other than offer complete and total subservience to you.
The power you'd gained felt the same as your first deal. So despite being so much more powerful physically, the broken man's soul was worth the same amount.
As for the headless man, Conroy simply hauled the body over his shoulder and told you to follow him back to his home in Cannibal Town. You were more than a little apprehensive to do that. After all, you'd surmised already that Conroy was a cannibal and though he owed you a favor, there was nothing stopping other cannibals from deciding that you'd be an easy meal. Your apprehension must have shown on your face, because Conroy smiled gently and assured you that so long as you were coming with him as a friend then you'd be left alone.
"We may be cannibals but that doesn't mean we attack anyone and everyone in sight, Miss!"
And that was that. The two of you strolled right on into Cannibal Town, and though you got a more than a few curious looks, the locals kept their distance as you followed Conroy to his house. He hangs his cap on a hook as he follows you into the house and excuses himself for a moment to drag the body down into the basement, grabbing some heavy-duty looking chains on the way down. You can hear the rattling coming from chains that aren't the ones currently in his grip when he open the door. He must have a few others chained up down there. You feel like you aren't as freaked out by this as you probably should be. You wonder if you've simply adapted to the surrealness of your situation and are just going with the flow of things, or if you'd always been this nonchalant about warped situations and are only now realizing it due to the situation you're in.
Conroy returns and motions for you to follow him.
"Now 'ere is where the magic 'appens!" "Here" being a room with a few mannequins all dressed up in very elegant looking dresses. One of them displays the dress you'd seen Conroy in the other day. There are various trunks also strewn about the floor and a vanity off to the side that you can see has quite a few makeup products littered about the counter. "I normally 'ave ta' go an' dress up a few days in a row on account a' 'ellborn demons bein' the easiest ta' subdue. But thanks ta' you, I've got three Sinners down in me basement! They'll last me a bit before I 'and 'em over ta' the butcher."
You quirk an eyebrow at him. "Hand them over? I would've thought you'd want to keep them on hand. Seeing as how Sinners can bounce back from most damage done to them, wouldn't a practically endless supply of meat be any cannibal's ideal?"
Conroy nods in acknowledgement. "You speak the truth you do. An' normally you'd be spot on! But see, ol' Conroy 'ere's a bit of a gourmand. An' everyone 'as a different taste ta' them. I tried what you said years ago, but I got so bored wit' the same flavor everyday that I just 'ad ta' branch out an' try someone new! Now whenever I get lucky an' manage ta' snag me a Sinner, I keep 'em for a bit before handin' 'em off. Spreadin' the wealth I am."
You hum in acknowledgement. What he's saying makes sense. There were times where you'd gotten bored of eating the same thing over and over again, even if you happened to really enjoy the food. You understood. It's just that his "food" made it so that you just couldn't agree with the sentiment. But you weren't going to tell him that.
"An' speakin' a' spreadin' the wealth," Conroy continued as he dragged one of the larger trunks over to you. "Since you made it so that I wouldn't 'ave 'ad ta' get that dress there all bloody, I figured I could stand ta' part wit' an outfit I don't need. Besides, you look like you could use new clothes."
"Do I? I haven't been able to get ahold of a mirror, so I don't quite know how I look right now."
"What," Conroy asks amused. "You can't look down at yourself?"
You shrug. "I meant in general. Sure, I could look down and see the state that my clothes are in, but that hasn't exactly been a priority this past week."
Conroy pauses in lifting the lid of the trunk to squint his eyes at you. "'ow long 'ave you been down 'ere, Miss?"
"About a week and a half, maybe a little less."
Conroy suddenly bursts into laughter, clutching his side as he steadies himself with his other hand to keep from falling over. "Ha ha ha! Down 'ere for barely over a week an' already lookin' ta' move up in the world?! You're a barrel a' laughs you are!" He keeps cackling for a while longer before he gets ahold of himself. "Ahem. Anyhow, if it's really been that long since you've last seen yourself, go on an' take a gander in the mirror. I'll see if I can't find anything that would suit you in 'ere. Always the tailor if there isn't."
You leave Conroy to root around in his clothing trunks and sit down in front of the vanity. For the first time since you arrived in Hell, you can finally get a good look at yourself fully instead of the glimpses you got of your limbs and hair that you'd refused to acknowledge up until now. Unsurprisingly, the face in the mirror doesn't match what you'd seen every day for years. The whites of your eyes are now pitch black and your irises have turned a deep yellow with black pupils. Your nose is thankfully still there, though it's looking a bit different than how you remember. It's sharper, thinner. Your hair has turned the same inky black as the whites of your eyes and what isn't a tangled mess is perfectly straight, almost doll like. The length has thankfully remained the same, just past the tops of your shoulders. Your skin has turned a light gray, though it gradually turns darker just past your elbows. Your fingers – of which you only have four now – are colored the same yellow as your eyes. Your cheeks are speckled with pure white freckles. You look down.
The same gradient of light gray to dark is present on your legs, starting at just before your knees. You know for a fact that you'd been wearing shoes before you'd arrived in Hell, but you doubt they would have fit over the two-toed yellow hooves you were now sporting. Their shape was unsettlingly familiar. You felt a slight pressure on the top of your head at the thought and went to chance a touch when the sound of a trunk falling over made the previously unnoticed ears spring up in attention. Black just like your hair, but the inner part of the ears was yellow.
Your clothing was tattered and frayed and bloodstained. You couldn't even see what color it used to be; you couldn't even remember it. It didn't matter anymore anyway. What you could remember about your outfit was that you'd been attending a costume party and you and a group of your friends had all decided that you would dress up like flappers. The headband you'd had was not with you, probably lost somewhere at the party. As stated previously, the shoes you'd been wearing definitely wouldn't have accommodated your new hooves, but you know you didn't lose those. So it was anyone's guess as to why you didn't have them anymore.
The sight of your new form made you feel sick, the hazy memories of the party coming back. You still didn't have a clear picture as to what exactly had happened. The incomplete puzzle was enough though. You vaguely remember some theory – or was it confirmed? – that said a Sinner's form reflected how they died. Whether it was true or not overall, you could say with disgust that it applied to you. You'd died being stalked and hunted down like prey, and your body in death reflected that. A deer. A doe. A surefire way to attract unwanted attention.
Despite what little glimpse the show gave of background Sinners, you couldn't recall there being that many that resembled prey animals. No, the majority of Sinners that you could recall looked tough, mean, dangerous. They had the claws and teeth to do some serious damage to anyone threatening them, plus whatever powers they acquired. Your nails were nowhere close to beginning to be called claws and save for your now very pronounced canines, your teeth didn't resemble a mouth full of knives in any way. You looked weak, like an easy mark. Now did that mean you couldn't make people associate your form with danger? No. A certain someone was proof that just because one resembled prey, that didn't mean that they were.
And you know, good for him and all that. But he arrived with power that had never been seen harnessed by a mortal soul before, so you feel like he had quite the leg up on you. You're still struggling along to try and find a place to rest your head, never mind the issue you've been having with coming up with a way to make people agree to sell their souls to you! You make a face in the mirror, and you don't find it the least bit intimidating. Great, Fantastic. You hang your head in your hands. What the Hell are you going to do?
"Ah-hah! I knew I 'ad somethin' in 'ere that would suit you just perfect it would! Now then, you can step behind that divider there and get changed. Don't you worry, ol' Conroy ain't a voyeur. You rest assured I'll not take a glance until you're good and ready ta'- Miss? Miss what's wrong?"
You hear shuffling and can feel Conroy's presence at your side. You don't say anything, you just gesture towards the mirror with one hand while keeping your face firmly planted in the other. He follows your finger and makes a noise of understanding when he sees what you're pointing at.
"Ah. I understand. Not what you were expectin' ta' see, yeah? But I'd say you got off luckier than most Sinners do! Most don't even look like people anymore, as our overly large bullheaded friend downstairs can attest ta'."
You sigh, a deep and painful thing. "That isn't the problem Conroy. I think I would have preferred not to look like a person."
Conroy cocks his head to the side. "'ow's that now, Miss?"
You finally raise your head and glare balefully at your reflection. "Just look at me! What about me would make other demons think twice before trying to mess with me? Absolutely nothing. I look like easy pickings and that's just going to cause a whole mess of unwanted and unnecessary trouble for me."
Conroy purses his lips thoughtfully. "True. You certainly don't look like a lady who could cut someone in two wit' an axe right down the middle. I'm a' the opinion that you could use that ta' your advantage, Miss. Do what I do an' lure your targets in an' strike when their guard's down." Maybe if you could figure out what sorts of powers you might have now. As it stands, all you have going for you is an old, weathered axe that'll splinter apart the moment it's swung against something or someone that's just a bit too tough for it. "'owever, I also understand what a good disguise can do for a person. So, let's get you changed into somethin' a little more suitable and then ol' Conroy'll help you out wit' this little problem."
You're ushered behind the dividing screen in a corner of the room and Conroy turns his back and covers his eyes before you're fully behind it. You look down at the clothes he'd thrust into your arms before sighing inaudible and taking what few garments you had on off. Much as you were loathe to do so, that included your bra and underwear. You'd done what you could at the shack to keep them clean, but a week without washing all while continuously getting covered in blood meant that they were ruined completely. You'd like to burn every part of your outfit.
Speaking of underwear, the undergarments that Conroy had given you were incredibly old fashioned. You're pretty sure it was some kind of girdle, and it was interesting to see that it covered everything from chest to crotch, but you didn't know enough about fashion to be sure that's what it was. The shirt you were given – and you'd had to do a small double take because you'd been sure he was just going to give you a dress of some sort – was a light blue, slightly puffed and short sleeved button up shirt. To your further astonishment, you'd been given gray pants that were very similar to the paperboy pants Conroy wore. No shoes had been with the clothes, so you stepped out from behind the screen and let Conroy know he was safe to turn around.
"Oh I just knew that would suit you I did! Now sit back down an' let ol' Conroy tame that nest that's on top a' your 'ead!"
You're maneuvered to sit back down in front of the vanity as Conroy produces a hairbrush and begins to detangle your tresses. He's patient throughout the entire process, coaxing especially stubborn knots out with the expertise of someone who's done this countless times before. It's soothing and you can feel your built-up exhaustion trying to make you pass out. But you stary vigilant and don't fall asleep. All is quiet until you break the silence.
"I have to ask, why did you pick out trousers for me to wear?" You very carefully do not say pants no matter how badly you want to.
You see Conroy grin behind you in the mirror. "Simple, Miss. Sure you looked at the dresses me mannequins were wearing an' 'ad a dress of your own, ruined as it was. But you barely looked at 'em! Whereas when I introduced me self you seemed much more interested in what I was wearing. Don't got ta' be a genius ta' see you prefer trousers to skirts, Miss. An' you're much more relaxed now than you were earlier."
He chuckles kindly at the flustered blush that statement produces.
"There now," he says as he runs the brush through your hair one final time. "All fixed up proper. Now let's get ta' the next part where I 'elp you wit' that little problem of yours. But before I do, 'ere. Only pair a' shoes I got that might fit you."
It's a pair of black boots. You slide one over a foot and are pleasantly surprised when it fits your hoof perfectly. You eagerly slip the other one on and take a moment to walk around in them. They feel fine and they cover up the section of your legs that the pants didn't. You stand on them one at a time just to make sure you can keep your balance in them, and you can. You turn back to Conroy who'd been watching the whole exchange with an amused expression, and you can feel your face heat up again in embarrassment.
"Now 'ere," Conroy gestures to the closet. "Is where I keep me costumes. If it's your appearance you 'ave a problem wit', then we can solve that with somethin' that covers either your face or your body or just covers you up completely!"
You take a hesitant step towards the closet. "You sure? I'm pretty sure you said the second favor would just be giving me a replacement outfit for my ruined one."
Conroy makes a flippant gesture with his hand. "More than sure! Think a' this as a gift rather than me repaying a favor!"
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "A gift? For what exactly?"
"None a' that now," he tuts at you. "It's ta' say thank you for botherin' to act proper civil wit' me is all." At your continued confusion he sighs, the smile turning tired. "Like I said earlier, Miss, just because we're cannibals don't mean we go after anyone and everyone. Too many ninnies out there that think just because a cannibal's deigned ta' chat wit' 'em means that they're about ta' become dinner. Most people 'ere are the same as anywhere else, they just eat differently is all. You were kind enough ta' be nice, so this is thanks for that."
Oh, there are so many things you could say to that, but you won't. Conroy isn't wrong in that he's acted like any other decent person would in the short time you've spent with him. That doesn't change the fact that he eats people and that you don't agree with the practice. But this could have gone very differently if he weren't such a decent person or if you were a little more brash and opinionated. As it stands, you'll silently agree to disagree with him about things.
You root and rifle through the closet, picking up costumes as you go and setting them down when they don't meet what expectations you have. You want something that'll give demons pause when thinking about confronting you. You want something that's discreet. Something that even if someone does take notice of you, they'll be quick to pretend that they didn't. Something intimidating enough that could scare people into compliance, but subdued enough that the foolhardy looking to fight for fighting's sake will deem it not worth it. You want a lot of contradictory things and none of the costumes in Conroy's closet are meeting your demands when you spot it.
In the very back of the closet, past all the ruffles and loud colors is something pitch black. You'd almost mistaken it for the shadow of the outfits in front of it. It is large enough to cover you entirely, not even your feet show when you walk. You pass in front of the mirror a few times and it looks like you're gliding about. You're just thinking that it'd be perfect if only it had a hood of some sort when you notice that the shoulders seem to be a bit larger than they should, even as oversized as it was. A bit of fiddling later and you find that there is indeed a hood. It covers the entirety of your head, and you can't even see where the fabric isn't stitched together. There are large, bulbous yellow eyes on the front, the same shade as your own oddly enough, and you are delighted to find that you can actually see out of them. Getting as close to the mirror as possible reveals that you can't make out your eyes behind the material in the slightest and Conroy confirms it when you have him look into them.
You look like an amorphous black blob with yellow lights for eyes and you couldn't be happier. The costume looks like something you'd once had a nightmare about. There are little slits for you to put your arms through if you wished and that just makes it look even more unsettling to you. You absolutely love it.
Conroy is happily supportive of your choice. "If you like it then it's yours for the takin'. I can't recall just when I picked that up, must've been ages ago."
Favors repaid and choices made, Conroy walks you back to the entrance of Cannibal Town. The faintest hints of light are shining down from the pentagram. Morning is rising. You bid farewell and Conroy implores you to come visit whenever you find the time. And as crazy as it may sound, you just might do so. You did say that time would pass faster if you had people you could relate to and connect with back when you thought you were in Purgatory. Friends were good no matter where one found themselves. You head off back into the city and the few people you pass give you wary looks and a wide berth.
The future was looking a little brighter already.
Chapter End Notes
No because you don't understand how firmly Conroy gripped me by the throat when I was deciding whether or not I wanted the lady in the alley to be plot relevant.
It started with the simply thought of: "What if she was a cannibal?" And spiraled until I reached: "Yo what if she was a man who cross-dressed to lure her next meal in and also what if he had an accent that I hope I can write properly?"
And thus, Conroy was born. I swear he just took on a life of his own and it isn't often that my characters do that. I hope you all like him as much as I already do.
Best Laid Plans
Chapter Notes
To offset the ease of the last chapter. Not everything can be a good time for the reader all the time.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You watch as the demon you'd managed to corner runs away as his wallet slowly slides down your costumed face. He'd thrown it at you, mistakenly thinking that you were trying to mug him. The wallet plops down sadly onto the ground, narrowly avoiding getting completely soaked in the puddle it landed next to. You shuffle over and take a moment to look at it. You don't have a job and therefore no income. You'll take what you can get where you can get it. There probably isn't much cash inside, but since you have absolutely no money on you, it's better than nothing; you aren't complaining.
You'd been attempting to access any powers you might have gained either from manifesting in Hell or the two deals you'd struck and after a whole lot of nothing you'd finally managed to do something. You toss the wallet into the dark abyss that is your shadow and watch as it vanishes without a trace. It's kind of like how an inventory in a video game works. You can feel that there's a finite amount of space inside that will hopefully expand with every deal you make. It's also limited to items that you could feasibly carry around yourself. Your trusty axe was the first thing to go in. You don't feel the weight of what you put in there, so that's a bonus to how convenient this power already was.
Still, it's weird to know that you're carrying something but not be able to feel it. You know you still have it, and if you were to take the wallet back out, it would be exactly as it was when you put it in. What you don't know are the limitations of your pocket dimension. For one thing, you have no idea yet if items would stack if they were the same or at least similar enough; and you also don't know what the number would be if they did. You aren't eager to try it out in the open where anyone could see, you only did it now because there wasn't anyone around. You also didn't want to make it lousy with useless junk.
But other than that, you find it a bit odd that you just knew right away what this power was when you'd managed to pull it off however accidental it was. There you were, just waving your hand around like an idiot when suddenly: pocket dimension in your shadow. And then the knowledge of what you'd just done, how to do it on purpose, and a barebones explanation of what it did. You wonder if it was like this for everyone, just trial and error until something inexplicably works. Maybe if you'd manifested as a different kind of demon, one with a very specific look or even an item, then you might have had an easier time.
The fact that you are simply one of many who no doubt had nothing to go on in terms of what their powers were was the only thing keeping you from railing at how utterly clueless you were about everything to do with your new body. You still sulked a little about it, not that anyone could tell thanks to your sweet costume.
Speaking of, it's proven itself to be very effective. You'd cornered a demon that you were reasonably sure that you could hold your own against should things have taken a turn for the worse, and he'd fled posthaste after flinging his wallet into your face. That was fear in his eyes you saw, and it only solidified your opinion that hiding what you really looked like was the way to go in terms of making deals going forward. Deer are very good at camouflaging themselves after all. With this costume you blend in with the more sinister looking demons that dominate the population.
Now all you had to do was make sure the next demon you'd targeted stayed still long enough to make a deal. You could try and chase after the one who just fled, but he's too spooked now and will absolutely bolt if he sees you coming. You aren't familiar enough with the city yet to feel comfortable giving chase to anyone yet in any case. With time, maybe. But for now, not a chance.
You stretch your shoulders back as you make your way back onto one of the main streets. You hope that you'll get used to all the hustle and bustle of city life quickly, you can't keep taking a moment to adjust to how busy it is whenever you venture into the more densely populated areas. That's just asking for trouble to come knocking your way and you would very much like it to not do that. You're courting enough potential trouble as it is with the goal you'd set for yourself. No sense in inviting anymore. Though you're well aware that if trouble wants to come your way, it'll find you eventually one way or another.
For now, you'll simply concern yourself with fulfilling your promise to yourself and rolling with the punches if and when they come. No sense in getting yourself worked up over "what if" scenarios. That way lay overthinking and sleepless nights and you already weren't getting enough sleep as it is, what with your continued lack of a place to rest your head. And speaking of, you wondered just how much it would cost for you to rent a place now that you had a little bit of money on you. Though, you still hadn't actually peeked into the wallet to see just how much you were carrying around. Maybe it would be better for you to see how much you'd have to pay before checking in on your funds.
You'd hate to confirm just how much cash you had only to have your hopes crushed by finding out you don't have enough after all. You still don't know precisely how early it is you arrived before the show, but you could hazard a guess from the way your fellow demons are dressed. The ones who wear clothes anyway. Let's just say you're early. Very early. On the one hand, you should have plenty of time to gather power and hopefully become untouchable to the majority of Sinners. On the other hand, it's an incredibly long time to wait. Long enough that if any of your actions have far reaching consequences for the plot, you won't know it until far, far too late. Of course, this all hinges on whether or not you're able to survive all the exterminations leading up to the beginning of the show.
And fuck if that wasn't something that hadn't crossed your mind until just now.
You're certain you're failing spectacularly at appearing as though you aren't hauling major ass to get to the center of the city. The pedestrians diving out of your way are a pretty good indicator of just how obvious you're being, but right now caution has been thrown to the wind. You are mentally punching yourself in the face because how in the fuck did you forget about the extermination? It's a major plot point of the first season!
You take a deep breath as the clock tower gets bigger and bigger. Calm down. Please, try and calm down. You take deeper breaths. It isn't unreasonable that it slipped your mind. You just got here a week and a half ago. You were confused about where you were for the first few days and when you realized where you actually were, you freaked out just a bit. And then you'd set a goal for how you'd survive against other demons. You'd simply forgotten that they weren't the only threat to you down here. And now you were taking steps to rectify that mistake immediately.
This isn't helping. As sound as your reasoning is, you still can't believe you'd let such important information slip your mind. The new first order of business was figuring out when the next extermination was happening. Second would be finding a place to stay and if you couldn't afford the rent then it was getting enough funds so you could. Third – and you know you're starting to sound like a broken record, but it bears repeating – you need to make enough deals so that the chance of any Sinner or Hellborn demon getting the drop on you is slim to none. You aren't arrogant enough to think that you could ever match the power of those higher up in Hell's hierarchy. It'd be nice, but your soul's only mortal. Unless there's some unknown way to make that not the case, there's a limit to how strong you can become and you're nowhere near it. Yet.
There it is, in all its divine glory. It's so out of place and ostentatious. Next to nobody is around and it isn't hard to figure out why. You certainly wouldn't want to be near the physical reminder that you were in Hell and that no matter how close Heaven appeared to be it would always remain out of reach, as far as anyone without meta knowledge is concerned. However, your forgetful ass needs to know how long you have before the Exorcists descend again and begin their annual slaughter fest. You look up and your stomach sinks. You think you're going to be sick.
Ten days. You have ten days before things go to shit more than they already are. Scratch think. You are going to be sick. You barely have time to get your hood away from your face before you're throwing up on the sidewalk. At least no one was around to see you spew your guts out. You spit a few times to get the taste out. It doesn't help. You try to find a silver lining. You suppose you could have arrived on Extermination Day. That's literally the only way you think this could be any worse.
You aren't going to find a place you can hunker down until it all blows over. You're certain that every possible place is either already filled to capacity, or that the cost of them so close to the extermination would mean that any particularly greedy scumbags have jacked up the prices to better take advantage of the truly desperate. It feels like ice is running through your veins and that you'll never be warm again. If you hadn't remembered, would you have just continued your endeavors blissfully unaware until the bell sounded, and the Exorcists started pouring out of the portals to Heaven? Most definitely. And then you probably would have been caught by them along with all the other unaware and unlucky demons still out in the open.
And then you'd be dead. Again. For good? You aren't quite sure about that, but you certainly aren't eager to find out.
You're wracking your brain to try and think of a solution. You can't ask Conroy if you could stay with him. Despite his friendly nature and your resolve to be his friend, the fact remains that the two of you don't know each other well enough for you to ask that kind of favor of him. You kind of want to be angry with him for not mentioning the extermination, but aside from paying you back for the favors he insisted that you did for him, he didn't owe you anything. It could also be that it had just slipped his mind, too. It wasn't as though there were demons freaking out in the streets about how close it was getting.
Even in the show, despite Extermination Day having been moved up six months early, it didn't seem that anyone really cared aside from the short amount of time when the news of it broke. You guessed it was seen as just another part of life down here in Hell. Granted, no one knew what you did so they thought that there was no changing it. However, you'd be keeping the knowledge that angels could be killed to yourself. For one thing, obviously no one would take your claims seriously and even if they did, you didn't have any proof to back up your words. Another thing was that even if you could somehow kill an angel – and you're no fighter you got lucky out in the wasteland – doing so would have immediate negative consequences. Hello instant butterfly effect anyone?
No. You'd be keeping that little nugget of information in your head. Canon can deal with it.
Okay. So, the new first order of business has been handily dealt with. And you could not be more worried about it. The second order of business would have to be workshopped. You'll take any form of shelter at this point. As long as it could shield you until the extermination was over, you couldn't care less about what it ended up being. But you had to find it first. Third order of business would have to be actively put on hold for now. No point in accumulating power if you were just going to be struck down by holy arms in a little over a week.
Alright, the new plan was a go. Now all you had to do was execute it successfully.
Screams rang out all over the city as the angels laid waste to whatever sorry soul unfortunate enough to be out in the open that they could find. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, and you could hear some of the Exorcists laughing cruelly as they struck down demon after demon. Some of them pleaded to be spared, and none of them were. The sound of flesh being torn asunder was strong and consistent, pools of red splashing onto the ground arrhythmically. Cruel, chalklike smiles stretched wide against black masks along with cold, gleeful eyes. You pushed yourself further against the wall as you watched the Exorcist fly off in search of new prey. Your limbs shook with anticipation, and you wondered morbidly when your head would be next on the chopping block.
The new plan had failed, and it had failed hard. No amount of looking in even the most destitute of places turned up any shelter that would have been the least bit suitable to weather out the extermination. And so, despite your best efforts, you were outside on Extermination Day desperately trying to survive until the bell tolled again and called the angels back to Heaven. Your costume was once again proving itself to be quite useful as you blended in with the surrounding shadows quite well. Avoiding detection was an absolute must at the moment.
You made a conscious effort to look up frequently as you darted about from one dark area to the next. Staying in one place was just as likely to get you killed as moving about, so it didn't really matter what you did. You also felt anxious staying somewhere an angel had just left, scared out of your wits that one would come back to doublecheck the area and stumble across you. Every now and then another demon would scramble past one of your hiding spots and you held your breath and remained perfectly still each time it happened. You could feel your heart thudding in your throat as you waited with bated breath to see if an angel would soon follow. Sometimes they did, others they didn't.
You wouldn't liken the situation to a hardcore game of hide and seek because people didn't get killed in hide and seek. They were the hunters, and you were the prey. And you hated how you'd been quickly reminded that just because you were hiding your outward appearance, it did nothing to keep you from the truth on the inside. You'd never been particularly brave in life, but then your life had never been in constant mortal peril at all times either. You hated feeling so weak and powerless, you just wish it would-
A sharp, burning sensation pierces your right side and you scream in agony. The feeling attempts to push deeper, and you leap forward away from it and whip around. Oh. Oh no.
The Exorcist brings the tip of her spear closer to her face and you note absentmindedly that it's been completely coated with red. She whips the weapon off to the side and the blood is flung clean off and sticks fast to the ground. Her body tenses and you don't think, you just run. You can hear the flapping of wings and they are far too close for comfort. You learn just how close they are when you feel the tip of the spear score several slashes across your back and you can barely keep your knees from buckling from how agonizing the sensation feels. It's indescribable, any pain you'd felt before now was nothing compared to it. It hurts, and that's all you can say about it.
And then suddenly you can't hear the flapping of wings anymore, so you chance a quick glance behind you, and you immediately wish you hadn't. She'd stopped chasing after you so that she could wind up her arm to hurl her spear at you. You turn around to keep running forward, only to discover that you'd run down a dead end and that you'd be running into a wall very soon. Shit. Shit. You feel your eyes well up with tears and you want to scream about how unfair it all is. Instead, you keep running towards the back of the alley. If you're going to die, then you're going to at least have gotten as far away from the Exorcist as you possibly could have.
You feel the spear plunge into your back just as your arm hits the wall. You cry out in pain, but it and your body are swallowed up by the dark, drippy doorway that suddenly opened up. You fall through, taking the spear and leaving the Exorcist behind.
It's dark, wherever you are. You can't see anything at all. You feel cold. And hot. And hurt. Oh yeah, the spear is still lodged in your back. Wow. You almost made it a whole month in Hell before life decided to shank you up the ass with a cactus. A prickly pear, you know, the kind with the really long needles that don't like to let go once they've gotten ahold of something. And then life ripped the cactus out just to add insult to injury. Just to say "fuck you." Life's a raging bitch.
You're pretty sure the pain is making you delirious. Or is it the blood loss? Fuck it, why can't it be both? You can feel the back of your costume fluttering against your wounds, and it stings something fierce. Not as bad as the spear still lodged in your back, but an aggravated injury is an aggravated injury. You don't have the strength to try and take it off, you don't even want to try. Everything hurts too much, and your entire body feels like it's made of lead. Are you dying? Is this what dying feels like?
You don't know. You don't remember any particular sensation from when you died the first time. Right now, it feels like you're sinking. And yet also floating, somehow? It's weird and contradictory and you don't have it in you to give a shit at the moment. The spear didn't go all the way through, so instead of bleeding out quickly, it'll be a slow process. One where you die from the cuts surrounding the major wound. You want to cry, and though you can feel a few fresh tears well up, you can't. You're too weak. So, you just close your eyes and wait for oblivion to take you.
Except something brushes against you and your eyes snap back open.
You still can't see anything and you're too woozy to be properly afraid. It brushes against you again and nudges the spear slightly. You hiss and futilely try and squirm away from whatever it is. It seems to take that as a challenge and suddenly you can't move at all. Something has wrapped around you and is holding you firmly in place no matter how hard you struggle. You can feel something slither up your back and around where the spear is protruding. It tightens its grip and yanks the holy weapon out of you. You scream but no sound comes out.
The pain only worsens when whatever is keeping you held still decided that it still isn't done with you and begins to poke and prod at the now gaping wound in your back. It feels like you just got haphazardly flayed from the inside out and now whatever's hurting you is rubbing salt in the wound. Rubbing something certainly and you simultaneously can't stand that you can't see what's got ahold of you and grateful you don't know what it is. The last thing you feel before you pass out is what you think is a mouth closing over your back.
When you wake up, you're surprised that you do. You're further surprised by the fact that you're no longer in excruciating pain. You chance a tender feel of your back, only to be stopped by the fabric of your not ruined costume. You feel not even the slightest twinge of pain from lightly pressing on the area. You lower your hand, and it lands on something cold and metallic. The spear. So, you didn't just imagine that. Something did yank it out of you unceremoniously. And then… healed you? You certainly don't hurt anymore, that's for sure.
You pick up the spear and bitterly glare at it. And then you drop it into your shadow. Angelic Steel as you know it to be called down here is a surefire defense against anyone who means you harm. Much more reliable than your axe. Very difficult to obtain. You wonder if Carmilla is down here building her weapons empire or if she won't show up for a while yet. You then drop that line of thinking because you don't really care. Still, an angelic weapon would be a boon to you going forward. A bit of intimidation with it could be just what you need to get the ball rolling in gaining souls.
You aren't happy about what you had to go through to get it. You rub your shoulder. Like the rest of you, it doesn't hurry anymore. But the phantom sensation of the spear sinking in lingers. You don't know if it'll ever go away. Your eyes well up and you can finally cry. It's cathartic and you can feel the stress that had been building in the days leading up to the extermination leave your body. You wipe your tears off on your sleeve when you're done and pull your hood back down. It settles comfortably over your head and the fur makes you feel pleasantly warm. A welcome sensation to the hot and cold flashes you were getting after being impaled. You don't know what kind of damage your back sustained, if it's been scarred by the wounds or not. You don't have a way of checking regardless of which it is.
In any case, sitting around isn't going to do you any good. The extermination is over, and you'd barely managed to survive by the skin of your teeth through nothing but sheer luck. And you know that luck is bound to eventually run out. You can't rely on it. Your efforts towards getting more souls under your control need to be more aggressive. Easier said than done, you're well aware. But if you don't do it, it isn't going to get done. Suck it up and go make progress. You're in Hell, niceness and politeness isn't going to help you with everyone you meet. You need to-
You need to figure out just where in Hell you were, because you don't think the sky's supposed to be green.
Chapter End Notes
Anyway I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. And before anyone says it, I'm aware that Sinners are confined to Pride. But I don't believe that means that they can't manage to find their way to the lower Rings.
Plus, it's not like Reader's normal.
Ted E. Bear's Mafia Free Playland and Casino
Chapter Notes
No mafia here~
We're mafia free~
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You're bonking your head repeatedly against a pole. Your forehead throbs dully from the mild abuse, but you don't stop. You just keep on bonking your head and cursing your ill begotten luck and wonder if any of this would be happening to you if you hadn't decided that trying to build power was the way you wanted to do things. And then you go and stuff that thought in a sack before you drown it in the river because you aren't actually looking for an answer. This sucks.
Somehow, you've managed to escape the Pride Ring and made your way down to Greed, if the green sky and the sign welcoming you to the Ring in question weren't indicative enough of that fact. You groan as you pull yourself away from the task of bashing in your poor cranium. This was definitely not good. Sinners were confined to Pride for a reason. If any of the residents of Greed were to discover and uncover you, that would throw far too much attention onto you, something you'd very much like to avoid altogether.
The easiest way to do that would be to get back up to the Pride Ring, the only problem is that you have no idea how you're going to do that. Sure, there are the elevators and trains that take Hellborn demons to every which Ring, but therein lies the issue. Hellborn. If Sinners could use those modes of transportation, then they'd flood the other Rings come Extermination Day and also would just stay in whichever Ring they preferred. You don't know if there was some security measure that could tell the difference between Hellborn and Sinner, but you doubted you'd be able to use either of the two options previously stated.
Your best bet would be to try and replicate whatever happened that helped you escape from the Exorcist. Problem: you don't think that you were the one who did that, or at least if you did, you have no idea how you managed to. No amount of waving your hands around or concentrating hard enough produced any results. You just looked stupid flailing your limbs about and then staring hard at nothing for minutes on end. So yeah, nothing doing down that avenue of action.
Essentially, you're stuck down here in Greed. Which again, isn't good for you. Ignoring the potential consequences of getting discovered, you can't further your goal from the Ring. Aside from Charlie – who could very well simply be a special exception due to her parentage – you don't know if Hellborn even have souls. And you aren't going to blindly charge into things and try to make a deal just to find out. If they don't, then a heavy amount of suspicion and skepticism would fall on your head. So, you thought it best to not tempt fate like that. It already seemed to have it out for you enough as it was.
You could feel hot tears of frustration well up as you took in your new set of circumstances. Was that it then? This is where everything came to an end for you? Stuck in a Ring Sinners aren't supposed to be able to go and not being able to get out because you can't replicate what you or something else did to get you here in the first place? You want to scream about how unfair it all is, but you don't. You already knew how unfair it all was because if things were fair then you wouldn't be struggling as much as you have been.
You wonder if it was this difficult for everyone that sought to gain power and grind that notion into the dirt under your heel. Of course it wasn't. Those who sought to become powerful in Hell no doubt had some form of power when they were alive. Whatever form it was, they were used to having power and not at all comfortable with not having it anymore. They were the cunning and ruthless, the truly ambitious. You'd never sought power in life, you were fine with being a nobody because with power came fame and fame had always seemed like such a burden to you.
You weren't assertive or charismatic enough. No, more than that. You just weren't confident enough in yourself. It was hard to be. You'd never been one who was popular. Of course you'd had friends, but those were friendships struck up in girlhood and nurtured over many years with a few new additions picked up here and there along the way. You weren't one to go out of your way to put yourself in the spotlight. How fitting then that your powers in death so far dealt with shadows. You couldn't have chosen better if you'd had a say in what you got.
You laid down and stared unseeing at the sky. You had no idea how to proceed forward and no amount of scratching your head was going to get you anywhere. You sighed, a deep and sorrowful thing. You didn't want to just give up like this, but what else could you do? Go up to Mammon and hope he'll help you out if you ask real nice? Yeah, fuck that noise. If he didn't kill you outright for your audacity after laughing at you, he'd no doubt try and figure out a way to exploit you. You're putting that idea in the burn pile.
Since nothing comes to mind, you may as well take a nap. It isn't as though there are any people around. They're all scattered about the cities of Greed living their little lives. You're a bit envious that they can all live their lives a lot more carefree than you can right now. You know there's no sense in being bitter towards people who have nothing to do with your situation, but it's easier to put that into theory than it is in practice. You curl up in on yourself and take the first proper rest you've had since manifesting.
You aren't sure how long you sleep for, but when you wake up you feel much more refreshed. You stand up and stretch-
"Ow!"
And whip your head at the sound of someone falling down behind you. Laying face down in a most unladylike position is an imp. She's donned in a deep purple dress that has a bow in a different shade of purple wrapped around it. When she situates herself to a more refined sitting position, you can see that her hair is short and curly. Her left horn curves into a crescent at the tip while her right horn has been broken off at the tip. She's looking up, up, up at you and her pout morphs into a disappointed frown.
Her tail thumps against the ground in annoyance. "Here I thought I'd find myself all mauled up by a disgruntled beasty. And yet I remain unmarred. How disappointing."
Her cheeks are puffed out and her arms are crossed childishly. She glares at you like you're the source of all her problems in the world. She rises from her seated position and smooths her dress out. You know that imps range from teeny to about human sized, but it's still a bit jarring to see that she barely reaches the middle of your thigh. She sounds too mature to be a child, but the height is throwing you off. You aren't going to let her small size distract you from the fact that she was perfectly fine with falling asleep on what she thought was a "beasty" and hoping it would maul her. She said it so flippantly that you think she must put herself into dangerous situations all the time. That makes you more than a little nervous. How are you supposed to avoid people if they come to you?
You barely suppress a flinch as she latches onto you and refuses to let go no matter how hard you try and shake her off.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you to respect others' boundaries?"
She frowns at you. "Now how am I supposed to get to know someone if I keep my distance? You learn so much by getting so close to others. Like with Killian. He punches when he gets startled. I lost two teeth when I first met him!"
She grins as though it's something to be proud of, and clearly as far as she's concerned it is. You notice that her smile is crooked, but no less genuine for it.
"He kept apologizing for some reason after I spat those teeth out. I don't understand why someone would apologize for giving such an enthusiastic greeting. He's just weird like that I suppose."
She pauses momentarily before she appears to have a lightbulb moment.
"Oh, but where are my manners?" She unlatches – thank God – and curtsies. "Avary Avidity, pleasure to make your acquaintance." She cocks her head to the side. "And you are?"
Huh. You haven't had to introduce yourself to anyone in quite some time. And odd as it may sound, you don't exactly want to. You don't feel like your name quite fits you right now. Perhaps in time you'll feel like it's yours again, but for the time being you are nameless.
"I don't know… I'm still figuring that out."
Avary nods like it's the simplest thing in the world. "I understand. Crafting one's identity takes trial and error. I'm sure you'll find a name that fits you in time. If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing sleeping out here?"
"…I don't want to talk bout it." Your response comes out short and curt. It isn't any of her business.
Still, she takes your prickly demeanor in stride. "Fine then. Might I ask something of you?"
You bristle and do not break eye contact. "…what."
She smiles at you, wide and crooked. "I'd like to ask you to hurt me senselessly. Cut me up, remove fingers or limbs. It doesn't matter. All I want is for you to make it so that I'll never look desirable to anyone ever again."
This time you can't suppress your flinch and you take several steps back from her. "Excuse me?!" You're absolutely incredulous at Avary's request.
Her grin remains firmly in place. "I want you to hurt me bad enough that no one will ever think to desire me in any way ever again."
"Why- No. I don't want to know. I'm not doing that," you sputter out.
Her grin finally falters and her eyes glaze over and lose the sparkle they'd held. "Ah. I see. I suppose that was a bit much to just ask of someone I've just met. It would have been so much simpler if you'd been a beasty. A beasty wouldn't have asked questions, if I'd disturbed it badly enough it would have simply tried to kill me."
Avary turns and looks out over the cityscape. "I'm not looking for sympathy here, and I know you said you didn't want to know, but I'd like to vent about my circumstances to you for a bit if I could."
You stare at her for a moment before shrugging your shoulders. You honestly are curious as to what could make someone ask a complete stranger to hurt them that badly, but you don't think anyone would blame you for your kneejerk reaction to being the one asked.
She smiles briefly before her face turns somber. "Most imps are born in Wrath. My father was, my mother was, their parents before them were, so on and so forth. I was born here in Greed. I've lived here my entire life never once even entertaining the idea of going to see the other Rings. My parents work for a man named Rable Rout. He's excessively violent, excessively cruel, and excessively up his own ass about everything. He wants things to be a certain way and those who work for him learn quickly what that way is, or they wind up dead. Killian is his son and my best friend. I love Killian. I'm in love with Killian. I overheard Rable talking with my parents about how I've "grown into such a fine young lady" and how he'd "take good care of me." I trust you can see where I'm going with this?"
You nod, feeling angry on Avary's behalf.
"My parents can't say no to their boss unless they want to wind up at the bottom of a lake wearing concrete shoes. Killian is far too gentle to stand up to Rable, as angry as he is for what he's trying to pull. I thought that if I damaged my appearance a bit then Rable would lose interest. He'd always told me that I had a beautiful set of horns, so I broke one. Just reached up and snapped it off. I said I tripped and hit it against something. Rabel said it gave me an air of alluring danger. What a load of bullshit! So, I thought that if I got mauled up and scarred, he wouldn't want me anymore."
"That's quite the leap to make. You had no guarantee that you'd survive whatever did the mauling."
She laughs and it's choked with sadness. "I know! I know. But if I had to choose between dying and becoming that creep's wife, I'd pick dying every time. I'd rather be dead than live in a world where I can't love Killian the way I want."
"Have you thought about just running away with Killian? There are six other Rings to choose from and the cities are big. Surely you could hide?"
"I can't run away with Killian because he only sees me as a friend. And I'm okay with that. Just seeing him happy is enough for me. If I left, I'd never be able to come back. I'd never see him again. I couldn't bear that either. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I don't know what to do."
Avary's lips wobble and she buries her head in her hands as she sobs profusely. You are incredibly uncomfortable with all this. You feel bad for her certainly, anyone with a heart that wasn't twisted would. But what exactly are you supposed to do with this information? It sounds like this Rabel Rout is the leader of a crime family, of which Avary's parents are members of. Avary doesn't want to marry Rabel because one: she's in love with Killian and two: just speculating, but Rabel's probably the same age as her parents and she's most likely known him since she was a child.
Avary doesn't want to leave the Greed Ring without Killian but is convinced that Killian wouldn't run away with her because he just sees her as a friend. And maybe he does, you don't know. He certainly isn't obligated to reciprocate her feelings one way or the other. Killian won't stand up to his father about the issue he clearly has about Rabel wanting to marry Avary. Her parents can't do anything against Rabel's decision unless they feel like dying. Avary is stuck and doesn't know how to proceed forward. Though the circumstances are completely different, you can empathize with her.
You're both stuck in situations neither of you can see a way out of.
Avary's sobs subsided to frequent sniffling as she latched back onto your side. Your heart hurts for her, it really does. Your hand gently grazes the top of her head repeatedly and the action soothes her somewhat. The sniffling eventually stops and Avary wipes her eyes furiously.
"Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. I've been unable to talk with anyone but Killian about this. No one but he and I know what Rabel's discussed with my parents. His anger towards my predicament is sweet, but ultimately his hands are tied. He won't go against his father, much as he might want to."
You feel your ears prick up at that tidbit of information. "No one except for you and Killian know what his dad's trying to do? Does he know that you know?"
Avary blinks then looks up at you. "No, Killian was quite adamant that I make sure Rabel didn't know I was aware of his plans. I assume it's because he'd accelerate them if he knew that I knew of them. Why?"
"I have an idea, and just hear me out until the end. What if you ran away, not from Greed, just from where you're staying. Leave a note saying that you'd met someone you were afraid your parents wouldn't approve of, but that you loved them too much to care. You get away from Rabel, you could still see Killian albeit from a distance, everyone wins!"
"That is a nice thought. But you're forgetting that Rabel's particular about how he wants things. He'd no doubt try and hunt me and my mystery lover down and drag me back to him. And when he learns that it was a ruse to get out of marrying him, he'll either still force me into marriage or kill me for my insolence."
"Even if you say you left for another Ring?"
"Even then. I'd still run the risk of being spotted by somebody here eventually and people love to talk. Still. Your idea has merit… Perhaps if we were to… Yes, but then… No, no… Yes!" Avary leaps up onto your chest and beams at you. "I have a solution! It isn't perfect, but I think it'll work. I run away, no note, no leaving Greed. There are so many abandoned buildings scattered all over the city that no one would notice someone taking up residence in it. I know so many people that are looking for work but either can't find any or don't trust any of the Families in the city to do right by them because they don't know them. But they know me. So many of them have told me that if I were the one running things then they'd sign on in a heartbeat."
"So, your plan is to start up your own Family and what? Become bigger and more powerful than Rabel?"
Avary nods enthusiastically. "Exactly! Money and power go hand in hand here. If I get enough and keep it, I'll never have to bow to Rabel's whims again."
"And if he can behave himself, you could be tentative allies and see Killian whenever you want as a representative of the Rout Family?"
Her grin turns mischievous. "Why, only a few hours we've known each other, and you already know me so well!"
You're getting a strange sense of déjà vu, only this time you're the one helping the down on her luck girl with gaining power.
Her smile smooths out into a serious expression. "Are you willing to help me?"
Hm. On the one hand, you can't really do anything about your situation as things stand. On the other hand, you aren't too keen on getting pulled into the dealings of an up-and-coming crime family. What to do, what to do…
You've got it.
"I have conditions."
Avary hops down from where she'd been perched on your chest and stares at you intently. "Name them."
You hold up a finger. "I'll help, but I want it to be understood that I'm not looking to be a part of a crime family for life. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Avary nods in assent. "Perfectly reasonable. I'm of the opinion that loyalty should be gained through respect and not fear, I'd never try and force you into a life of crime beyond me achieving my goal."
A second finger. "I myself need help in finding a way to traverse the Rings that isn't through the normal methods one would take. No elevators, no trains, nothing a Hellborn can be spotted taking. So long as you never ask why and promise to find one, I'll be happy to help you."
"I can think of several reasons why you'd want something like that, I won't pry. I'll be happy to fulfill this condition. Anything else?"
A third finger. "No unnecessarily mentioning me to anyone. Like I said, I don't plan to do this for life. If your subordinates know about me, fine. But figure a way to swear them to secrecy that'll stick. I don't want to be front and center out in the spotlight. I'll stick to the shadows."
Avary grins. "I'm fine with that. The people I'm thinking of recruiting and I have a mutual respect for each other. They won't mind making a deal for their silence with me. Just as I have no trouble making one with you." She holds her hand out. "So, do we have an accord?"
You hold your hand out, black strands wisping off it. "Deal."
It feels markedly different from the two deals you've made thus far. There is no feeling of power flowing through you and you weren't expecting there to be. Instead of a collar and chains appearing, a black piece of paper with gold lettering rises from the wisps and dissipates into your body. Another deal under your belt, not for a soul but instead for Avary's understanding, cooperation, and silence. And all she had asked of you was for your help in asserting her criminal empire.
You'll be her right-hand man until she's carved a place for herself in the world of organized crime and she's found you an undetectable ticket out of the Greed Ring. Not an easy task on either for either of you but a deal's a deal and if you both ever want to get out of it then the terms set by both sides have to be met. And it isn't like you'll be doing the hard part of getting people on Avary's side, it sounds like she already has that taken care of. No, you'll be helping out in some other way. Perhaps as muscle?
It's not like you lack the arm strength to throw a bladed weapon around, but if Avary were to ask you to shoot then that's another matter entirely. And you've got the sneaking suspicion that you're going to need to learn how to wield some kind of firearm, lest you be "that guy" that brings a knife to a gun fight. Well, you aren't going to say no to expanding your arsenal. You'll need all sorts of skills to truly make it in Pride, perhaps you can spend your indeterminate amount of time here honing those skills. You can't exactly rush things anyway, that'd be sloppy, and you won't be known as a dealmaker who half asses her end of the bargain.
Regular deals could prove to be just as useful to you as those with souls and having a bad reputation with the former would make obtaining the latter all the more difficult, and you're trying to make things go as easy for you as you can. Your hands part and Avary looks incredibly pleased.
"This is the start of a beautiful partnership. I don't know why, but something about you makes me believe that everything's going to turn out just fine."
"Are you sure that isn't your desperation talking?" You can't help but quip.
Avary barks out a laugh. "Maybe so! But it doesn't change the way I feel about this. It'll be hard work, but I'll do whatever it takes to see this through. I refuse to allow the alternative to happen."
"I get it. So, what's the first step? Are you running away right now or are you going to wait a bit?"
"The latter. It'll be a shitshow either way but leaving right now would seem way too suspicious. I'll need a few days at the least, a week tops before I pull my disappearing act. Think you can wait that long?"
"I'll manage. It'll give me some time to get a bit more familiar with how things work around here."
Avary nods and bids farewell. You watch her go and stare out at the city when she's vanished from sight. This is a major setback for your goal, but one that could prove itself to be quite fruitful if you play your cards right. It'll be dangerous though; this time you're intentionally placing yourself in harm's way and you don't know how well you'll be able to dodge this time. You remind yourself to be careful and stalk your way into the city. No sense in waiting to see what things are like here.
You're aquiver with anticipation.
Chapter End Notes
Cool, finally got the embed to work. That was annoying.
I'm The Fear That Keeps You Awake, I'm The Shadows on The Wall
Chapter Notes
I consider this chapter the real beginning of Reader's journey for power. Everything before this was set up. Setback after setback and then no choice but to work with someone whose lifestyle could teach her how to be tougher.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Avary ended up needing that full week before she slipped away from the Rout Family. When she came to meet you outside the city she was dressed inconspicuously. Gone were her dress and ribbon, exchanged for a sensible gray suit and a black overcoat. A red scarf hung loosely around her neck and her head was adorned with a gray trilby that had a red feather sticking out of its black band. You'd liken the Avary you'd met a week ago to an optimistically naïve dreamer that had her hopes crushed. This Avary was one who was all serious realism, no nonsense allowed.
"I have the building all picked out. Far enough away from the Rout mansion that the only way they could hope to find me anytime soon is if they think to believe I'd run that far. It's not pretty, but it'll suit our needs for the time being. Arre you ready to go?"
"Just waiting on you. I've learned quite a bit in the week we've been apart. I think you'll be interested to know some of the juicy gossip I've overheard."
Avary's tail swished to and fro. "I can't wait to hear it. Fill me in after we've gotten all settled in alright?"
Avary wasn't joking when she'd said that the building wasn't pretty. What windows weren't cracked were missing their glass entirely save for a few jagged shards still sticking firmly in place. The outside was overgrown with dead and dry vegetation. Litter and debris were scattered about like leaves all over the ground and you didn't care to take a closer look at what specifically was lying there. You had a deep gut feeling that you really didn't care to know. You followed that feeling and kept your gaze off the ground, save to step around the potholes present on the way to the metal front double door.
Which immediately creaked and groaned in protest before falling off its hinges. The resulting slam drew the attention of every Hellborn milling about the abandoned and decrepit structure. Mostly imps, but you do see a few hellhounds and some fish demons. All of them point their guns at you but hold off on firing when they see Avary at your side looking none too pleased by their actions.
"I recall telling all of you that I would be bringing my right hand with me to introduce herself? Put those peashooters away, we aren't savages."
It's a testament to how much these demons must respect Avary because the moment the order leaves her lips the guns are holstered and the demons eye you warily from where they're all spread out across the room. Her word is law to these people, and you hope that one day you'll be able to have as commanding a presence.
An exasperated frown graces Avary's face and she huffs out a sigh before turning to you. "I do apologize for them. They've been a bit on edge this past week but that's no excuse to suddenly try and make Swiss cheese out of someone."
"On edge? That wouldn't have anything to do with the rumors of a turf war brewing between the Putrid and Hedonia Families, would it?"
You receive a sharp nod. "Exactly. Those two are always sniping at each other and it's never good for anyone when tensions inevitably boil over. They do their best to keep other Families out of their disputes, but the regular people are left to fend for themselves. And then they have the audacity to act like the following decrease in productivity across the city isn't a result of their actions! Can't keep things running if you kill the people who know how to run things, but they don't think about that!"
The gaggle of Hellborn all mutter out their own grievances about the situation. Some of them spit derisively and snarl at the thought of the two feuding Families.
Avary clears her throat in an attempt to calm down. "But we can discuss what you've heard in greater detail later. Right now, I'd like to properly introduce you to everyone and get you settled in." She leads you to the center of the room where a stack of crates has been left. She hops up on top and calls for everyone's attention, as though she didn't have it to begin with. "Everyone! I thank you for your patience with me this past week! I am pleased to say that as of today I will be taking the advice you've all given me over the years and forming a Family of my very own!"
Cheers ring out. For a group this size, it's impressive how loud they can get. Must be the acoustics of this place.
Avary holds out her hands and they all settle down. "I do have to inform you all that while I was never officially a member of the Rout Family, I did leave without a word to anyone. Whether they think I was kidnapped or rightfully assume that I ran away doesn't matter. I informed you all of what Rabel was planning to do with me, yes?"
Hisses and growls erupt from the throats of the spectators. Seems they are all none too pleased with Rabel's inclinations towards Avary. Good. The man watched her grow up beside his son and thinks it's okay to pursue her romantically? Your stomach roils in disgust. You don't want to even think about when exactly he started cooking up the idea of making Avary his wife.
"Just a few hours ago was when I made my escape from that horrible place. It won't be long before they realize that I'm not coming back. However, that is why I picked this building specifically to begin our operations from. It's far enough away from the Rout mansion that it will take them a while before they decide to widen the area of their search or assume that I'm dead. I'm hoping for the latter, but should the former occur I want each and every one of you to be prepared for the worst."
The crowd's eyes are hardened, and you can feel the hostility towards Rabel wafting off of them. Loyalty was one thing, you're fairly certain that these demons are completely and utterly devoted to Avary and her goals no matter what they may be. She said she'd known these people for years; she must have done something truly special for each and every one of them to look like they'd gladly rip her enemies to shreds with just their teeth if she asked them to.
Avary clears her throat. "Now then. I'd like for you all to meet the woman who I've decided to make my right hand." She extends her hand towards you and motions for you to get up on the crates with her. "She and I have an understanding with each other. She'll be assisting me to achieve my ambitions but in order for her to do so I need her existence to remain a complete secret from everyone outside of our Family. That's why I had you all agree to an oath of secrecy deal. I apologize for not telling you sooner, but her condition was that I could only tell my subordinates about her. You've all agreed to be my Family, so you all get to know about her now."
The demons whisper amongst themselves and more wary looks are thrown your way. You weren't expecting immediate trust from them, it would have been foolish to. You can only hope that Avary's words will convince them to at east give you the benefit of the doubt before they decide to write you off completely. It would be difficult for you to hold up your end of the deal if Avary's people decided that it was necessary to get in your way.
"Any questions or concerns you have about this decision should be brought to me," Avary continues. "I trust that she'll stick to her word, and I hope that you all trust me to know what I'm doing."
The whispers die down, but the suspicious looks remain. At the very least, you're going to have to prove to these demons that you're someone they can trust. They don't have to like you; you aren't looking to become bestest friends or anything like that. But comrades in arms need to trust each other lest the whole operation fall to pieces. You can't say that you trust any of them right now either, so that'll be something to work on.
"Now then," Avary clasps her hands together. "I'll be seeing to getting my right hand settled in. Please, go about your business until I call for you to discuss our first course of action in establishing ourselves as a new power in play."
Avary hops off the crates and you follow suit. You can feel the eyes of her subordinates doing their best to burn holes into your person. You proceed as if you aren't the least bit unnerved by them. You don't doubt that these demons are going to poke and push and prod at you until they're mollified. Showing no fear or apprehension is a must.
They have already begun testing you and you don't have a choice but to pass muster.
You are led up a rickety metal staircase that protests loudly under your weight combined with Avary's. That's an accident just waiting to happen. You understand that this building is only temporary until Avary can afford to move her operation to a more hospitable location. You just hope that some good fortune comes your way and that it happens sooner than later. You certainly don't want to be the one this rusty death trap gives out on.
You step over a large wooden beam that had broken away from the ceiling when you reach the top of the stairs. "What'd this place used to be anyway?"
Avary opens a door and hums. "I don't know, it's been abandoned since long before I was born. A few of the rooms have been repurposed to house the Family, but most of them still have equipment and machinery in them. All rusted beyond salvaging. Trust me, if any of this were worth something, it'd have been taken a long time ago."
You follow her into the room. It's not very spacious. It looks like it was an office of some sort in times gone by. There's a cot shoved up against the wall in the corner and a desk on the opposing wall. There isn't much else to the room; it's very spartan.
"This will be your room. The bathroom is the next door down. There's a sink and a toilet and a shower. Which was interesting to find. I think that there used to be employee accommodations all throughout the building, but beyond the communal bathrooms downstairs and this small one up here, I wasn't able to find anything else. Maybe it got too expensive to keep up with and got shut down?"
You think that this used to be a prison. But you have no way of proving that. You sit down on the cot and Avary takes up residence at the desk. Looks like it's time to get down to business.
"So," she begins. "You said you'd heard rumors about the Putrid and Hedonia Families? Tell me everything you've heard, leave not even the smallest detail out no matter how useless it seems."
"Right. Just bear in mind that I have no context for anything that I've overheard. I don't know who any of these people are or what significance they have." She nods vigorously and you clear your throat. "So, the rumors about these two Families are as follows: Marcia and Lola are exchanging verbal jabs again, no idea over what but it's been escalating, and people say it's only a matter of time before the blows become physical. Whoever "Junior" is, he's been seen hanging around the docks late at night, speculation is that he's meeting up with a secret lover. The head honchos Otto Putrid and Darren Hedonia have been buying up and stockpiling arms and ammunition, demons are dreading the turf war that's bound to ignite soon. Various stores that are fronts for both Families have fewer goods for sale, don't know what that means. And the last one is that there's been a girl spotted flitting about between the two Families territories and people swear they've seen her on the arms of both Family heads."
Avary mulls over the information, a contemplative look on her face. "That last bit is very interesting. We'll need to identify this girl and figure out what her game is. Anyone from this side of Greed knows that Putrid and Hedonia don't get along and no one in their right mind would try and fan the flames. Whether she knows what she's doing or is really that oblivious, the girl is going to be a problem. As for the rest of that… Marcia and Lola are always fighting, but it never escalates beyond a bit of slapping and hair pulling, but I'll have someone keep an eye on that just in case. Junior is Darren Hedonia's right hand; any dirt we can get on him could be invaluable. Nothing to be done about the buying and stockpiling, everyone knows those two are headed for another feud. And the stores are most likely hoarding their goods for it."
"I have more varied bit of information if you want to hear it."
Avary shakes her head. "No. At least not right now. I need to capitalize on the intel you've already given me right away. Get people out there keeping an ear to the ground and an eye on the sky as it were."
"Alright," you acquiesce. "What should I do in the meantime?"
"The situation with Marica and Lola and whatever Junior's really doing can be handled by anyone. What I need you to do is find that girl. Figure out who she is and then report back to me. I'll handle the rest from there. Take your time, I don't want you getting caught."
"Got it. You want me to get on that right now, or wait a bit?"
Avary rubs her chin. "Sooner would be preferable, however I doubt a week of skulking about has made you an expert of the area. If you think you can handle getting on it right away, go ahead. Maybe you'll learn more while you look for her. But don't take unnecessary risks. We have a deal, and I can't very well keep up my end of things if you're dead, yeah?"
She smiles and you huff out a laugh. "And neither can I. I'll be as careful as I can, you don't have to worry about that."
Avary heads back downstairs to hand out marching orders to whoever she thinks would be best for tailing after the two women and the man. You stand up and stretch. The day is young, and the mystery woman has been seen out and about with the two Family heads at all hours of the day. Follow the gossip and you're sure to find her eventually.
You have a feeling you've got your work cut out for you.
When you're right, you're right. It took a solid month for you to track down reliable intel on the woman in question and then you had to go searching for her. There was no rhyme or reason to when and where or who she'd be meeting up with. Somehow she'd managed to keep both Otto and Darren completely in the dark about how she'd been two-timing with the both of them.
Tonight, you were finally tailing after the woman. You didn't know which man she was with tonight and you honestly didn't give a shit. The two lovebirds were moseying up to the door of an apartment complex and he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before bidding her a good night. She giggled and waved goodbye and watched as he walked out of sight.
And then she discreetly looked around before taking off in the opposite direction. You followed from a safe distance, never getting too close, but not staying so far that you risked losing her. She turned a corner sharply and you waited a moment. Good thing you did because she had pulled out a knife and had slashed at the air. Her hand gripped the corner tightly as she looked around for any sign that she was being followed.
You'd picked up a fun new trick this past month. It'd happened when you were tailing some inconsequential imp as he blathered on to his conversation partner about anything and everything. He didn't have anything useful and in your frustration with that, you'd been spotted. You hadn't been close enough for them to have made out any defining features, so that was good. However, they'd been inebriated and took exception to "some creepy fucker" following them "all fucking creepy like." And so, they gave chase.
Not a very good one given how drunk they were, which is what had bought you time to duck into an alley and push yourself up against the wall to become as one with the shadows as possible. And apparently some part of you subconsciously took that momentary want a bit too literally because the next thing you knew, you were phasing into the shadows on the wall.
It was nothing like when you'd run from the Exorcist, but very similar. And the best thing about it was that you knew how you did it. Now entering and exiting shadows came as easy as breathing to you and was indispensable when it came to prowling about for information. Like what you were doing right now.
The woman huffed haughtily and proceeded back around the corner. You continued following her from within the shadows as you had been doing the whole time. You had a way to avoid detection, like Hell you weren't going to use it.
She eventually led you to a run-down building. Not as run-down as where you were currently staying, but it had certainly seen better days that was for sure. She knocked and a slot opened on the door and a pair of eyes peered out.
"Do you have the means to be here?"
"Is Mammon's ass fat?"
The slot closed and the door opened a crack. She swiftly entered the building and the door shut firm and fast and you heard the heavy lock slide in place. How unfortunate for them that doors and the like can't keep you out of anywhere anymore. You slip inside.
From floor to ceiling this place is crawling with imps. Such a mass of bodies makes for a rather large, shared shadow, something that you shamelessly take advantage of as you dart and weave your way about the place to keep up with the woman's pace. She makes her way upstairs and into a room hidden behind a set of double doors that at one point may have been some form of grand.
She bows her head in deference to the imp sitting behind the large, wooden desk. His face is stoic, his mouth set in a firm frown. He swirls a glass of wine back and forth before taking a sip. He sets the glass down and laces his fingers together in front of his face.
"So," he begins, voice gravelly and low. "How did things go?"
The woman smirks and huffs out a laugh. "Just like always. I had Putrid eating out of the palm of my hand the entire time. I dropped the information about Hedonia sending undercover goons into his territory just like you told me to. You should have seen his face! It shouldn't be long now before those two are at each other's throats again. Only this time…"
The man's smile is more of a sneer. "There won't be anything left but ashes when things are done. Excellent work, Betty. You make the Marella Family proud with your actions. You can expect a reward for your efforts soon enough."
"Thank you, Don Gregor," Betty simpers. "Your generosity knows no bounds."
You could puke from how sugary fake that sounded. It didn't look like Gregor noticed, or maybe he just doesn't care. So long as his underlings do what he says and are loyal to him above anything else, he just might not give a shit. You creep out of the building and out into the dark. The night is cold and the wind howls. A storm is coming, and soon. And it doesn't care who gets caught out in it. Nature is just a truly unrelenting mistress that way.
When you return to her with the information, Avary slams her fist down on the desk in her office. You call it an office, but it is just as ramshackle as everything else in this building. You eye the desk warily; it certainly doesn't look like it can take much more abuse. It was in bad condition when Avary had it lugged up here and you don't think she'll be too keen on looking for another if this one breaks.
"The Marcella Family? You're absolutely sure about that?"
"That's what he said," you confirm.
Avary worried a claw between her teeth. "Shit. Shit. This is the last thing anyone needs right now."
You scratch the back of your head. "Hate to sound ignorant here, but why?"
She sighs deeply and locks eyes with you. "Right. So, the Marcella Family has been around for as long as the Putrid and Hedonia Families. They're mainly concerned with smuggling weapons of all sorts all across the Greed Ring and lately have been seen active in Wrath and Envy, but only a bit. They've always been neutral to every other Family due to their business being weapons. And who's been buying and stockpiling weapons and ammunition?"
"Alright, so the Marcella Family definitely benefits from the longstanding feud between Putrid and Hedonia. But from the sounds of it they fully expect this next fight to be both Family's last. And from what I've gathered, they've been using this Betty to spark additional friction between Otto and Darren, having her feed them information about the other regardless of whether it's true or not." You put a hand to your chin and mutter to yourself, but still loud enough for Avary to hear. "I can only imagine the fallout if and when those two realize they've been seeing the same woman. They'd probably go after each other harder than ever before."
Avary sucks in a sharp breath. "And they'd probably use everything the had at their disposal. All those arms and ammunitions they'd been hoarding would come out of the woodwork and the streets would run red with the blood of all the regular people caught in the crossfire. And when both Families are on their last legs who do you think will show up at the last minute to finish them both off? And then claim their territories as their own?"
You sigh this time, annoyed with the whole situation. "You'd think that Gregor Marcella would want to keep the two people his business benefits the most from alive and well for as long as he can so that he can milk them for all they're worth."
Avary shrugs tiredly. "Hey, this is the Greed Ring. The constant want for more, more, more makes even the smartest amongst us stupid. I guess Gregor got tired of playing the long game of waiting for Otto and Darren to kill each other naturally and decided to stir the pot." She rubs her eyes. "Okay. So, we know the name of the woman playing both sides and that she works for the Marcella Family. I'll have Boris and Hank extend and invitation to visit to the little lady."
Boris and Hank are absolute units of hellhounds. Avary isn't taking any chances for Betty to slip away and inform Gregor that a mysterious party is privy to what he's planning to do.
"I'm sure they'll be as polite as they always are." Boris and Hank are not polite. Not to you anyway. Though, it's less them being rude and more they're just gruff with everyone that they don't know all that well. They're total sweethearts to Avary. "Now here's the million-dollar question: what do you want to do about all this? Should we let the two Families end each other and be the ones to sweep up the remnants? Do you want to take out the Marcella Family instead and let Putrid and Hedonia simmer down? Let Marcella live and blackmail him with telling Putrid and Hedonia what he did? What's the plan?"
Avary groans out exasperatedly. "I don't know! For now, I want Betty brought in. It might piss off all three Family heads, but I need all the information I can get from her. No going off halfcocked with only speculations."
You nod and leave Avary to her wallowing. Poor thing. Only a month in being the head of a Family and she's already got a big conspiracy to deal with. She'll have to decide what to do soon, if she does anything. She could decide that getting involved in this dispute would put too much attention on her Family too soon, and Rout is still sniffing around for any trace of her.
But there's no sense in worrying about that right now. There's a guest to prepare for after all.
Chapter End Notes
Got some stuff coming up that might interfere with writing. We'll see.
Questions
Chapter Notes
So I'm not really sure how long this - arc I guess - is going to be. I don't want to rush things but I also don't want to drag them out to the point you all start getting bored of this story. I know how I want it to go, it's just a matter of getting there.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Of course, Avary can't just send Boris and Hank out to "invite" Betty over right away. She risks far too much by being too hasty about this. If she were to just have Betty taken right now, she'd only be inviting trouble that you know her Family isn't equipped to handle.
It happens like this. Now that you've delivered on the information about just who Betty was, Avary could have multiple people tailing after her. No more than one at a time and always far enough away from Betty that she wouldn't get overly suspicious of their presence. And it was never the same person back-to-back. No sense in giving the game away like that.
Instead, it's someone different every day that follows Betty around; and it's never for the same amount of time as the day previous. One person reports where they'd seen her on what day for the amount of time they followed her. The next person chooses a different time to go looking and reports that. And so on and so forth. Eventually all the information is pulled together to form a pretty good idea of what Betty's day to day schedule is.
And that's music to Avary's ears.
She has everyone stick to this routine for over a month to make sure that Betty doesn't deviate from her norm. Or should she deviate, to see if it's just happenstance or if there would be additional information that you would need to follow a bit closer to obtain. You should mention that Avary never has the same subordinate tail after Betty each day. You follow her no matter who else is there. And you understand why, your ability to go where others can't be reasonably expected to is a major boon to Avary. And she's willing to use whatever and whoever she has at her disposal.
You don't mind. You've gotten so good at leaping into the shadows that you don't even have to think about it anymore. You just do it whenever you want to.
Nobody but you follows Betty when she's joins Otto or Darren. Whoever your stalking buddy for the day is beats a subtle but hasty retreat and then you are on your own. You can't exactly blame them for their caution. You've seen what those two do to people they believe have crossed them or Betty in some way. Betty always gets this look of satisfaction when she sics either man on a poor, unsuspecting demon.
You're there when Avary gives the order for Boris and Hank to finally "invite" Betty over for a little "chat." It was laughably easy to corner her and let the two hellhounds gag and bag her. The look on her face when you rose out from the depths of her shadow was one of confused horror before she tried to turn tail and flee. Too bad for her that she was met with a face full of fluff for her efforts before getting grabbed.
That brings you to now, where Betty is struggling uselessly against the chair she's been bound to. Marlene – one of the fish demons – knows her way around a knot. She's not wiggling her way out of those ropes. The gag and bag over her head helps to muffle the profanity that Betty's been spewing this whole time, but some words can still be made out every now and then. It's only when Betty's struggles cease that Avary motions for the bag to be removed. The gag stays on for now.
Betty squeezes her eyes shut and hisses under the spotlight shining down on her. She shakes her head a few times and opens her eyes slowly, taking in her surroundings. You and Avary are obviously in the room, as are Boris and Hank should the unthinkable happen and Betty somehow manages to slip her bonds. Marlene is also there on the off chance she'll have to redo those bonds due to the unlikely scenario stated previously. She flares her fins and gills when she and Betty lock eyes, an intimidation tactic that works as Betty fails to suppress a flinch.
Avary stands in front of Betty, making sure to keep up unflinching eye contact. "Hello, Betty. I'm so glad you accepted my little invitation. I trust that my boys were upstanding gentlemen when they brought you here? They were? Good."
Betty obviously cannot verbally respond to the condescending tone Avary is addressing her with. She just narrows her eyes and lets out another hiss of displeasure.
Avary continues on as if Betty hadn't made a peep. "I do apologize for the vagueness of my letter, but I'm sure you of all people can understand the value of being discreet, yes? Of course you can! That's the whole reason why I invited you over. I'd like to have a little chat with you about some of your – shall we say – abrasive actions as of late. Oh, but we can't chat if you have that silly gag over your mouth."
Avary motions for you to remove the gag and you see Betty's eyes nearly bulge out of her head when you approach. Maybe she'd thought you'd just been a figment of her imagination? You don't know what's going on inside her head. But you certainly would be freaked out and trying to convince yourself it wasn't real if something crawled out of your shadow in the dark.
"So, what's say you and I get right on this little heart to heart, shall we?" Avary asks like Betty really has a choice.
Betty sure seems to think she has a choice. "Go fuck yourself, bitch," she snarls and spits on Avary's face.
Boris, Hank and Marlene all growl defensively at the action, hackles raised. Avary holds up a hand to silence them, then wipes the spit off her cheek before flicking her hand to the side. She looks at her hand and in a split second too fast for her to react to, Avary strikes Betty across the face hard enough to knock her over chair and all.
Betty's head kisses the cold, rough surface of the concrete as she lets out a cry of pain. You think it's from the pain. Could be a cry of shock, but the tears welling up might beg to differ. Avary doesn't give Betty any time to recover and harshly grips her by the hair and yanks her up to eye level.
"You don't seem to understand the situation you're in, Betty," Avary growls out her name like it's the most repulsive thing to ever grace her tongue. Her grip tightens and Betty whimpers. "We are going to have a nice chat whether you want to talk or not. And believe me, you're going to want to talk or wish you'd started talking sooner. I'm a patient woman. When I found out about the little tart who was traipsing around the Putrid and Hedonia territories and wrapping the Family heads around her little finger, I didn't send my boys out to drag your ass here right away. No, I waited. I had you followed, had your routine learned."
Avary drops Betty back to the floor without ceremony and begins to circle her like a shark smelling fresh blood.
"I made sure that I knew what you'd be up to and when every fucking day of the whole damn week. We all knew you'd be alone well after a reasonable hour when no one else would be around. So, you were invited over tonight simply because of that. And you don't have any outings to go to with either Otto or Darren for a few days. So, we can take our time prying the information we want out of you."
Avary leans down and though you can't see it from where you're standing, you're certain the look on her face must be truly horrifying to behold. Even Hank flinched at the sight of it.
"And trust me, I have ways to know if you try and lie to me."
You have to hand it to Betty, she's nothing if not loyal to the Marcella Family. But everyone has their breaking point. The only time that Betty got a break from the torture that Avary was putting her through was when Avary herself needed a break. She always left the room with a bored look and breezily stated that they would pick this up later. And she always made good on her word.
It was always just the six of you in the room. No new faces to give Betty hope that maybe she could trick some of Avary's people into sympathizing with her. The whole process reminded you of what you'd done to the man in the wasteland. And just like then, you felt nothing while witnessing the torture. Well, that's not entirely true. You didn't feel nothing, you just felt bored. With the wasteland situation, you're fairly certain that you had gone numb from shock and just didn't have the capacity to feel anything about it. Now though, you've been in Hell for roughly three months and the constant exposure to such casual ruthlessness may have desensitized you to a lot of shit.
You wouldn't go out of your way to torment someone for shits and giggles. Violence for the sake of violence had always been distasteful to you. But you think that if you had to inflict necessary cruelty onto another, you could do it without batting an eye. You aren't sure how to feel about that, so you don't let yourself think about it too deeply. It's better that way.
Avary isn't exactly on a time limit, so she's been taking her time slowly wearing down Betty's spirit and breaking her mind. You won't deny that she's proven herself to be one tough nut to crack. But as you said earlier, everyone has their limit as to what they can take before they snap.
Betty's eyes are hollow and vacant the next time the five of you return to the room. It's been four days since she arrived, date night was supposed to be on day three. With whom, you don't know, it was always random which man she'd be hitting the town with. But she'd never missed one, so the hushed whispers you listened to during your break were laced with apprehension. Someone's been tearing up the streets looking for his babydoll and isn't happy that he hasn't found anything yet. The Marcella Family has been quiet the entire time Betty's been gone, though there's a throbbing vein that's found a home on Gregor's forehead. You wonder if he'll suffer from a burst blood vessel due to stress.
As cool a façade as he'd like to maintain, you're certain Gregor's sweating bullets not knowing where his little spy's gotten off to.
She's right here, eyes hazed over and face vacant of any expression. Blood dries from where Avary had to get a bit nastier and hadn't bothered to have it cleaned up. Betty is bruised, cut up, and you think one of her arms is either dislocated or broken from all the thrashing she'd done at the start.
She's all too eager to finally answer Avary's questions. A mindless little puppet dancing on her strings.
"So, Betty," Avary starts as she always does. You find it sad how Betty's head perks right up at the sound of her voice. "Do you feel like talking today? Or are we going to spend all our time goofing around playing games again?"
"Whatever it is you want, Miss," comes the robotic reply.
"Oh," Avary coos. "I want to believe you, really I do. But you've just been so hard to speak with these past few days! If you really mean that, then you can answer an easy-peasy question for me, can't you?" She drops the friendly tone and adopts a cold demeanor. "Who do you work for?"
"The Marcella Family. Specifically, I report directly to Don Gregor himself."
Something you all already knew. But if she would be truthful about things you already knew for a fact, then it was likely she'd be truthful about everything else. Especially with how out of it she seems to be.
"Good. What has Gregor ordered you to do?"
"To increase tensions between the Putrid and Hedonia Families more than they already were."
"Why?"
"Don Gregor has always had his sights set on being seated at the very top of the crime world. His Family has been around for as long as the other two, yet his slice of the pie isn't as large."
Avary cocks an eyebrow. "I thought that the Marcella Family wanted to remain neutral? Wouldn't keeping his business small compared to other Families only help him?"
"Perhaps. But it also makes other Families look down on him. They don't see him as an equal or a better. Especially not the Putrid or Hedonia Families. Not since Otto and Darren took over anyway. He's had it with their disrespect and has decided to remind everyone why the Marcella Family has been around for so long."
"So the buying and stockpiling of arms and ammunition done by the Putrid and Hedonia Families is… what exactly? It's far more than either has ever done before."
Betty laughs. It's cold and hollow, like a creature that only knows what a laugh is supposed to sound like but doesn't know how to do it. "Don Gregor figured he could squeeze those little upstarts for everything he could before they blew each other sky high."
"And where do you figure into all of this?"
"I'm the honeypot. I whisper sweet nothings into those idiots' ears, and they fall all over me like they can't get enough. It wasn't easy making sure neither found out about the other, but I'm just that good at what I do. I'd feed them information about the other, some true, some false. It fanned the flames ever so nicely. The cherry on top would be letting them find out at the last minute that they'd both been pursuing me – making it sound like I was completely against the other taking interest in me of course – and they'd put everything the had into finishing each other off once and for all. Then Don Gregor would swoop in and stomp out whoever was left and take his rightful place as kingpin of the city."
All of that you and Avary had speculated about. But now it had been officially confirmed. Feels bad to be right about this precarious situation.
"And then what," Avary demands. "What's Gregor's plan after he reveals that he's all too willing to discard his neutrality?"
Betty shrugs. "Families are still going to need weapons to defend their territory. Don Gregor is only interested in putting the upstarts in their rightful place. But if they feel like they can't trust Don Gregor anymore, they can always leave and reestablish themselves in another Ring. Of course, Don Gregor is anticipating that and is already making his move to expand the Family across all seven Rings."
"Anything else?"
"No. Nothing I know of anyway."
Avary smiles, a sweet thing. "Thank you, Betty. You've been very helpful. Isn't talking so much better than playing pointless games?"
"Yes, Miss. I think-"
Avary slits Betty's throat and she slumps over dead.
Of course she wasn't going to let Betty live. She'd seen all your faces after all. Broken as she might have been, she was still a liability. Don't leave loose ends to hang yourself with later and all that jazz.
Avary had her forehead resting on the backs of her hands. An open bottle of whiskey and a shot glass sat next to her elbow as she let out a continuous whine of exasperation at this whole mess. You sipped slowly on your own shot, thankful that the hood of your costume had enough fabric to hide your face as you lifted it ever so slightly.
"So," you begin slowly. "What's your next move?"
The whining gets louder.
"Because, you know," you continue. "All three other Families involved are looking for Betty. It's only a matter of time before Putrid and Hedonia hear about how they're looking for the same woman. And then the shitshow Marcella's been putting together is going to raise its curtains on the whole city."
Avary downs her shot of whiskey and pours another one. And then downs that shot, too.
"Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated? Why can't I climb my way up to being the head of a powerful crime Family the way I want to?"
You've asked yourself that question many times regarding your own struggle to gain power.
"Because life isn't fair, and it has favorites. Favorites to push down easy street and favorites to shit all over. You and I seem to be in the latter category. Unless life decides that we've taken enough shit, we're just going to have to keep on rolling with the punches as they come. Whatever they may be."
Avary groans, faceplanting onto her desk. "We'll life could stand to punch in its own weight class."
You hum. "I don't disagree. The shit we deal with could at least be on par with how skilled we currently are. If things were fair. Which, again, they aren't. I've certainly wanted to scream about the unfairness that's been slung my way, but I don't. Because I know that won't get me anywhere." You finish your shot and place the glass away from you. "Still, it's tempting to sometimes."
Avary chuckles humorlessly and puts the whiskey away. "You're always so calm and collected. How do you manage to stay so well-put together?"
You bark out a laugh. "Ha! Trust me when I say that I'm barely hanging on by a thread the majority of the time. If you think I'm put together then my act is working."
Avary sighs. "I was hoping for some advice on how to keep a cool head under pressure. Still, fake it 'til you make it isn't a bad choice in some situations." She rubs at her eyes. "I have no idea what I'm going to do. The chance of any of the Families finding out that we're the ones who took Betty are miniscule, we made sure of that. But if they were to find out, we definitely couldn't handle the kind of retaliation they'd throw our way, assuming they aren't preoccupied with trying to kill each other."
"And they will be, it's just a matter of when. This feud's been going on for a while and it looks like Gregor will be getting his way with Putrid and Hedonia trying to wipe each other out for good. I don't think there's any stopping it. And there's definitely no blackmailing Gregor with telling the two feuding parties what he's been up to. He'd probably just wipe us out in one fell swoop before we could get the chance."
"Ugh. Being the head of a crime Family looked so much easier when it wasn't me sitting in the big chair. It'd be suicide to try and approach any of them. We may just end up having to sit back and wait for the dust to settle."
You nod and think. Odds were heavily in Gregor's favor on who would be coming out on top in the end. And perhaps he was the lesser evil of the three options. Sure, he absolutely instigated this feud into turning into all-out war, you weren't denying that. But if Betty's word was to be trusted – and you did, poor thing was too broken to lie – then all Gregor would do after was expand the Family business across every Ring. Ambitious, and ultimately doomed to fail given enough time. Carmilla would eventually take over in the Pride Ring as the weapons dealer to go to and Gregor had proven himself to be a smart man, but that didn't make him wise.
If he didn't back off of the Pride Ring should his ambitions bear fruit, then he'd get a nasty wake up call if he chose to pick a fight with Carmilla. She may have avoided personally spilling blood until the start of canon, but that didn't mean her subordinates were above it. Gregor's Family wouldn't hold onto weapons distribution in Pride forever. And a proud man like him wouldn't settle for less than trying to oust the competition himself. One leader to another. All you would have to do was wait for her to get down here and establish herself, assuming she wasn't here already. You had no idea either way.
"What are you thinking about this time?" Avary was peeking out from behind her fingers at you.
"What makes you think I was thinking about anything in particular?"
She scoffs good naturedly. "You always get real quiet whenever you start thinking about something serious. Sometimes I swear you aren't breathing! So, what is it? What's bothering you?"
"Hm. I wouldn't necessarily say it's bothering me. Not significantly. I was just thinking about what would happen if Gregor's the one who comes out of this gang war on top. Which, let's be honest, he most likely will."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The way I see it, he'll eventually expand his Family's business to every Ring like Betty said he was planning. And I think that's where his ambition is going to start falling apart. Specifically in Pride."
Avary makes a noise of understanding. "Right. Excluding Lucifer and his family, Sinners – Overlords especially – are the top dog in that Ring. If one of them wanted to become the top weapons distributor of Pride, then whatever little place Gregor's Family manages to carve out for themselves up there will be wiped out."
"Exactly. And Gregor's clearly a proud man, he wouldn't stand for a competitor, an upstart looking to muscle in and take over his business. Assuming this happens while he's one: still in charge of the Marcella Family, and two: still alive."
"Sinners do have that wonderful tendency to live forever if they aren't struck down by a holy weapon. Must be nice, not having to worry about dying save for in very specific circumstances."
There's a whole lot more to be concerned with, but you don't say that. You're still keeping your status as a Sinner a secret, remember? Don't go spilling the beans due to a slip of the tongue.
Instead, you say, "I'll bet. Say, once we've got you established as a power equal to or greater than the Rout Family, do you think you'll travel outside of Greed? I remember you said that you've only been in this Ring, so I was just curious."
Avary places a hand on her face thoughtfully. "Hm. Well, I've never thought about leaving before. So, I'm not exactly sure if I would want to. Maybe? I don't know."
"It was just a thought, no need to get all bent out of shape over it. Besides, you need to establish yourself before you go entertaining thoughts of prancing off to the other Rings. But if you do decide to, maybe Killian would agree to go with you, like a diplomatic trip of sorts."
She blushes and waves her hand in front of her face dismissively. "You stop that! Go on and get out of here you troublemaker!"
You laugh as you're shooed out of Avary's office. Mission accomplished she's no longer as gripped by the thought of the impending gang war. For now. But the big boss will eventually need to reset her focus back to it and make an actual decision on whether or not to stay out of things beyond what you've already gotten involved with.
You think she'll opt to stay out of things. She wasn't wrong in saying it'd be suicide to try and usurp any of the Families involved in this. Regardless of how talented the demons she's rallied beneath her banner, Avary's Family just simply doesn't have the numbers to risk seriously getting involved in things.
She's a good person, for all that she can be cunning and ruthless. Avary cares for her people, but she doesn't allow them to coddle and smother or walk all over her. Perhaps once everything's cooled down and the regular demons affected by the gang war get desperate enough, Avary will go out looking for new recruits. You've overheard a few of her people talking about their friends and families that are going to get caught up in the middle of things. Maybe she won't have to wait until after the war to get more people on her side.
You'll see soon enough.
Chapter End Notes
The situation's a powder keg and the fuse is lit.
War, What Is It Good For
Chapter Notes
Absolutely nothing.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It's said that when tensions are high between two or more parties, it only takes a little spark to turn everything from quiet disorder into an out-of-control inferno. And that's precisely what happened in the days following Betty's death. Members of the Putrid and Hedonia Families crossed through each other's territories looking for her too many times for either side to see it as anything but a challenge to their authority.
Absolute chaos had reigned the streets all over the city. Everywhere you went there was gunfire, explosions and screaming. Most of the screaming came from ordinary demons who were just trying to stay out of the line of fire. Many were unsuccessful in this endeavor.
As the flames of war grew ever higher, people grew ever desperate. Some had plans to leave the Ring entirely and start over elsewhere. Others were planning to evacuate to another city. But the majority of demons were looking to join up with Families not currently waist deep in all the fighting, hoping it would offer them some form of protection.
You were right when you'd speculated that Avary's people would try and bring in their friends and families. It wasn't like there wasn't enough room to house them, as shitty as the accommodations were. But Avary made it known to her people that if they brought anyone in, then they would have to agree to an oath of silence deal same as everyone else, or she'd have no choice but to turn them away.
Once again, it's a testament to how devoted Avary's people are to her that they offered up no form of protest to her conditions. Those who were seeking safety on the other hand took a bit of convincing from the ones trying to offer said shelter. But in the end, not a one decided that being out there in all the chaos was better than agreeing to keep their mouths shut about something they wouldn't be let in on until after the fact. The promise of safety outweighed their apprehension.
The good news was that Avary's Family had more than doubled its initial numbers. The bad news was that most of the new members didn't have the skills required of a crime Family. So that's how these past few hectic days had been spent. Those who were able to steadily wield a firearm were being taught how to properly aim and shoot at stationary targets, moving targets would come much later after a significant amount of improvement. There were also mandatory knife fighting lessons being taught to everyone, no one would be without some form of weapon and the knowledge on how to use it.
Those who wouldn't be sent out into the field were giving their own lessons. Mundane things like the proper way to do certain types of laundry, sewing lessons, gardening, cooking the list goes on. Those who'd been dressed in ragged clothes were now sporting freshly stitched up garments for the first time in who knew how long. Some of the stitching wasn't pretty to look out, but they would get better in time. For now, if it held, it held.
What few children had been brought along were no exception from any of the lessons. They were all old enough to be taught and retain the information. And they did it without any complaining, save for when they needed to take a break because their bandages were bothering them. None of the new members had arrived unmarked by the fighting. Many sported injuries that varied from heavy bruises to burn marks. These demons were going to be forever scarred by this gang war and carry reminders of it for the rest of their lives.
You were currently watching a cooking lesson from a safe distance away from the food. You weren't allowed near the food due to the fear that you'd shed hair into it. You'd be offended if it weren't for the fact that it was reasonable of these people to assume that you were actually as furry as your costume portrayed you as. You're actual rather grateful that it's been able to fool the others so well and that no one's managed to catch onto your little ruse.
It's as the dish is being put into the oven that Avary bursts in. She looks about the room frantically before her eyes land on you and the next thing you know you're being pulled away from the lesson and down the hall at a rapid pace. You don't waste time with asking Avary what's wrong, you'll find out soon enough. Plus, the wild look in her eyes has you worried. You've never seen her like this before.
Avary slams the door to her office and bolts it shut before whirling back around and pulling the moth-eaten curtains closed taut. She turns back to you and opens her mouth before shutting it again. This repeats several more times as she paces around the office like a caged animal. This is clearly important and Avary is trying her best to word whatever it is the way she wants to say it. But after ten aborted attempts you grip her gently by the shoulders and lock eyes with her.
"Breathe," you command. "Calm yourself. All this pacing is getting you nowhere. I can't help you if you can't tell me what's wrong."
She nods and takes a few deep breaths. "You're right. But I'm panicking. Jonesy just got back with some major news that's got me frazzled."
You walk her backwards until her legs hit her chair. She sits down obediently, and you sit across from her. She has your full attention; all she has to do is discuss the matter with you now.
"What'd Jonesy tell you?"
"Okay," she breathes deep again and lets it out slowly. "So, you remember how I sent Jonesy and Frannie out yesterday to keep an eye on a few lower ranked members of Putrid and Hedonia?"
"Yeah, you said that in all this chaos even the lowest ranked goon would be privy to what their respective Family head had planned."
"Right. Well, Jonesy witnessed something that could very well spell disaster for my long-term plans should things go through how those involved are pushing for."
"Which is?"
Another deep breath, but shuddering and shaky this time. "The goon that Jonesy was tailing met up with a few others who then met up with a much higher ranked member. Junior. Hedonia's right hand. He was meeting up with the right hand of a different Family."
Avary's eyes are welling up with tears and her voice is getting choked up. You have a feeling you know where this is going and you don't like it, not one bit.
"Killian," she manages to rasp out and you let out a hiss. "Rabel's got it cooked up in his twisted little mind that throwing his lot in with one of the feuding Families will help turn the tides in that Family's favor." She laughs wet and bitter. "And you know what Killian said that Rabel was asking Hedonia for in exchange for his assistance? Help finding me!"
Her fist slams down on the desk and she hunches over as her small form becomes wracked with heartbroken sobs. Yet, you make no move to comfort her. It isn't your place to do so at this moment. Right now, she had to be Avary Avidity, Don of the Avidity Family.
Avary sniffles a few more times before wiping furiously at her eyes. Her gaze is resolute and livid when her eyes meet yours again.
"I can't afford to allow this deal between the Rout and Hedonia Families to happen. Putrid and Hedonia are going to kill each other off with Marcella sweeping in to get rid of any lingering remnants, that much we know for certain. Anyone with a working brain is staying out of things as best they can." She chuckles, but it's dark and humorless. "I've wondered for a while just what must be going on in Rabel's head; seems like the answer is: nothing at all."
Avary stands up from her chair and walks around the desk, she stops as she just barely passes where you've seated yourself and doesn't turn around when she addresses you again.
"This deal is like any other; it can't happen unless both parties agree to the terms set by the other. And that can't happen if one of the parties meets with an… unfortunate accident." She sighs. You can only imagine how tired and beat down the expression she's making must be. "I wanted to do this differently, you know that. I wanted to make my way up and establish myself as an equal to the other Families, but especially to Rabel. Not so that he'd respect me, I know he'd never do that. But so that I could shove it in his face that I'm not some little toy he can play with however he pleases."
You nod your head and hum absentmindedly. "And what sort of accident do you think Rabel is most likely to fall prey to?"
The lock clicks opens. "I don't really care what you do, so long as he's dead by the end of it. Get in, get it done, get out. Don't get spotted." The door creaks and Avary takes a few steps before stopping again. "If possible, try not to let Killian be the one to find Rabel." She leaves and the door shuts softly.
You wait until nightfall before you leave to carry out the task you've been handed. Avary watches as you leave, face like stone. She'd only nodded solemnly when you doublechecked to make absolutely certain that this was what she wanted.
You understand where she's coming from. Here she is – a new crime boss with a growing Family to look after – making sure to do all she can to keep her people out of the fighting and to prepare them should they have to defend themselves. And there Rabel is, happily throwing his lot in with one half of a trigger-happy duo and subsequently throwing his people into the meat grinder. All so he can try and get his hands on a woman whose actions made it very clear that she's not interested in the slightest.
And yet he'd sacrifice his Family down to the last man – barring himself – just to save even a shred of his pride. It pisses you off too, but definitely not to the extent that Avary's rage reaches. There are people she loves and cherishes in Rabel's Family. People whose fates he couldn't care less about signing off of. How he's managed to survive this long is baffling to you. But you suppose instilling fear in his subordinates early on is what's helped the wretch keep his head all the years he's been in charge.
But that all ends tonight. You don't know what exactly it is that you're going to do to him, but you know that it has to be quick and quiet and that you need to at least try and not let Killian be the one to discover what happened to his father. For all that she claims that he's a gentle man, you don't think Avary can be trusted to have an unbiased opinion on Killian. For all you knew he was only gentle in her presence due to being childhood friends. You don't think someone with a gentle disposition would be made the right hand of a mafia Don. But what do you know? It could simply be a father showing his son favoritism. Perhaps grooming him to take over one day. It's all conjecture on your part.
You'd been to the Rout mansion a handful of times. Mostly to check in on how the residents were handling Avary's disappearance at her request. And it was usually just on her parents and Killian, with occasional updates about if Rabel had called off the search for her yet. Clearly he hadn't and wasn't going to without serious intervention.
The estate was dark and quiet when you arrived. The only ones up and about being the guards on night duty. You bypassed them with ease as you made your way to Rabel's bedroom. Materializing next to his bedside, you struggled not to gag as the stench of alcohol assaulted your nose. The various empty bottles littered on the floor and bed indicated that Rabel was deep into his cups tonight. He snored loud and obnoxiously. He wouldn't be waking up easily this evening.
He wouldn't be waking up at all.
But how to go about it? There were only so many ways that you could quietly kill someone, and you didn't have a lot to work with to do most of them. Really all you could do was smother him with a pillow, but that would take time. Time that he could wake up when his body registered that it wasn't getting any oxygen or time that a guard could stop by and peek in to make sure that everything was still alright with the boss.
This would be so much easier if you could just spirit him away and dispose of him far away from where any help could make its way to him in a timely manner. It's be so simple if you could just drag him off into the shadows-
Why couldn't you?
You stare down at Rabel's prone, relaxed form and pondered. You'd never tried to take another living thing with you into the shadows before. The thought had never even crossed your mind to try it. But couldn't you do so? You had no idea if that was a limitation that your power had or not. But if you could then that would make things all the easier on you for what comes next. Your eyes dart to the door as a guard shuffling past makes themselves known to you. No time for contemplation, it's do or die now. You don't give yourself time to hesitate, you just grab the drooling drunkard and whisk away into the shadows as you've done with ease so many times before.
Only this time you have a passenger.
You'll be honest, you were only half expecting that to work. He doesn't seem to be any worse for wear being dragged into your domain. You make like a tree and get the fuck out of dodge. You have an idea for what misfortune will be befalling Rabel soon enough and it's a but of a walk to get there. But you glide through the darkness like a seasoned pro, having become quite accustomed to it these past two months.
Beyond the city limits, beyond where you'd first met Avary, there sits a lake. It is calm, it is quiet, it is so far out of the way that one can commit murder and not have to worry about being heard for miles and miles. The moon reflects off the water's surface, giving it a green, almost radioactive look to it. Or maybe radioactive waste has been dumped here, who knows?
You step out of the shadows, Rabel still clutched in your hand by the forearm and still dead fast asleep. You pull a cinderblock you'd grabbed weeks ago for no reason in particular out of your shadow and tie his tail to it. There are no boats that are intact. All that remain on the shore are full of holes or missing their bottoms entirely. It doesn't matter. You've always been good at throwing things.
You drop Rabel and keep ahold of the cinderblock. Faceplanting into the ground does nothing except make him sleepily rub at his face before muttering incoherently and curling up into a ball. You wind your arm back and let the cinderblock go flying. The drunkard never even woke up. He hits the lake tail first and rapidly sinks to the bottom. You wait until the bubbles stop rising to the surface before you turn around and head back to tell Avary the news.
It's a quiet, peaceful night.
Avary squeezes you tightly the moment she sets eyes on you. You'd be stumbling backwards if you hadn't been anticipating that this would be her reaction. You card a hand through her hair affectionately and she eventually stops clinging to you.
"It's done then?" Avary asks redundantly.
"It is," you affirm. "Taken care of quick and quiet. And don't worry, Killian won't be the one to discover the body." Probably. Assuming he doesn't have a lake diving hobby.
You can see the tension Avary had built up since receiving the news earlier leave her body and she gives a quiet sigh of relief. "Good. That's- That's wonderful to hear."
She steps away from you and wobbles a bit. It isn't the staggered gait of someone who's had one too many. Avary makes her way up the stairs and down to where the private bathroom is. You watch from the open doorway as she clutches the rim of the toilet bowl and lets loose the contents of her stomach. She repeats this a few times before all she's doing is dry heaving. You're rubbing her back soothingly in an effort to convince her stomach to settle down. She spits a few times, and you pass her a wad of toilet paper to blow her nose into.
"Are you alright? Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?"
Avary spits again and flushes the toilet. "No. Nothing like that?"
"Then what," you prod. "People don't just get sick out of nowhere."
She blows her nose again. "I guess it's just hitting me what it is I had you do. I'm not regretting it or anything like that. It's just…"
You nudge her shoulder gently. "You can tell me."
"For all that he may not have agreed with Rabel, Killian still loved his father dearly," Avary sighs. "That's just the kind of man he is. He'll be devastated when he's told that Rabel's dead. I doubt he'll agree to the deal Rabel was trying to strike with Hedonia, he always said that he wished he could get me away from his father. Still…"
"I hope you don't think this to be… insensitive, I guess. But is Killian really all that great a guy?"
Avary narrows her eyes at you slightly. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
You hold your hands up in mock surrender. "It's just that you go on about what a gentle, kind, and caring person he is, but it doesn't sound like he was actually a very good friend to you. I mean, his father wanted to marry you, a woman his son's age that he watched grow up, and he just stood by and let it happen? He didn't even try and convince his dad to change his mind?"
Avary holds your gaze for a moment before her eyes go soft and she lets out a sad sigh. "I can understand how it would look that way to someone on the outside. But Killian was always there for me when we were kids. He made me smile and laugh whenever I was down. He always made time to play with me before we got a little too old to anymore. He'd sit and read with me whenever he found the time to be near me. It's a million different little things that make up the man I love dearly."
"Sorry. It just seems like when you really needed him to be there for you, he let you down."
Avary sighs again and struggles to stand up, legs having gone a bit numb from being perched on. "Look, let's just agree to disagree and drop it, alright?"
You huff but let the matter slide. Avary's a grown woman and can make her own decisions. If she doesn't want your advice, that's fine. You just felt the need to point out in a roundabout way that she'd putting Killian on a bit of a pedestal. She needs to realize that he isn't some prince but a person who's flawed like anyone else. But it looks like she'll have to do it on her own. You won't bring it up again, you've let your thoughts on the matter be known.
The state of things all over the city remains the same for the next few weeks. Putrid and Hedonia are at each other's throats, Marcella is laying in wait for his time to strike, and those who hadn't fled or joined up with a Family were walking on eggshells trying desperately not to get caught up in all the fighting. The varied lessons continued as you all waited for this shitshow to finally blow over so you could all get back to your lives. It was a little hard to try and build a criminal empire when two jackasses were busy burning the city and mowing down everyone in sight.
But at last, it all finally came to a head when the two morons themselves at long last got personally involved with the fighting. It was the biggest and bloodiest confrontation by far, and it was also the last. In some twisted sense of poetic justice – like something straight out of a movie – Otto and Darren managed to fire the shot that did the other in at the exact same time and the two of them were dead before they hit the ground. Their respective Families, exhausted from the continuous fighting, didn't know what to do at first. And then they were the ones hitting the ground dead as Marcella's people came from out of the woodwork and began shooting every last member of either Family.
It made headlines, or so you saw from your reconnaissance missions to assess the state of things after the war ended. Now that Gregor had established himself as the big fish of the city, things were beginning to return to a sense of normality. There was plenty of work to be done by the regular demons – as well as Family members Avary sent out to have them feed constant updates on what's going on to her. See? Even if someone isn't suited to fight out in the field, they can still contribute to the Family.
The Rout Family searched high and low for their missing Don, always coming up emptyhanded. Avary was right in that Killian had taken the loss of his father hard. It might not have been so bad if he knew exactly what had happened to Rabel, but there was nothing to be done about that. In fact, his reaction only further solidified your opinion that he would have done absolutely nothing to help Avary escape from being forced to marry his father. You can't claim to really know what goes on in a crime Family for all that you were living with one for the time being. Avary was possibly an outlier with how much she cared for her people. Maybe Rabel would have punished Killian for speaking out against his plan, maybe he would have killed him, you don't know.
All you know is that he did absolutely nothing but stand by and watch as the woman he called a friend was being marched towards an unhappy fate. And that's soured your opinion of him irreparably.
But you push that unpleasant thought off to the side as you block a strike with your spear. You'd been hesitant to bring it out, uncomfortable with the attention having it might draw to you. But no one batted an eye. No one seemed to even know that it was anything other than a really fancy-looking spear. And after giving it some thought, it made sense. Angelic Steel wasn't on the market right now, and you didn't know when it would be. It was already stated to be uncommon when Carmilla was the one distributing it, so it's only natural that it's unheard of right now.
So, you might as well take the time you're with Avary and her Family and use it to better know how to wield this thing. A weapon you don't know how to use is just as much a danger to yourself as it is to whoever you point it at after all. You and Marlene push back against one another where your weapons are crossed before jumping away. She gives you a smile that looks more like a snarl and you return it. Turns out the way into this woman's good graces is showing that you have the potential to kick serious ass. You tighten your grip, smile and lunge.
The clash of metal rings out as everyone else who'd joined in on the long-ranged weapons lesson practices their forms as well.
Chapter End Notes
So, now that Rabel's out of the way, Avary can focus on getting her Family moved into a habitable building.
And then on gaining power and influence.
It's not like she has anyone to hide from anymore.
A Brief Respite
Chapter Notes
Sometimes you just need to take a moment to rest.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
To further prove what a prideful and petty piece of shit he was, Gregor Marcella had decided that he would have a grand, sprawling estate built to house him and his Family smack dab in the middle of the new territory he'd acquired. Once it was complete, he was going to make a spectacle of tearing down the Putrid and Hedonia mansions as the final nail in the two Families collective coffin he'd oh-so generously provided them. After ransacking the places of anything of value, of course.
You found it gauche that the man who'd presented himself as levelheaded and not prone to giving in to the whims of anyone had done a complete one eighty. Maybe this was just how his personality had truly been and crime boss etiquette had simply smothered it. Whatever the case may be, he was now loudly and proudly showing that he was the man in the big chair now. Anyone that took issue with that could get out of town or try and take it up with him personally and be silenced for their efforts. As one minor crime Family learned the hard way. One moment they were trying to capitalize on the dying embers of the chaos Gregor and his brood had stoked, the next they were dead.
But on the bright side, with Gregor temporarily moving his Family into one of the mansions, he left behind the decrepit but still habitable building they'd been squatting in. Which Avary quickly seized and had her Family move into the very moment she could. Everyone packed away what little personal belongings they had, and you all spent the next several days moving all the supplies that was on hand. Thankfully a good chunk of the plants in the garden could be moved as well, but some did have to get left behind.
It was clear that the Marcella Family had been all too eager to abandon their base of operations. So much clothing and furniture had been left behind, as well as various supplies that Avary desperately needed. It may have come a bit late, but her people were finally able to get medical treatment that was a bit more than basic first aid. Some of those who'd been burned had rashes and sores forming due to how their bandages chaffed against their injuries, so the various creams and ointments that were found were a welcome relief.
The building wasn't larger than the one you'd left behind. Unsurprising as it was in a more well-traveled area of the lower city. People would have to get used to having roommates, though that wasn't going to be much of an issue for those who were family. Avary of course got the biggest room to herself; an office space that had a side door that led to a privet bedroom. The room where you spied on Gregor most often. She put you in the second biggest room which was just down the hall. It had an actual bed and a personal bathroom attached to it.
The Avidity Family was slowly moving up in the world.
But it wouldn't do to get complacent. Avary still had a goal that you needed to help her accomplish before your side of the deal was considered complete. Speaking of which, you know that she's had a few of her people sniffing around for a way to traverse the Rings without using the standard modes of transportation. With no luck. You weren't expecting it to be easy, but you were hoping for at least a hint of something to have been found.
Whatever. It wouldn't do for you to get worked up over something that you were expecting to take an indeterminate amount of time to accomplish. Still. It's frustrating to see all the progress you're helping Avary make towards her goal while you don't make any towards yours. And you hate that you feel that way because it's unfair to Avary when you know she's trying her best to help you with the pressure she's under.
You're rifling through the closet and judging the previous occupant's taste in suits. So much tweed. There were ugly little hats that matched. But thankfully all hope was not lost as there were a few solid color suits hanging in the very back, looking like they'd been shoved to the side in favor of the eyesores up front. You remove every last trace of tweed from the closet and set the articles of clothing off to the side to be brought downstairs later. Perhaps someone will take a liking to them or can find some other use for the fabric.
You make absolutely sure that the door is locked and shove a chair under the handle as an extra precautionary measure. You strip yourself of your costume and hand it on the coatrack next to the door. Its glassy yellow eyes stare vacantly at you, and you pat its head as you wander into the bathroom. It's a bit more spacious than the one you'd shared with Avary, but not by much. The mirror has been smashed in and only a few tiny, jagged shards remain. You strip yourself down and look mournfully at the once lovely outfit that Conroy gave you.
Daily wear and frequent washing have caused the cloth articles to become threadbare in some places, holey in others. Your amateur stitch work looks back at you mockingly and you sigh. The only part of your outfit that has managed to hold up would be your boots, but you don't know how long they'll manage to remain intact. At least there are options in the closet to see if you can fit in. If not, you'll just have to put up with the fraying outfit for a while longer until you can manage to pilfer a few outfits from the clothing left behind when no one will be around to notice.
You fill the tub with steaming water, quite the step up from the barely lukewarm water that everyone had to share at the old building. You sigh contentedly as you submerse your body in the wonderfully hot water. You allow yourself to soak for a good while before you figure it's best if you get yourself scrubbed clean. The washcloths and towels that were left behind are thankfully fresh, and just the right amount of rough to the touch for scrubbing your skin. When you're done, you don't drain the tub. Instead, you toss your clothes in and get to scrubbing those, too.
You hand them on the towel rack when you're done and then let the tub drain as you pat yourself down with a towel before wrapping in around your body. It's going to take a bit for your clothes to dry, even with how well you wrung them out. So, you sit and wait on the counter for the moisture to leave the fabric.
Such has been your routine for a while now.
Not one of the suits fit you. You even sucked up your distaste for the fabric and tried the tweed ones on. You're not sure why you were expecting anything different. You'd seen what the previous occupant – Marcella's right hand – looked like. You were just grasping at wisps of hope that you could begin to have a rotating wardrobe so that you would have to worry about your clothes getting worn out too quickly. You know that none of the other clothes were going to fit you either, it was time to stop lying to yourself. The Marcella Family was solely comprised of imps and not one of them matched you in height. Of course their clothes weren't going to fit you.
Marcella's right hand was the only one who'd come close to your height, but it was still too much of a difference for you to wear these suits without ripping the seams when you moved. Oh well, hopefully somebody will get a use out of them.
You tugged on your clothes and then pulled the costume back on, the familiar weight of it grounding and comforting you. It's fine, it's not the end of the world that none of the clothes left behind will fit you. If you got really desperate, you could always swipe several articles that were similar in hue and stitch them together. But your sewing skills would need to jump significantly in improvement before you felt confident to attempt that.
Still, it's a thought.
Downstairs, people were celebrating. It wasn't a large or lavish party, but many a glass was clinked together in gratitude for the new roof over their heads. It may have been smaller, but the windows were intact, the walls were cracked or crumbling everywhere, and the bedding wasn't bareboned. It might as well be considered the height of luxury compared to the dump they'd just left behind.
Not unlike the first time you'd entered this building, from floor to ceiling demons were spread out all over the place. Exasperated family members were preoccupied with getting their rowdy kin to come down from the rafters, but their expressions were no less joyous for it. A couple of giggling tykes ran past you and their mother followed not long after smiling and laughing as well. Everyone was in high spirits.
And far from the center of it all tucked away in a parlor was Avary. She was nursing a small glass of some alcoholic beverage. She notices you approach and tilts her head to call you over. You sit down in the chair across from her and she pours you a glass. Hm. It's scotch this time. You take it and raise it up in a toast. She mirrors your movements and the two of you clink your glasses together.
"Just look at you. Three months ago with only a small gaggle of loyal followers and a definitely should have been condemned building to your name. Now, a certain obstacle of yours is out of the way for good, you have a decent roof over your peoples' heads, your people themselves have more than doubled… Things look to be going pretty well for you so far," you comment.
Avary chuckles as she finishes her glass and sets it aside. "Yeah. I can hardly believe it. I'm glad that things are progressing so smoothly with how quick they've been, I just… It all seems just a little too good to be true, you know?"
You point your glass towards her. "Keep that kind of skepticism. Usually if something seems too good to be true, that's because it is. Not always, but often enough that it'd be wise of us to keep our guard up for a while. Things are in motion right now, power's changing hands and everyone wants a piece of the pie. Putrid and Hedonia had a chokehold on drugs and prostitution respectively. Now that they're gone, a lot of Families are going to see this as their chance to claw their way to the top."
Avary makes a grunt of agreement. "That's assuming that Marcella doesn't decide to take over those areas as well. I doubt he will, his Family's always been known as the top weapons dealer of Greed. Others have tried and fall just short of ever achieving the things that Marcella has. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep an ear out for if he decides he wants to branch out."
"I'll stick close, don't worry. But regarding the current vacancies. Do you think either avenue is one you'd want to pursue? To try and establish yourself I mean."
Avary purses her lips and taps a finger against her seat's armrest. "I'll be honest, I'd just been planning on doing things similar to how the Rout Family does. Everyone that lives in their territory who isn't Family has to pay a protection fee, nothing outlandish because they sure as shit don't want a source of income leaving. They also hit gangs that are roughly the same size or smaller than them and bleed them dry of anything of value they can find. It's all about taking money from others with them and Greed certainly isn't lacking in green."
You pause from sipping your drink. "So how did Putrid and Hedonia run their businesses?"
"Oh, the Families kept everything in the city and never left it for any length of time; that'd have just been asking for someone to come along and steal their turf. Plus, other cities have their own crime Families who run similar operations, Marcella is an outlier in that regard. Drugs and prostitutes exchanged hands all over and it was very discreet. If you saw a deal going down, no you didn't."
"Right… Listen, I'm going to be completely candid with you. I don't like prostitution. Wait, no. Let me rephrase. I don't like forcing people to prostitute themselves. If someone's chosen to do it of their own free will, then I don't give a shit."
"I feel the same," Avary agreed. "The thought of making others go out and sell their bodies whether they want to or not just makes me think of what Rabel was trying to do to me. I know it isn't quite the same, but the point is I wouldn't have had a choice if I hadn't run away. So that's one option firmly removed from the list. As for the drug trade… I'm good with that. Specifically, I'm good with people coming to us to get their fix, not going out and trying to get them hooked or anything."
"Right. I agree, going out and forcing addictive shit onto people is just a scummy thing to do if you ask me."
"Mhm. After all, we Hellborn aren't like Sinners. We can't just suddenly decide to stop taking an addictive substance and then be fine in a few days when the regeneration's done doing its thing. Once we're on that shit, it's extremely difficult to get off it. If Marcella doesn't decide to take over as the city's top drug distributor and we commit to becoming the new one, there's not going to be any shitty practices like coercing anyone or lacing the tamer drugs with trace amounts of the addictive shit. I may be a crime boss, but I'm going to have and uphold my own personal standards."
"And anyone who thinks you're soft for it can hit the bricks?"
She snaps a finger gun at you. "Exactly. I don't care how much of a dreamer that makes me seem to other Family heads. I'll do this my way or not at all."
You lift up your nearly empty glass once more. "Cheers. I'll drink to that."
Normally the questions one would ask upon deciding to get involved with the drug trade would be some form of checking in on one's sanity. But this is Hell, sanity isn't a requirement and you're positive that yours is being slowly chipped away at day by day. If you can hold on to even a shred of it you'll consider that a major victory for yourself.
Instead, the questions being asked are: "Where would be a good place to set up for manufacturing?" "How big do we want the building to be?" "How long would it take to build?" And your personal favorite: "Why build what you could steal?"
That certainly got you some raised eyebrows at the Family meeting before the incredulous looks turned conniving. Seriously, some of these demons are way too into committing illegal acts. You understand the irony of that statement very well, but your point still stands. You think some of them would be just as eager to rob a candy store as they are to "liberate" the abandoned Putrid drug manufacturing houses. You could swear that some of them had been frothing at the mouth a bit.
But as long as they were on board with the direction Avary wanted to take the Family in, then who gave a shit? Right now Avary had the people who wouldn't be heavily involved with the Family's activities combing over the city for any trace of Putrid's drug houses. Apparently the former head didn't believe in keeping his source of income close to home. Great news for Avary. Now all she needed was for a few houses to be found – hopefully with the equipment still in good condition – and she could begin asserting herself as a new player in the current scramble for power.
But that was where Avary's concerns lay. You on the other hand were busy trying to figure out other shit you could do with your shadow. Taking a passenger long with you was a good idea and all, especially if you had to get somewhere else with them in tow fast. But if it were a situation like with Rabel, you wouldn't want to be holding onto them and be in prime striking range. You were lucky that he'd been so sloshed that he couldn't even be bothered to be roused from his deep slumber, but what if you had to grab someone who was a light sleeper? Or who could shrug off narcotics like it was nothing?
You'd vastly prefer it if you didn't personally have to keep a hold of them, but rather that you could restrain them with shadows. You recall that a certain man whose face was seemingly permanently upturned calling forth a not insignificant amount of dark tendrils. Whether they were actual tentacles or shadowy appendages isn't something you're privy to. What you're interested in is seeing if you could replicate the technique. And that's what you've been doing since Avary decided to have her people go house hunting. You half expected her to ask you to join in on the endeavor and you're thankful she hadn't.
You wouldn't have had any idea what to look for.
No, you're much more content with remaining at the Family's… base and trying to make your idea work for you. Okay. So content isn't the right word for it. It is in fact incredibly frustrating because you have no idea what you're even doing. It feels a lot like when you'd discovered that your shadow could act as a storage space, except nothing is happening no matter what way you wave your hands around.
Maybe you were overthinking things? Maybe you weren't trying hard enough? Maybe you just weren't powerful enough to pull it off?
Or maybe your idea had absolutely no merit and you were just wasting your time on something that wouldn't work when you could be doing anything more productive.
No. No you were going to keep at it. Surely something would happen if you just kept trying.
That's how Boris and Hank find you, wiggling your fingers as the shadows on the walls warp and quiver but refuse to do anything more than that. You don't hear them come in and take a seat as they watch you do… whatever it is you're doing. If you had noticed them, you'd see how they'd had their heads cocked to the side like dogs do when they're confused.
You definitely notice them after you sigh in defeat and turn around to go stare at a wall for an indeterminate amount of time to try and think about this from a different angle. You scream in lowercase briefly before you compose yourself.
"Oh, hey Boris. Hank. What brings you two here?"
The two of them exchange a look you can't decipher, and Hank says, "Boss Avary said you were doing something that wasn't working. Asked if me and Boris could come down here and give you a hand."
Boris nods and grunts in agreement. A man of very few words he is.
"Well, that's very much appreciated. But I'm not sure if anyone can help me do this. I'm not even sure if it's possible, I've just been trying anything I can think of with no results to show for it." You run a hand through the hood's fur and huff in annoyance.
"Well what're you trying to do?"
You glance at them before you start pacing absentmindedly. "I'm trying to see if I can't make limbs of some sort out of shadows to grab things with. I figured it'd be useful to restrain enemies or carry things I really wouldn't want to touch with my bare hands. Stuff like that."
Hank hums and rubs his jaw, Boris mimics him.
"Well," Hank says. "How do you usually try new powers out?"
"Uh…" you say eloquently. "I've only managed to successfully use two powers and both times were complete accidents. For the first I just waved my hands around until something happened like I'm doing now. And the second I was kind of in a bit of a risky situation and needed to get out of there unseen fast. Next thing I knew I was hanging out literally in the shadows."
"So there's not a lot for you to work with then." Hank rubs his neck and tilts his head towards the ceiling. "I'll bet that's making things difficult."
"Yeah, no kidding. I swear, it's like- Woah!"
Boris lunges at you and you barely have time to duck out of the way. He sails over your head and turns midair, landing on all fours facing you and snarling. He tenses and lunges again.
"Boris! Just what the Hell's gotten into you," Hank demands.
"I'd like to know that, too! I know I'm not you're favorite person, but I thought you at least tolerated me enough not to snap unprovoked!"
Boris offers no response, just more snarling and snapping at your heels as you continue to barely dodge his attacks. Hank is doing what he can to keep Boris off of you, but he keeps getting swept off his feet and the wind knocked out of him. Even when Hank manages to tackle Boris to the ground and pin him for a bit, Boris just breaks out and shoves Hank off to the side before continuing his dogged pursuit of you.
It's likely inevitable that you end up tripping after a while of this going on. What can you say, you aren't exactly used to having to run and dodge at the same time. Boris sees this for the opportunity it is and lunges one last time. He's descending on you rapidly, jaw open and teeth glistening with saliva. Okay, you aren't sure what crawled up his ass and dies today, but this is fucking ridiculous. He's acting like an out-of-control animal and quite frankly you're pissed off about it. He wants to act like a misbehaving dog? Then you'll treat him like one.
Unthinkingly, you lift a hand and hold it out in front of you. One moment, Boris is descending on you, the next he's being scruffed by the neck like a naughty puppy by a black tendril. He's gone limp with his tail tucked between his legs, but you don't take heed of that. Your attention is solely on the tentacles that are coming out of your shadow. Only one is holding Boris aloft, the others twist and turn docilely as they wait to be directed. You've done it.
The aren't made of shadows like you thought they'd be. A brief touch reveals that they are solid and sturdy and made of some mystery substance that you have no hope of naming. Finally. Progress. Another power under your belt to train until using it becomes second nature. And so soon after the last one as well. You can only hope that using this one is easier than pulling someone else into the shadows with you. Not that the act itself is difficult, it's just hard to convince Avary's people that it's perfectly safe, even though she's allowed you to do it with her multiple times as an example.
Hank's pulled himself off the floor from Boris' last shove and is looking at the tentacles impressed.
"Now how about that? Looks like your idea works just fine to me."
He gives you a grin and you return it, not that he'd be able to tell. Then you turn your attention to the still restrained Boris who has his ears pulled back like any dog that knows they've done bad does when they've been caught.
"You know, if you figured the best way to see if I could get a potential power to work was to try and attack me, you could have at least given me a heads up. Still, it worked. So, thank you, Boris. Good job."
Boris' face is impassive as always, but the way his ears perk up and his tail wags tells you all you need to know.
Chapter End Notes
Avary's decided what kind of crime Family she'll have! Yay!
As for specifics on why the reader is getting a break from helping out with the drug house hunt, Avary can't rely on her for every little thing. The end goal is for her to leave once Avary fulfills her end of the deal and Avary is fully aware of this. She has to get used to relying on people without powers that are perfect for spying and infiltrating. And this in turn will show her people that she trusts them to do difficult jobs. The right hand is for the really important shit that's too dangerous for regular subordinates. Though, the reader's a business partner, not a subordinate.
New power, yes! I'd say that pulling others into the shadows with her is just an extension of going into them. It's still something that'll require practice before it's second nature to the reader. But tendrils! Touching things but not with her hands! A way to attack from a distance because let's be real, spears don't actually give a person a lot of room.
The Rout Family's Swan Song
Chapter Notes
This chapter took me a bit on account of how long it is. It's the end of the reader's accidental stint in Greed though, so I figured it would be a longer chapter than usual.
Fair warning, a certain someone had always been planned to be an unlikable piece of shit and I hope that I succeeded in that. You're meant to hate them.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"We've found several drug houses still in good condition. There've been no signs of Marcella taking an interest in them, but that could be because his attentions are focused elsewhere for the moment. I don't like making assumptions about what he might do but given that it's been a couple of weeks since his little coup and not once have any of his people tried to sniff around these locations I think we can go ahead and start taking them over."
Avary had a map of the city laid out over the surface of her desk. Various locations all over the paper were circled and all of them were far away from the newly established Marcella territory.
Avary points at a few of the circled locations. "These houses are the ones closest to where we're currently residing. I'd like to acquire them first. The farther away from us they are, the more likely that some other Family has also stumbled across them and are making moves to take them, too. When we do eventually go to take these locations and if we happen to find another Family has the same idea, we'll do what's necessary, even if it means we have to destroy the house. We're going to be this city's new drug distributor, no one else. If we can't take the location then it's worthless to me."
It's a sound strategy. Why would Avary want to leave even a ghost of a chance that another Family could sink their claws into the city's drug trade? The best way to avoid competition was to make sure they couldn't be any in the first place and to thoroughly stamp out any that attempt to crop up.
"When you say to destroy the house if necessary, do you also mean any equipment left inside? Just making sure I understand exactly what it is you want." It's always a good idea for you and Avary to be on the same page and miscommunication is a surefire way to make it so you're not.
Avary nods. "Yes. I'd want all of it destroyed, even the equipment inside. Even if it lay in ruins, I don't doubt that some who are desperate enough would work in such a place as long as the equipment were still operational. Best make any dud locations a no-go for anyone looking to muscle in on our future enterprise."
You give a little two-fingered salute. "You got it. Not a single brick will remain standing by the time we're done with these buildings. Assuming that someone else tries to fight us for these locations once we get to them of course."
"I'd be more surprised if they didn't," Avary sighs, resigned.
That's how you spend the next few weeks, targeting the abandoned houses closest to Avary's current base of operations and gradually fanning out once a reasonable amount of force was left behind to guard the newly acquired source of income for the Family. As Avary suspected, the longer it took to get to a location, the more likely that someone else was making plans to move in on it as well. The farther away they were, the more likely the houses would have to be demolished entirely. It was truly a shame, but it would help tremendously with making sure that competition didn't crop up immediately as Avary was attempting to take over.
You would not be involved whatsoever in the actual making and distributing of the drugs.
Instead, you were being tasked with the total destruction of a few small-time crime Families that honestly weren't worth the capitalization. These Families were the ones whose goons you'd just slaughtered in the name of ridding the Avidity Family of any and all competition and Avary wanted you to finish the job. No one else, just you.
Sometimes using your powers made it feel like you were cheating. And then you remembered that you're in Hell and that if you're not cheating then you're not doing things right. Morals are skewed here, even amongst the Hellborn. If any of the demons you were offing had even just one of your powers, you can bet that they'd be using it to their full advantage and not feeling a lick of shame about it. So you shrug off the notion that it isn't fair how easily you can slip into the little Families' hidey holes and kill them all off. If things were fair, you wouldn't be dead in the first place.
You loot the safehouses after you kill everyone and then set them ablaze. Minimizing the already miniscule chance of leaving any evidence of just who was there behind. It's mostly food and weapons with a little bit of cash here and there, but every little bit helps, or so you've been telling yourself.
It starts slow, but eventually word gets around that there's a new drug kingpin trying to lake a name for themselves in the city. Of course, word only started getting around once Avary had felt enough product had been produced and had given her people the go ahead to start spreading that little tidbit around. Along with where and when an interested party could obtain said product. Every demon conducting a sale was always accompanied by no less than three armed guards, kept just out of sight of the customers. It only took putting a bullet in a few unruly buyers that the message to behave oneself was made abundantly clear.
The new up and comer wasn't fucking around. They were serious about replacing the old kingpin.
It was inevitable that other Families would be made aware of this figure and would be interested in acquiring their product as well. Avary's people got very good at telling who was from what Family regardless of if they were dressed to impress or out in casual wear. Even members of the Marcella Family had been reported buying as well. Really, it was truly inevitable that the other Families would find out. And that they might want to meet with the head of this new Family.
So really, you're not sure why Avary's stressing over the fact that the Rout Family had wanted to meet and discuss business with her. It wasn't the first time a Family had asked to meet, and those discussions had gone surprisingly well. While none of them could be called allies, they were at the very least amicable and would probably agree to a favor should the need for one ever arise.
You look over to where Avary has her head buried in her hands and reconsider your earlier statement. Perhaps you can understand her stress. She'd run away from the Rout Family over five months ago to get away from Rabel and start up her own Family. You doubt that they know she's the one they're trying to meet with, you'd have heard if they were aware that Avary was still around. The stress is most likely from the nerves she'd instantly attained after she realized just who it was that she'd have to meet with.
Killian had certainly moved up in the world after the death of his father. He was now head of the Rout Family and was running things a lot tighter than his old man had been. It used to be that the Rout's underlings could be found slacking off in all corners of their mansion. Now leisure time was only for a set amount of time each day unless Killian had business to attend to that would take up all of his attention. And even then, people were always warily looking over their shoulders as if he'd materialize behind them and punish them for relaxing even a little bit.
Rooms that had once been personalized and messy now looked uniformly sterile with not a thing out of place. Everyone now wore full suits and weren't allowed to walk around without their jackets on, despite the heat that'd slowly been rising as the days progressed. Meals were bland and quiet instead of delicious and loud. The list goes on. It's like as soon as he'd been put in charge, Killian had dropped his doormat demeanor and plunged straight into control freak dictator.
"Kind and gentle" your ass. If he'd let the power go to his head this quickly, then you didn't doubt that this had been his true personality all along and he'd just been waiting for the opportunity to fully display it. Killian's people were more afraid of him than they were his father, and you weren't too keen on learning the reason why. You'd never been around if – or when – he doled out punishments to those who'd displeased him. But you knew they'd happened. Some demons would look a little more banged up than they'd been the last time you'd seen them and knew that they hadn't been sent out. Others disappeared entirely and any attempt to make any sort of mention of them was quickly silenced as heads darted about, eyes wide with fear of having been overheard.
But none of that was why Avary was stressing. She wasn't aware of any of that. All she asked you to report on was if Killian and her parents seemed to be in good health. The former was, and the latter were in good physical health. But they were in a constant state of fear same as everyone else in that house, save for the one causing it. Again, you wonder just what it was that Rabel did to make his people so loyal despite how afraid of him they were that there was never a hint that any of them were thinking about overthrowing him. And if that unknown method was what Killian was doing to ensure that everyone stayed that way in the wake of his father's passing.
No, what Avary was stressing about was how she was going to face Killian after all these months of letting him think that something had happened to her. She'd had it all planned – or so she told you – about how their reunion would have gone. She'd have risen up in the underworld as a crime boss worthy of the Rout Family's respect. She'd meet with Rabel when he inevitably wanted to get a look at this new up and comer for himself. She'd shock him with the reveal that she'd been alive and well in the time spent away from them. He'd either wise up and realize that his plans for her were ash or risk getting into a war with a Family that was at least as powerful as his own. She knew him, so she knew which option Rabel would go for.
Killian, ever the diplomat, would talk his father out of inciting a gang war. Avary would be insulted by his conduct and refuse to do business with Rabel personally and would only meet and discuss things with the Rout Family if Killian was their representative. They'd catch up, he'd be impressed by her willpower, they'd still be the best of friends even if what she secretly wanted from him was so much more than that. And maybe she hoped that by showing Killian that she was so much more than a pretty face, he'd come to see her as the wise and responsible woman she'd grown to be and maybe eventually love her the way she loved him. They'd get married, allying the two Families and live the rest of their days ruling their little fiefdom. The end.
Instead, what Avary got was Rabel refusing to give up on looking for her and going to a Family she wouldn't have been equipped to handle even if they hadn't been distracted by their own little war they had going on. A little war that both sides would lose, and everyone involved not on the secret third party's side would die in. A little war that Rabel had been all too eager to throw the people in the Rout Family that Avary cared for into with no regard for the safety of their lives. Something she couldn't abide by. So Rabel had to die. Which made room for Killian to take over as the new boss. The new boss that wanted to meet with Avary. Avary, who'd gotten ill once you'd carried out your orders to dispose of Rabel.
Avary, who worried about how hard Killian would take the news of his father's passing. No matter that the body still hadn't been discovered and likely never would until it was naught but bone. Avary, who was still convinced that Killian was a kind and gentle man who'd never want to harm anyone. Killian, who'd done nothing but step aside and allow Avary to wallow in her despair after learning about Rabel's plans for her. Killian, who was his father's right hand. Killian, who would have had to know of his father's plans for Avary before she'd overheard Rabel speaking with her parents. Killian, who'd slipped into the role of Don and began barking orders so easily that he couldn't be as meek as Avary insisted.
Killian, who you didn't want anywhere near Avary.
For all that she'd been toughened and hardened after becoming the head of her own Family, Avary was still very softhearted when it came to certain matters. The man she loved was unfortunately one of those matters. You had a bad feeling about all of this. That if Avary accepted this meeting like you feared she would, something was going to happen, and it wouldn't be good. You doubted that Avary's affections for Killian were as secret as she liked to believe. You also doubted that he wouldn't try to use them to his advantage in some way and the thought alone made your blood boil. You could swear that the hair on your costume was standing on end from how pissed off the mere thought made you.
You're regretting making the promise to yourself to not bring up what you refer to as "The Killian Issue" to Avary ever again. But you also know that she's too blinded by love to allow any serious negative talk about him. All it would do was cause an argument and stress her out even more and she didn't need to be any more compromised than she already was for this meeting she still had yet to send a reply for but was absolutely going to accept. She was muttering about what sorts of tiny sandwiches would be best to serve.
She's more concerned about how Killian will react to her than what it is he might ask of her. She's dazed, distracted and isn't in any sort of headspace to accept this invitation. But she will because she's a softhearted fool for him and you just know that he will take and take all that she is willing to give and more and won't realize that he's done so. Even though it would be to her detriment. Even though it would be putting her Family at risk. Everyone has a weakness and for Avary hers was just too great for her to be left alone with.
So you're silently relieved when she tells you that she wants you to be present when she goes to meet with Killian. For all that the previous meetings turned out fine, both sides still turned up with some manner of protection and the other party had always been unaware that you were in the room. Watching, waiting for them to fuck up. You're thankful to whoever that Avary still has some of her wits about her and isn't throwing all caution out the window for her childhood friend. Hopefully your presence there will be a sort of grounding force for her against Killian's no doubt magnetic one.
Avary receives word of where Killian would like to meet a few days after she sends her response. It's in supposedly neutral territory, but you'd be a fool not to be wary of the word. Especially since the supposedly neutral Marcella decided to pull a coup. "Neutral" only means neutral when it suits people's needs. The moment it doesn't the gloves are off and it's game on.
If Killian was truly playing the long con by having Avary think of him as a meek man, you doubt that he'll do anything the jeopardize the image he's so carefully crafted of himself for her. He might be momentarily caught off guard, but you're certain that he'll begin planning around the revelation that the crime boss he's meeting with is Avary the moment after he collects himself. Everyone at the Rout mansion has either been incredibly tightlipped about what it is Killian wants from this meeting, or they don't actually know. Meaning that he's after something he doesn't trust even his fearfully loyal subordinates with. The whole situation stinks and you're already highly suspicious of what his motives could be.
No one is at the door when you, Avary and her small entourage arrive at the meeting place. Nothing out of the ordinary, it wasn't odd that the other party wouldn't want to announce their presence by having their subordinates stand around for everyone to gawk at. The trip up to the meeting room is uneventful as well. Four armed guards stand ready at the door and shift to not so subtly place their hands on their weapons. Avary slowly produces the invitation she'd received and after a moment of looking it over they step aside to allow her into the room. Her guards stay outside facing Killian's man for man. Killian's guards' eyes follow Avary as she enters the room. You follow Avary into the room, hidden in her shadow.
The door shuts quietly behind her, and you can hear her barely audibly gasp. Looks like none of the mental preparations she'd done had really helped prepare her to see Killian again. He was facing away from the door, looking out the window in what was surely a power play. Making the other party wait for him to turn around so that they could start discussing business. He was already making his move to control the conversation and Avary was falling for it. He hadn't even had to look at her!
You pinch her ankle, and she flinches before glaring down at you for a split second. She can't see you at all, but you do your best to make sure she can feel the withering scowl you're sending her way. It'd be great if she could have a clear head for this, but that's wishful thinking. You'll settle for her not getting fully sucked into whatever bullshit is bound to happen.
Killian turns around, a smug smile on his face that quickly falls off when he sees who's in the room with him. He blinks once, twice, and then a hopeful look crosses his face.
"Avary? Is that really you?"
Avary wiggles her fingers bashfully. "Hey Killy. It's good to see you."
He crosses the space between them in a matter of seconds and pulls Avary into a crushing embrace that she's quick to return. Killian cards a hand through her hair as he holds her impossibly close to him.
"I was so worried when you disappeared. No one knew what happened, no one could find you!" He pulls away to look Avary in the eye. "But look at you! All sharp suits and business! Can't say I don't miss the lace and frills you were always so fond of though."
Avary grips Killian's forearms gently. "Really? But the suit looks good too, right?"
Killian clicks his tongue and smiles. "Of course, you make anything look good! It's just you don't look like yourself is all."
And here we go. The fuck does it mean she "doesn't look like herself?" Avary switches between suits and dresses as she pleases. She decided on a suit today so that she would be taken more seriously, and this asshole is spitting all over her efforts! What's he going to say next, that she's less of a woman for wearing a suit?
"I mistook you for a man for a second there!"
…wow. She's not even wearing anything that would obscure her face. You'd very much like to punch Killian in his fat fucking mouth. Make it swell up so that he can't speak anymore.
Avary laughs along with Killian at that declaration, but it's hollow. He doesn't notice or doesn't care that Avary doesn't find his remark as humorous as he does.
"But enough about that. It's great to see that you're alive and well. I guess you must've been pretty banged up to have stayed away from our Family for so long. I'll be sure to let whoever I'm supposed to be meeting with today know that the Rout Family is grateful to him for taking such good care of one of our own."
Avary chuckles nervously. "What?"
"I mean, it's a little unprofessional of the guy to send someone in before him, but I'll just bet you saw the invitation I sent him and told him all about how we're such good friends. Probably let you come in first to say hi and do a little catching up before he was ready to talk business with me. Awful thoughtful of him, but still unprofessional. Could've just come in at the same time, save everyone a bit of hassle, you know?"
"About that. Killian, I-"
"But it's fine! Great even!" He just bowls over Avary and keeps on talking. "You can tell me what he's like! Because let me tell you something Aves, I really need this deal to go through. Things've gone to the dogs since you disappeared. I don't know if you've heard, probably not because we've been keeping it on a strictly need to know basis, but Pop's gone and disappeared, too. Just up and vanished in the middle of the night with no one the wiser."
Avary swallows thickly, her throat tight suddenly. "O-oh? No I haven't heard anything about that."
Killian snorts derisively. "Yeah, because like I just said we've been keeping on a need to know basis."
He also said he didn't know if she'd heard. Which she might've given the fact that there are whispers about how Rabel hasn't been seen or heard from in months. And won't ever be because Avary had you kill him. But Killian doesn't need to know that.
He's seriously pissing you off. This is the guy Avary's so enamored with? Is this how he always treats her? What about this is kind? It's not what he's saying but how he's saying it that sounds like he's insulting Avary at every turn. And she's just taking it? The woman who doesn't hesitate to get physically involved in a dispute between her people and clobber those involved if they're being absolute dumbasses about shit?
Your gut feeling's getting proven right again and you could not be more irritated about it. Killian is only lowering your already abysmal opinion of him with every word that leaves the wind hole he calls a mouth. He's absolute garbage.
Avary mentioned no other children in her childhood stories. Perhaps in addition to being her childhood friend, Killian had also been her only friend until she'd gotten old enough to start exploring some parts of the city on her known and began to amass the loyalty of some of its residents. Maybe the day-to-day proximity, along with her infatuation, caused her to not notice just how bad Killian had become over their years spent together. It's possible that it was simply that gradual of a change that she just didn't notice, having gotten accustomed to how much worse he got because it was slow.
Either way, that was your business partner he was insulting. No. That was your friend he was insulting. You lightly tap at Avary's ankle, and she looks down when Killian turns to grab something. You bubble to the surface of her shadow for but a moment to shake your head and then you dive back down. There. She knows you don't appreciate how the situation is unfolding. Avary sighs and takes a seat. Killian returns with three martini glasses.
"One for you," he says as he hands Avary a glass. "One for me. And one for our soon to be mutual friend when he arrives."
"Right. That. Killian I need to tell you something."
"What is it, Aves?"
"You're meeting with me."
"Yeah? I know? We're sitting and talking in the same room right now?"
"No! I mean for this business meeting; you're meeting with me!"
Killian looks over from where he's seated himself, already nearly finished with his drink. Then he narrows his eyes in anger.
"Oh, so this mysterious new player doesn't have the decency to meet face to face? What, he's got you running his errands for him as repayment for looking after you? For Satan's sake! A woman's got no place trying to handle a man's business! Er. No offence, Aves. I know you're real smart and all, but some things just aren't a woman's place to be doing, you know?"
Ooh you're going to rip his balls off. You're going to slither a tentacle over to him, reach up, squeeze, twist and pull and you're going to let him bleed out all over that nice sofa.
Avary grips the stem of her martini glass so tightly she's afraid that it might snap. And that would be a waste of a perfectly good drink. What Killian's saying isn't anything that she hasn't heard repeated over and over ad nauseum. All her life growing up in the Rout mansion she'd heard that men and women each have their own jobs to do. Men were the providers. They went out and did the earning, did the fighting, did the killing. Women were the caretakers. They did the cooking, and the cleaning, and the baby making, and the baby watching, and the waiting for the men to return so that they could look after them.
Avary had never like the lessons her mother and the other ladies at the mansion had tried to drill into her head about what a little lady ought to behave like. About what a little lady ought to talk like. About what a little lady ought to enjoy as a hobby. She'd hated the sewing lessons she'd been forced into as a child because they'd always been about embroidery or making sure a woman's clothes always looked presentably so that a man didn't think her unkempt. The sewing lessons her people had given were much more enjoyable because everyone did it for the same reason: so their clothes didn't have any Satan damn holes in them and could still be worn.
So yeah, what Killian was saying wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. But it hurt more coming from him because damn it the two of them grew up together! He knew what she was like, what she liked to do, what she was good at! Killian himself often asked her for advice on what to do to try and make Rabel happy whenever he'd been in one of his infamous moods and her ideas always bore fruit.
So to have Killian say that she has no business trying to do business with him hurts. Deeply. But he doesn't mean it, he doesn't. She'd done her best to help Killian understand that girls were just as good as boys at things, that women had just as much value as men. But clearly she'd come up short in her teachings. It was her fault he still spewed the vitriol his father and the older men in the Family had crammed down his gullet all his life.
But things were different now. She was different now. She wasn't the same powerless young lady that had left the Rout mansion. Now she was an up-and-coming crime boss who was rapidly gaining a monopoly on the city's drug trade. Once she got Killian to understand that, then he'd see that what he'd been saying was wrong. He'd apologize and she'd forgive him because she knows deep down that he doesn't mean what he says. Really he doesn't.
Avary opens her mouth once again. "No, Killian. No one sent me to come meet with you. You sent me the invitation to meet with you to talk business. I'm the new player on the board. I'm the one taking over the city's drug trade. Me and my Family."
Killian chokes on the olive he'd been in the middle of swallowing for a moment before he hacks it back up. All over the floor. How charming.
"Are you serious, Aves?" He's looking at her like he's not sure what he's seeing.
"As a heart attack."
Killian rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together. His head is hung low, and he begins to chuckle lowly to himself. His laughter gets louder and louder, his shoulders shaking from the force of it. It eventually dies down and he sighs out a breath and keeps his head rested against his hands for a moment. Then he gets up and stands in front of Avary. She has to crane her head to look him in the eyes.
"Killian? What's wro-"
He slaps her so hard across the face that Avary's head is forced to follow his hand's path and the sound of skin knocking against skin is deafening in the quiet room. There is no sound of movement on the other side of the door, the wood too heavy not to muffle any noise made.
Your hackles are raised, and you have half a mind to leap out and strike Killian and see how he likes it, secrecy be damned, when Avary digs a heel into her shadow. The message is quite clear: Stand down. You quell your rage momentarily. She's right. This is a meeting between two Family heads. Unless she specifically calls on you or is unable to request your aid despite needing it, you aren't to interfere. Avary can fight her own battles.
She raises a hand to her smarting cheek and rubs it tenderly. Never before had anyone raised a hand to her that wasn't her mother giving her a whooping. Never did she think that someone she calls a friend would strike her. And yet, Killian had. He was shaking and she couldn't recall a time when she'd seen him look so angry. Not even when she'd told him about Rabel's plan to make her his bride.
She glares and Killian flinches back so hard the back of his knees hit the table. He regains his furious composure and even bares his teeth at her a little. Oh that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.
"Killian," Avary says, voice icy cold. "Would you care to explain what possessed you to think it wise to strike me?"
His teeth are fully on display, and you could see how he's gritting them so hard you'd fear they'd crack if you actually gave a shit.
"Would you care to explain why you're suddenly the head of your own Family when you belong to mine?"
Avary tsks and sets her glass on the table beside her before standing up. "Excuse you? I was never a member of the Rout Family. Just because my parents worked for Rabel and now you doesn't mean the same for me."
Killian hisses. "Oh yes it does! You grew up in the Rout mansion, you were looked after by Rout Family members, you've been friends with the Rout Family head – me! – ever since we were children! You are absolutely a member of my Family, and I am appalled that you have the gall to stand there defiantly and say otherwise instead of begging for my forgiveness!"
"Forgiveness? And just what exactly should I be apologetic for?"
He scoffs, disgusted that he has to explain. "For running off, clearly! I can't believe that I was worried about you when the truth was that you'd gone off to start your own little Family all because you were upset over nothing!"
"Nothing?" Her voice sounds faint for all that you're right next to Avary.
Killian just keeps on digging the hole deeper. "Yeah! Nothing! My father wanted to marry you, big deal! You should have felt honored that he thought you were woman enough for him! I tried so hard to make you see that it was a good thing, but all you wanted to do was bitch and cry about it! Honestly, why he thought he needed to go to your parents about what he was planning is beyond me, courtesy I guess? As though he owed any of you that. I mean, he'd been planning the wedding for months by that point and-"
"Excuse me," Avary interrupted, as she should. "Did you say "months?" He'd been planning this for months and you knew? When I went to you in tears over what I'd heard, you already knew? And you didn't tell me? Did you even plan on telling me?"
Avary recalls what you'd asked her months ago: "But is Killian really all that great a guy?"
Apparently not. Avary can feel her heart as it shatters into a million pieces and gets ground to dust before getting blown away. Killian was someone she'd known all her life. They grew up together, learned together, played together, shared secrets; she knew him inside and out! Or at least she thought she did. When did the Killian she'd spent her best days with become whoever this is? How had she not noticed? The Killian she knew never would have hurt her on purpose. The Killian she knew never would have kept such a big secret involving her from her. And yet, he did. When did she stop knowing Killian? When did this stranger don his skin and start pretending to be her friend?
Avary can feel any and all love she'd ever had for him dry up in an instant. What a fool she'd been. Thinking someone as foul as this was ever a friend, let alone someone worth her time and affections.
"No," she continued. "You never did, did you? You were going to let me stay ignorant of the matter until it was too late to do anything but accept it. I am so thoroughly disgusted with you that I don't think the words exist to allow me to properly express it. Whatever it was you were hoping for from this meeting, you can forget about it. I want nothing to do with you Rout. Do not contact me ever again. I'll consider it a hostile action if you do."
Avary makes to leave like the badass she is when she's tackled to the ground and Killian's hand is suddenly encircling her throat. He pins her hands with his free one and her tail with his.
"Uppity bitch," he snarls in her face. "You ought to know your place. Since my father couldn't be bothered to show it to you, it looks like that falls to me."
He removes his hand from her throat and goes for his belt. Before his fingertips can even brush the buckle, you've got his windpipe begging for release in your grasp and a tentacle ripping his balls off just like you said you would. But you don't let him bleed out on the nice sofa, you're a bit too impatient to wait for that. You just go ahead and rip his head off.
You offer a hand to Avary, and she accepts is, coughing roughly and standing shakily. You don't want to think about the way this would have gone down if she'd tried to insist you not come along like the other times.
"Well now what," you question. You toss and catch the head with a tendril a couple of times. "That's twice I've killed the head of the same Family and this time his goons are literal feet away from us. Not to mention your own people."
"I think-" Avary coughs violently, it sounds awful. "I think we don't have a choice but to go out there and let them know what's happened. Come what may, he attacked me on neutral ground twice and reaped the consequences."
She's trying her hardest to stay strong, but you can see the way that Avary trembles. She's going to be thinking about what Killian tried to do for a long time. Possibly for the rest of her life. It's absolutely going to haunt her nightmares.
"Do you want me to go out there with you?"
"No. There's no agreement to leave subordinates out of meetings like this, it's more like an unspoken courtesy. Still, none of them saw you enter the room with me and could argue that I'd had an assassin planted before Killian got here. I'll go out. Alone. Now give me his head."
Killian's guards – or is former guards? – flinch when Avary walks out with his head tucked under her arm. Her people tense and their hands hover over their weapons in anticipation, and yet no move for retaliation is made. Avary turns so that she's facing Killian's guards with two of her own flanking each of her sides. Her face is beginning to swell already, and her neck has darkening indents of when it'd been gripped. She tosses the severed head at the feet of the guards.
"Don Rout decided that he didn't want to play by the rules of neutrality. If you have a problem with how I've decided to correct his behavior, speak up now."
None of them do. If anything, they look relieved that their boss' – former boss'? – head is sitting rolling around on the floor in front of them leaving a little trail of blood in its wake. Not all that surprising considering he lorded over them through fear. People will put up with a lot if terrorized into it, but if a way out presents itself then they'll take it if they're brave enough to do so. You suppose that it didn't matter who ended up killing him, they're glad Killian's dead either way. Loyalty only goes so far when it's fear induced.
"No? Good. Unspoken though they may be, there are certain agreements made when Families meet to discuss business with one another. Now, as for how the Rout Family will repay the insult your now departed head gifted me… Well, I suppose whoever's put in charge next is going to have to decide what they think that should be and I'll let them know if it isn't satisfactory."
One of the guards speaks up. "That's going to be a bit difficult, begging your pardon Miss- er, Don Avary."
The stank face she's giving these guys. "And why is that?"
The four of them glance at each other nervously. "Don Killian hadn't picked a successor yet. You probably wouldn't receive restitutions for a while until the older members get done fighting over who's in charge now, if at all."
Avary sighs and pinches the bridge of her snout. "Yeah I can see those old bastards dragging the right of succession out for a long time and conveniently "forgetting" that they still owed a debt to me. That'd just be a pain in the ass to deal with." She sighs and tilts her head back as though the ceiling would give her the answers she sought before snapping her attention back to the guards who – to their credit – barely flinch at the moment. "Congratulations, gentlemen. This business meeting has officially turned into a coup. If you don't have a problem with me taking over your Family as compensation, then you're welcome to stay."
Avary's people are on edge, to say the least, when she arrives back at the hideout with four members of the Rout Family in tow. And then they're livid, some literally frothing at the mouth, when she explains how the meeting went down. There was no shortage of people who wanted to use Killian's head as a soccer ball, but Avary had them hold off on desecrating it for the time being. Instead, she had it stiffed into a burlap sack to keep it from dripping everywhere. Soaks the bottom of the sack though.
And then suddenly it's moving day again. Everybody grabs only the essentials, the rest they'll come back for later. Regular people see a crowd of clearly armed demons marching towards a destination and they lock up doors and widows and batten down the hatches in preparation for the storm they think is coming. You can't blame them; the previous gang war was only a little bit ago and is still fresh in everyone's minds. Those in Avary's ranks who'd gotten caught in the crossfire before joining up are recovering, but it's slow. Especially with the subpar medical treatment they have access to.
The Rout mansion is by no means the biggest in the city, but it's still fairly sizeable. Plenty of space for everyone Avary's bringing in, even if most of the soon-to-be-former Rout Family decides to join her. Which you aren't sure if they will. The oldest members sure as shit won't want to. They'll see it as an insult and also definitely try to kill her for killing Killian, even though he was the one who struck first. They'd say that as a woman if a man felt that she'd done wrong and needed to be punished for it, then by all means Killian was right to attack her. You hate this time period. So much rampant and socially acceptable – or at least ignored – misogynistic abuse.
So they'd definitely have to go.
You see the guards at the mansion's gate do a doubletake when they see the crowd of demons marching towards them. Avary and Killian's former guards are at the front, and it takes little convincing from them for the gate guards to let everyone through. Members from all over the estate gather and gawk at the crowd casually strolling on through like they own the place. Avary comes to a stop in the courtyard and simply waits. Word has definitely made its way to the higher ups. They'll come to her, and she'll make a spectacle of things.
The oldest members of the Rout Family are few and are just that: the oldest. They're older than Rabel was, most likely they served under his father before him. Their faces are gnarled with scars and wrinkles, and they look all the more dangerous for it. A shame for them that old age has addled their minds so badly that they can't recognize the predator standing right in front of them ready to strike them down.
"What's the meaning of this, brat," one of them rasps. "Find out the world was too much for a little girl like you to handle on her own and come crawling back to beg the Don's forgiveness with new recruits?"
He laughs and it's an ugly noise that thankfully doesn't last very long. He keels over dead from the bullet to the brain. His fellows stare shellshocked before they too are struck down. Avary clicks the safety of her pistol back on and stows it away in the holster under her jacket.
"That's that then," her voice is the only sound in the dead quiet courtyard. She snaps her fingers, and the burlap sack is placed in her grasp. "In this bag is the head of your former Don: Killian." She dumps the contents of the sack out so that those closest can see she isn't bluffing. "He felt that the unspoken rules of neutrality that are put in place whenever Families meet to discuss business needn't apply with me. I made sure to correct that mistake so that he'd never make it again. And I felt that your wise elders wouldn't see the need to pay me back for the insult. So I decided that the perfect way for the Rout Family to repay me was to take over. If you've got a problem with it, you can either leave through the front gate and never darken my doorway again, or you can be foolish and try to kill me and leave with a bullet between your eyes."
For a moment, nobody moves. You don't think any of the Rout Family dare to breathe. And then you hear several gun safeties being clicked off. Faster than the fools could aim and shoot, they're being gunned down by Avary's people. Screams ring out. Those not interested in being massacred flee the estate, those who would rather serve under Avary either join her people in mowing down those who oppose her or fleeing further into the mansion to avoid being shot.
When all is said and done, the courtyard is a bloodbath and everyone still present looks like they decided to take a dip.
It takes a bit of time to get everyone settled into the Avidity mansion. Everyone picks what room they want and if they want to bunk with someone. That's how big the place is compared to the dingy hideout they'd all finally managed to get the last of their belongings out of. It would be an adjustment period. Those who chose to stay had already been sworn to secrecy about you and had been startled when you'd risen out of Avary's shadow once the final oath of silence deal had been made. They're a lot less wary of you than Avary's people had been when they first met you, no doubt thanks to how Avary's people didn't seem to mind your presence.
Avary's parents weren't among those who'd chosen to stay. They'd fled the mansion when the slaughter began. From what you'd heard, they'd chosen to get on an elevator headed to Wrath and hadn't been seen since. You could tell that Avary was hurt by this, but she didn't let it get her down. They'd made their choice and she'd made hers.
The lessons picked back up once things had settled down enough and just like at the hideout, everyone had to participate. Those who were used to sewing and cooking – the women – had no trouble following along and helping out those who struggled – the men. A good number of the ladies laughed quietly behind their hands at the baffled expressions some of the men had when they didn't understand the instructions before moving to help them. You weren't sure if it was because they were all afraid to, but nobody complained about stupid shit like "this is woman's work!" or "women don't have any business shooting a gun!" You didn't know if the prejudice had been spread all throughout the Rout Family, but no one was showing any outwards sign of it at least. So, even if it was present, they'd either keep their mouths shut or maybe unlearn a bit of it.
You could only hope.
By moving everybody's crap in, that meant that a lot of shit had to be moved to make some room. Most of it were the belongings of those who had either fled or been killed. Mostly clothes and weapons which were distributed to those who wanted them. Anything unwanted was either scrapped – the clothes – or stored away for future use – the weapons.
The children were especially happy with their new home. They had so much more space to play now! Games of hide and seek or tag would be so much more fun for them with such a nice space to play them in. You know that the kids aren't ignorant of what the adults do, but it's moments like this where they laugh and play without a care in the world that make you wish that they could be completely naïve of what goes on in the adult world. You suppose you'd just have to be satisfied that Avary was firmly against making the children do anything Family related that weren't their practical lessons. No sooner than eighteen would they be allowed to participate in the Family business she'd told you.
You waved as a few of the children ran past you screeching with delight. You relished being able to walk out in the open like this. True, you'd done so in both bases of operations before this, but something about walking through a building that wasn't falling apart in some way that wasn't in the shadows felt so freeing. You strolled your way through the mansion and let your gaze pass over the sections of wall where there was a bit of discoloration. All of the portraits of previous Rout Family heads had been removed throughout the estate and burned. Avary wanted absolutely no reminders.
Speaking of her, Avary had made herself scarce once everyone had gotten settled in. The Rout Family had business dealings with a large number of smaller crime Families, and she was combing over them to see which ones were beneficial to keep and which ones would be "called off" as it were. It was keeping her tied up and anytime you managed to get a glimpse of her, Avary looked tired. But also fulfilled. She'd managed to achieve her goal after all, though certainly not in the way she'd hoped. You could tell that Killian's betrayal weighed heavily on her, and it probably always would. He'd been her first friend; someone she'd shared her entire life with up to this point. To find out that he thought so little of her and felt that she were beneath him had to have been a major blow to her feelings. With time, she would hopefully heal and move on from it. But for now the wound was still fresh and you're sure that it would ooze and hurt for a long while yet.
You're brought out of your musings when you reach your destination. The mansion's library. It's nothing grand, but it's definitely more books than you'd ever had in your house back when you were alive. It wasn't incredibly dusty when you first stumbled across it, so you could only assume that the room saw some use beyond getting its regular cleaning. You'd been spending your time since the move perusing the shelves and organizing the books in a way that made sense to you. Really it was utter chaos when you'd first looked through a few of them. All genres mixed together like it was a melting pot. Horrifying.
You'd pulled every book off the shelves and had made neat little stacks. Just eyeballing it, you'd say that you've gotten through about eighty percent of the books. Nothing has gone back on the shelves just yet though. You'd made little groups divided by genre and had a little paper with what genre it was written on it and folded so that it could stand properly. You weren't currently doing anything with your time, so this was as good a task to spend it on as any. You'd been surprised by the few titles you recognized, but it made sense that there could be literature from Earth here. Demons were recorded all throughout history, it's not farfetched to assume that some demons who'd been summoned were looking for a bit of literary entertainment and asked for books as payment.
Well, these books weren't going to sort themselves. You metaphorically roll up your sleeves and get back to work. You've got a feeling that you'll be able to start putting some of the books back on the shelves today.
There's a book missing, you're sure of it. You glare balefully at the one empty spot on the shelf you'd just placed the last book you'd had on. From how the sky looks from the library's windows, you've spent the whole day sorting and reshelving everything. Or almost everything, if this one. Empty. Space. Is any indication. It's irrational that you find this irritating. Someone could simply have taken it out of the library to read somewhere else. Or it was lost a long time ago. It still bothers you that you don't have this one book to slot perfectly in place.
You sigh and rub your neck. You certainly aren't going to find it right now. You leave the library and stifle a yawn as you make your way back to your room. Right near Avary's at her insistence. You can see that there's a light on in her room through the crack under the door. Probably staying up late burning the midnight oil, same as you. You don't want to disturb her, so you opt to head into your room as quietly as possible.
Avary has other plans as she practically rips the hinges off her bedroom door when you shuffle past it.
"There you are! Come inside I think you'll want to see this!"
You don't get a chance to respond as you're grabbed by the wrist and tugged into the room, door slamming behind you. Avary winces at the noise, but the giddy expression she'd been wearing quickly returns.
"Alright, so you're well aware that I've been meeting with some of Rout's old business partners this past little while," she starts. "I'd been pouring over each contract that I'd inherited when I stumbled across something very interesting at the bottom of the drawer they'd all been crammed into. Look!"
She slams something thick and heavy down onto the small table you were seated at. Dust flies and Avary begins coughing profusely.
"Wow, okay! Probably should have dusted that off. But look, look, look!"
You look.
The missing book from the library looks back at you from where it had been acquainted with the table. The cover is clack as pitch, but other than that there are no discerning features on it. What you can see of the pages looks to be lined with what you could swear was gold. The book sounded heavy, but not that heavy. Must just be a gold trim or something similar. Really, it was incredibly unassuming. You'd say that this book was just like any other you'd find in the library.
If it wasn't for the black chains binding it that kept the book bound.
You fiddle with a section of chain. "So what's the deal with this book?"
Avary shakes her head excitedly. "Oh. This isn't just any old book. It's faint, but I can feel magic wafting off it. I'm fairly certain that tome right there is a grimoire."
You pause in your fiddling, rattling noises ceasing. "Really? A powerful book of spells was just sitting at the bottom of a drawer full of business contracts?"
Avary shrugs, clearly not finding this nearly as odd as you do. You look back down at the book, really look at it. Your earlier statement still stands. If it weren't for the chains then it would look as unassuming as any other book in the library. What the Rout Family had been doing with a grimoire of all things in their possession is a questions you'll probably never get the answer to. Now that you're focusing on it, you can feel a sense of… something coming from the book. No doubt the faintest hints of magic Avary was talking about.
"So… What are your plans for it?"
"None, except to give it to you."
Now would be an excellent moment for a record scratch to sound.
"Repeat that would you? Because I could swear you just said that you were giving me the grimoire."
Avary grins so wide her eyes crinkle. "Good, because that's exactly what I said. Grimoires are known to possess powerful spells withing their pages. If you're looking for a way to travel through all of Hell undetected, then a grimoire could be exactly what you're looking for. Of course, I have no idea what kind of spells this one has. I haven't been able to get the chains off and it's not like trying keys would work. There isn't a lock to be found."
"Huh," you say. "So then these chains are probably magic too, then?"
"Probably, which is a shame because I don't know much about magic other than what it feels like when it's being cast. And I doubt anyone else around here would know much more than I do."
You… have a really dumb idea.
You pick the grimoire up and very gently ask, "Could you please unlock yourself so that I may peruse your pages?"
Nothing happens. Not a single thing. Not even an indication that it considered what you asked and decided to deny your request. Just nothing.
"Well," Avary attempts to comfort. "It was worth a-"
The chains promptly fall off and clatter onto the table noisily before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
"-shot," she finishes lamely. "Shit, that worked?!"
You can't believe it either. You can feel yourself grin excitedly as you eagerly crack the book open. Before you even attempt to turn the page, something catches your eye. Inside the cover there is a note written in very neat handwriting. The sort one would practice countless hours of calligraphy to achieve.
My Darling Child,
May a most wonderous Spawning Day be upon you.
I do regret that I will not be able to gift this tome to you in person.
Alas, my duties have much need of me.
Fear not, My Darling Child, for I will see you soon.
For the time being, content yourself with learning the spells within its pages.
You are so young and just coming into your magic. Your peers are already leaps and bounds ahead of you.
But this is no cause for concern.
You will grow into yourself at your own pace.
Just keep up with your studies and you'll be a match for your peers before you know it.
Perhaps you'll even grow beyond them.
All my love,
The very bottom of the note is smudged. You can't make out what the final word is, though it's most likely some form of parental address. You suddenly feel a bit apprehensive about using this book. It was clearly a heartfelt gift to the gifter's child. Why the Rout Family had it is, again, something you'll never know. Did the child due and the parent get rid of the book out of grief? Did the child hand it off when they felt they had no more use for it? Are you needlessly worrying yourself over this?
Now that's a question you can get an answer to. Yes. Yes you are. Put it out of your mind right now, it's none of your concern. If this book can help you, then you're going to use it, hypothetical sentimental value to a complete stranger be damned. You turn the page-
-and are met with a small note fluttering out of the book. You catch it before it hits the ground and share a look with Avary before you shrug and open it. It's blank.
You immediately feel your blood turn to ice and your head start to swim. The book shuts from how tightly you begin clutching it by the spine. Everything is spinning and you can hear Avary speaking to you, but you can't make out the words. You feel like you're falling.
No wait, you don't feel like you're falling; you are falling. From high up in the air and an already large body of water is getting bigger and bigger as it rushes to greet you. Or maybe you're the one rushing to greet it.
You land with a large splash, disturbing the wildlife into a hasty retreat. You scramble to break through the surface and you're thankfully not too far from shore. You hack and sputter and risk raising your hood enough to spit the water that got into your mouth out.
You heard the buzzing of insects, the croaking of frogs, and the howling of wind. It's raining fiercely and you look up to see if you can make sense of your surroundings.
The pale face of the moon looks back at you and the North Star gleams from its post in the sky.
"Oh what the fuck!"
Chapter End Notes
Reader: I sure would like to get out of the Greed Ring.
Comments: Can't wait for Reader to get out of the Greed Ring!
Me:
:)
Down In New Orleans
Chapter Notes
Start of a new arc!
I've been thinking about this one and I'm so giddy to be writing it out. Like the last one I know how I want it to end, but I don't know how many chapters it's going to take to get there.
But I hope you all enjoy it, I know I'm going to!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The rain has picked up so much that it's become a storm. Clouds have rolled in, shrouding the night sky in darkness, save for the occasional flash of lighting. There are no more sounds of disturbed wildlife, all nearby creatures having fled to safety from the storm. The only one out and about in the thick of it all is you.
You've been frozen on the shore since your little outburst. You'd wrung your costume out as best you could before the rain had picked up. You'd cut your losses and simply stowed the soaked fabric away into your shadow for the time being. You hoped it would be dry by the time you were ready to pull it out again.
The grimoire had splashed into the water with you but was thankfully free of any water. You would hope that a book of such import would be able to stand up to getting a bit wet. You would have been all kinds of pissed off if it hadn't. The blank note that had gotten you into this predicament had flitted and fluttered about in the wind before slipping back into the book's seemingly never-ending pages. You weren't exaggerating, you'd tried to flip all the way to the end, and it just never happened. It appeared that the tome was boundless with the knowledge it held. Surely it held the way to traverse the Rings of Hell unimpeded?
But that would have to wait until the storm had passed and you could properly see. In the meantime, the book had been stored away along with your costume as you headed – hopefully – deeper into the trees. You were sorely tempted to punch every trunk you passed and leave caved in, splintering bark in your wake, but you dared not to leave any easily followed trail. You didn't need any curious bystanders coming to get a looky-loo at what had left the path of destruction in its wake.
You eventually came across a tall enough tree that you scale until you reach a spot where several branches have bunched close together. It offers what shelter it can from the elements and you wedge yourself as far as you can without getting stuck before you do your best to try and get any amount of sleep. But you know that it's going to be impossible and yet another sleepless night is upon you.
You're proven right when dawn breaks and you sleepily blink your eyes open. You'd barely managed to doze and it was only for a few minutes at a time before flashes of lighting and claps of thunder jolted you awake. You fail to stifle a yawn. Great. You're exhausted, you don't know where you are, and a quick check shows that your costume – while not the sopping wet mess it was a few hours ago – is still waterlogged.
Looks like you're going to be here for a while. You might as well start thumbing through this book and seeing if what you're looking for is there.
"Sure would be great if this thing had an index," you mutter testily.
The book nearly flies out of your grasp and into the muck below with how quickly it opens itself and its pages flutter until it stops, huh. Right at an index. Come to think of it, the chains binding the grimoire shut just removed themselves upon being asked. The note on the cover indicates that the parent who gifted this was seemingly very fond of their child. Perhaps there's some sort of enchantment on it that makes navigating its infinite pages simple.
If so… "Do you have any spells that have to do with portals? Specifically ones to Hell?"
A pause, then another rapid fluttering of paper before it stops. And yes! This is exactly what you were looking for! An invocation that will open a gateway to wherever the caster is thinking of! You carefully go over the words and wave your hand-
And are immediately hit with a wave of vertigo so great you feel like you're going to throw up, keel over and die all at once. You thankfully don't do any of those things, but it's a very close call. What the Hell was that? You don't get to wonder that for long as the tome flips its pages without our input and lands on one with another beautifully written note on it.
My Darling Child,
If you're reading this, then it means that you've just attempted a spell that you currently lack the magical capacity to cast.
I don't blame you for your eagerness to cast the more difficult of the spells in this tome, but you know very well that one must work their way up from most easy to most difficult over time.
As I've stated in the cover of this tome, you are lagging behind your peers in terms of magical prowess through no fault of your own.
It will simply take time for you to catch up to them.
I implore you to be patient with your progress, though I understand it will be frustrating at times when you feel as though you aren't progressing as you feel you ought to be.
You will get there so long as you are patient and start with the simplest of magics and work your way up.
Remember, you will grow into your power with time and effort.
I love you dearly, My Darling Child
The book must also have some sort of enchantment to know if whoever was holding it was being a total dumbass. You rest a hand over your eyes and humorlessly chuckle. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy! Nothing about your life in this world has been easy! It's just one thing after another, isn't it? You sigh. You're too tired to cry any frustrated tears about this. You got too eager when you saw that what you'd been looking for was right there. But it still remains just out of reach and will continue to do so for a while yet. The note's right. You need to take your time and work your way up in difficulty if you want to be able to get back to Hell.
And you do. Like fuck do you want to somehow accidentally attract Heaven's attention to you being on Earth and get your ass smote.
Unfortunately, your little stunt with the portal spell drained your already significantly depleted reserves of energy and you slept the entire day and night away until it was tomorrow. On the bright side, nothing tried to disturb you and you actually got decent sleep. So you were feeling much more energetic than you were yesterday. The downside: your costume is covered in algae and who knows what else, but it smells so bad. It's truly disgusting.
But maybe life is feeling just the barest bit of pity for you because due to your irritated muttering you'd discovered that there was a sort of universal repair/restoration spell that would get the costume and your clothes as good as new. And a quick check in the index indicated that though it was high up on the list, it still fell under the "easy spell" category.
You still felt a significant drain when you cast the spell twice, but you felt it was worth it. The gunk and grime, the frayed cloth and your sloppy needlework, all gone and the clothes were as pristine as the day you'd gotten them.
You guessed the Ars Goetia just simply had a different definition of the word "easy." At least, you're fairly confident that that's who this book originally belonged to. You don't recall having seen or read that any other demons had access to grimoires. Save for Stolas lending his out to Blitzø. Maybe the Sins had their own, but again you couldn't recall having seen or read that anywhere so probably not. Besides, what would beings like them need with a little book when they could easily show what powerhouses they were without much thought or effort? Still, it'd be kind of funny if a Sin did have their own personal grimoire, only to have all the batshit insane things they can do written down because they can't be bothered to remember it all.
You chuckle to yourself as you flip back to the very first page of the "easy" spells. You wonder if your struggles have to do with a difference in magical capacity. What even is yours in the first place? How could you grow it? Asking the book surprisingly gets you nowhere; must have been something the parent told the child in person and expected them to remember. In power building fanfictions you've read, depending on the setting, the main character would just practice the simplest thing over and over until they could feel no further gains coming from doing so, and then they'd move on.
Perhaps you could employ a similar method? Find whichever "easy" spell was the least draining on you and practice it until you no longer felt a drain and move on from there? A little obvious, but often times the obvious answer turns out to be the correct one. One problem though. You still have no idea where on Earth you are. You could be in the middle of nowhere with no one but animals around for company; ideal but given your luck thus far you doubted it. Odds were that there were plenty of people a reasonable distance nearby and you definitely didn't want them to find you, costume or no. You could hear the horrified screaming and angry mob hunting you down now. And massacring that many humans at once would definitely get Heaven's attention if that's where any of them ended up going and they decided to run their mouths.
…well. There was a way to get around that. The spell was very low on the "easy" list, practically at the very bottom in fact. You were afraid to peek at any higher tier spells excluding the portal. You weren't sure you wanted to know what real demons considered moderately or highly difficult. All this is just shoving in your face how outclassed you are right now. If you could juts scratch the surface of what these higher ranked demons could do, then unless you got incredibly unlucky – even more so than you already have – nobody in Pride would even be able to touch you unless without you allowing them to.
You take a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself for this attempt. Despite how low on the "easy" list it was, it could still turn out to be incredibly draining on you. But you wouldn't know unless you tried and you couldn't risk getting found, so you take the plunge and cast it.
You still feel a drain, but it's significantly smaller than the one you felt when restoring your clothes. You hold out a hand and sure enough it looks as pale and human as it once had. You'd conjure a mirror but creation magic is listed as a low medium difficulty spell, so fuck that for now. What you can see is that your hair is still black, and you can feel that the ears on top of your head have vanished and human ones have taken their place on the sides of your head.
This is good. You still wish you had a reflective surface of some sort to figure out just how good it was, but you're sure that no one would be able to figure out that you aren't human. You're shaking with giddy excitement. You hop down from your perch and pick a random direction to start walking in. You're bound to run into civilization eventually. It'd be wise of you to figure out just where it is you are and to see if it's wise to stay out here in the wilderness. You don't necessarily want to do that, but it'd be easier to practice building up your magical reserves away from prying eyes.
If there are people too close by, then it wouldn't matter if you went back out into the woods or not. You'd constantly be running the risk of someone stumbling across you. God you wish creation wasn't listed so high! You could make your own little cabin away from everyone and practice all you like inside it! People generally didn't just go barging into other people's houses after all.
Unless they were asshole burglars of course.
You put the thought of hypothetical asshole burglars and how you are not one – shut up he was dead no matter how momentarily – out of your mind and set off through the trees, hopefully in the direction of a town. The wildlife kept a safe distance from you whenever you happened to stumble across any creature. Animals could always tell when something wasn't quite right after all and you screamed "danger!" to their instincts.
It was a perfectly lovely day out, a stark contrast to the storm you'd arrived in. It almost felt like you were walking through a Bob Ross painting. Eventually you came across the tree line and on the other side of it was a small dock and a boat tied to it bobbing up and down lazily in the water. You ignored the boat completely and checked for any other sign of people before melding into the shadows. You would have been doing so the whole time, but it's been so long since you'd seen the actual sun that you wanted to enjoy it for a bit.
The trek goes much faster this way, but you weren't in any hurry to begin with. You stumble across civilization in record time and the sight takes your breath away. It's a sprawling city, much like the one you'd been spirited away from. But unlike in Hell, this city appeared to be properly maintained at first glance. Railways for streetcars crisscrossed all over as people hopped on and off of them in droves.
There seemed to be no shortage of hustle and bustle wherever you went and you were beginning to wonder just how far away you'd have to go before you could exit out of the shadows when you'd found the perfect spot. A public park with very few people present despite how nice a day it was. You reemerged in one of the trees and were about to hop down from it when you were stopped by a squeal soon followed by a young woman rushing over to stand underneath your new perch.
Wonderful. Well, again it wasn't like you were in any big hurry. She'd probably leave soon and then you could leave no problem. Except problem: she was motioning someone over to her. A young man. Ah great. Guess you were eavesdropping on a date for now. Oh sure, you could just slip back into the shadows and reemerge elsewhere, but the park was actually a very open space and with the sun positioned the way it was, you couldn't very well dart about without notice. You just sunk into the shade provided by the foliage. Maybe you could get a nap in.
"Oh, this is just the perfect spot!" Scratch the nap. The woman's shrill voice would see to it that you couldn't.
"It is rather pleasant! You always seem to find the best spots to relax, my dear! It's truly a talent," the man compliments.
The woman giggles. "Oh you're such a sweet talker! Let's get the blanket all spread out so we can have our picnic."
Please no. Please spontaneously decide that this spot isn't so great after all. Better yet, leave the park entirely so that you can come out of your hiding spot and wander off without being seen. Please. Please.
They don't. They stay right where they are and spread out their picnic blanket and unload the food from the basket. And of course they don't start digging in right away. No. They just have to chat and eat slowly about things that you don't give enough of a shit about to really pay attention to. You want to groan in annoyance, but that would give you away. You're just about to die from boredom when your brain finally decides to tune back in on the conversation happening below you instead of relegating it to white noise.
"-or, really it is!" The woman is fiddling with the ends of her hair and bashfully looking away."
"Very true, my dear! It isn't often a day as fine as this one graces us with its presence. One ought to sit back and take the time to enjoy it like we have. You know what they say about all work and no play!"
"Yes, well, there was a reason I asked you to accompany me today."
"Oh? It wasn't to enjoy this fine weather and your lovely company?"
She laughs breathily and stammers, "P-perhaps that was partly why! But I did have something rather important to discuss with you as well."
He gives her his full attention. "Oh, this sounds serious! By all means, discuss away! What troubles you?"
She fiddles with the ends of her hair again and doesn't look him in the eye. "Well, we've been spending an awful lot of time together lately… And I was just wondering- I was curious- I wanted to know if-"
She keeps cutting herself off and you think you can tell what it is that she wants to ask him. He seems to be thinking along the same lines as you if the way his smile stiffens and his eyes dull with disinterest. Damn dude, okay. He's not obligated to return this woman's feelings at all, but he could at least try and let her down gently instead of looking like he'd rather go jump into the river. She turns to face him and maybe he's hiding it better than you thought – or you'd just gotten scarily good at noticing minute changes in facial expressions – because she doesn't look put off by his expression at all. If anything it encourages her. She places her hand on his and you can see his entire body barely flinch at the contact.
"Would you like to go-"
You sneeze. All that effort in making sure you didn't make any sound of annoyance at the situation, and it's your nose that gives you away. The woman jumps in surprise and you have barely enough time to pull yourself out of the shadows and adopt a casual lean against a branch before the both of them look up and lock eyes with you. You stare back and the woman's face turns a deep red. Whether from rage or embarrassment you don't know. The man cocks his head slightly to the side and his smile widens a bit. It looks strained to you, but his eyes hold a glimmer of interest. Or maybe it's amusement.
You get tired of the staring contest pretty quick. "A word of advice: when choosing a picnic spot, make sure no one is hanging about in the tree you sit under." You sit up and jump off the branch, landing several feet away from their blanket. You look back at them. "I was going to wait until you left to get down, but then the pollen had to go and irritate me." You shrug.
The woman gawps at you like a fish for a hot second and then she explodes. "As though I believe that for even a second! You probably overheard that I'd be coming here with the city's most eligible bachelor and decided that it'd be the perfect opportunity for you to try and win his affections! As though he'd ever go for a plain Jane like yourself, especially one walking around in slacks as if she were a man!"
She's huffing and smirking like she just got a big one over on you. The man side eyes her for a moment before sliding his gaze back to you. Not that you notice you're too busy being internally gobsmacked that she thought that was a good insult. And maybe to women of this time period it was? You place a hand over your eyes and your shoulders shake.
"Now don't be upset," she coos mockingly. "It's understandable that you're enamored with him, what girl isn't? But you need to learn that he's just too good for the likes of-"
You can feel your face split into a wide grin and you burst out laughing – loudly – cutting her off abruptly. You peek out from between your fingers and she's red with rage for sure this time. The man looks amused.
"Wow. Firstly: you must be incredibly self-conscious about your own appearance if it's the first thing you decide to insult a complete stranger about. Secondly: you sure are presumptuous in thinking that I was looking to get in between you and what was it you called him? "The city's most eligible bachelor?" Pardon you, but I've never seen this man before in my life. I have absolutely no idea who he is and honestly I don't care." His eyes narrow a bit, though the smile never leaves his face. He might actually be pretty well known locally. Oh well, not your problem. "And thirdly: you really ought to work on your people skills. Anyone with working eyes could see that he isn't interested."
With that, you turn and walk away. You pay no heed to the woman's cries for you to "stay where you are" because "she wasn't done with you." Honestly, how stupid is she? To have this first thing she says to a total stranger be nothing but insults. Even if the guy had been interested, you'd hope he'd have the sense to lose it real fast.
He watches you continue on your merry little way, dark-haired little spitfire that you are. A tongue of sharp steel rests in your mouth. He glances down at his companion, poor thing staring off in stunned silence at your retreating figure. No, not retreating. To say you were retreating would be the same as saying you'd been defeated. And that was so far from the reality of things.
His companion snaps her head up as soon as you're out of sight and turns her attention to him. Her eyebrows are furrowed with worry and eyes shining with unshed tears. Oh dear, seems his intuition hadn't been wrong. Her lips form a wobbly, barely held together smile that makes a mockery of the expression.
"Haha! Wh-what does someone like her know anyway?! I have no idea who that was, I'd remember someone with those looks!"
Indeed. He'd never seen you before either. Not impossible given the size of the city, but he made it a point to be seen everywhere and everyone he'd even spoken in the vicinity of recognized him first by his voice. You'd been up that tree before he and his companion had settled themselves underneath it, you'd surely heard him conversing with her! And yet you still didn't know who he was. That meant that you were from out of town.
How hilarious! A dame who liked to spend her time climbing trees and could be as mean as an old wet hen to boot! Not afraid to tell it like she sees it!
He tenses when his companion wraps her hands around his arm. "She had no clue what she was talking about! We've spent so much time together lately! Yeah! Wh-what does she know!"
Oh dear, looks like the poor girl's getting hysterical. Best to nip this in the bud and slowly cut her off. It wouldn't do to have a shadow stalking his every step. "Perhaps it would be best if this is where we ended our outing. You're clearly rattled by this, my dear."
He can tell that she wants to protest, wants to extend their time together so that she may declare her feelings of adoration for him in the vain hope that he'll reciprocate. A shame for her that he doesn't and won't ever. She's a perfectly lovely woman who will surely make someone very happy, just not him. They both pick up the picnic supplies and he walks her home as any gentleman ought to. The fairer sex should be treated with the utmost care after all.
Unbidden, his thoughts turn back to you. He wonders how you would appreciate someone offering to escort you home, and then very quickly banishes the thought from his mind. You were a chance encounter and he'd likely never see you again. A shame though.
You had such a lovely smile.
Chapter End Notes
Making deals isn't the only way to gain power. Also, the reader is really bad at it. The two deals she does have were completely by chance and she hadn't been able to get any others before falling to Greed.
How many of you did I psyche out by having the way back to Hell show up almost instantly, only to have it be blocked off until the reader's strong enough magically?
WE HAVE ENTERED THE KITHCEN AND *WE* ARE GOING TO TAKE A LONG ASS TIME DECIDING WHAT *WE* WANT FOR DINNER.
Adapt, Improvise, Overcome
Chapter Notes
I'm already having so much fun thinking about this arc you have no idea.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You're still amused at the woman's audacity to insult a total stranger to their face. Especially in front of the man she was attempting to woo. Personally, you wouldn't continue giving someone like her the time of day, but that's just your thoughts on the matter. It's none of your business whether or not that man continues to associate with her and you sincerely don't actually give a shit. You highly doubt you'll be running into them ever again.
A strong breeze ruffles your hair as you make your way through the city. Your first order of business here is to get you more outfits. As draining as the restoration spell is, you could still use it at least once a day to make your clothes fresh and clean, however you can't be seen wearing the same outfit every day. Not up here. That would get you some very much unwanted attention and snide looks once people begin to recognize you while you're stuck here. Unwanted attention leads to unwanted questions leads to people possibly becoming suspicious of you and keeping an eye out for you doing anything they deem strange.
You're already going to have a heck of a time figuring out just where you'll be able to practice your magic away from prying eyes, no need to make that harder for yourself.
Fortunately, your time with the Avidity Family left you with a not insubstantial amount of money. The cuts you received from the jobs you helped pull off was nothing to sneeze at, especially considering how you weren't going out and treating it like water through your fingers.
You step into the first clothing shop you come across and begin to browse. The only employee you can see – perhaps the only employee at all – is busy assisting another customer at the moment but greets you with a nod that you return as you begin to browse. It's a limited selection and it's mostly blouses, dresses and skirts. However, in the very back is a small rack of slacks. They're longer than the ones you're currently wearing, but you don't mind. Pants are pants. You're briefly taken aback by how low priced they are, until you remember that you aren't in your time period. This could very well be considered pricey by this time period's standards, but it's dirt cheap to you. You grab a few pairs of black slacks and a few gray blouses. Not a big selection in terms of color with these articles of clothing, but again, you don't mind. Right now you'll take what you can get.
There are no dressing rooms. Not surprising. You think at this point in history people were still making their own alterations at home if they didn't make their own clothes. Thank goodness you had some sewing experience, although you wonder briefly if there just so happened to be a spell that could alter the size of clothing in that little grimoire of yours. Potentially and probably a severe drain on your energy. Best to just stick to your amateur stitchwork and keep your fingers crossed for the time being.
The customer that the salesgirl had been helping was still here. Apparently whatever she needed help with was taking longer than expected.
"I'm terribly sorry, Miss. I'll be right with you once I finish up with Miss Jenna here," the salesgirl apologizes.
"It's fine," you reassure. "I'm in no rush." And you really aren't. You have literally nowhere to be, except maybe looking for a place to stay that would offer ample privacy to practice your spell work in secret.
The salesgirl gives you an appreciative smile and returns her attention to Jenna. "Now where were we?"
"We were in the middle of hashing out when my order could be filled," Jenna answers.
"Yes. Unfortunately, with Mrs. Hillard out with that nasty cold, I'm afraid that it's impossible to fill your order until she recovers."
"Henrietta, you know very well I can't wait around until Mrs. Hillard gets better, the poor dear."
"Then I'm afraid you're just going to have to go to another seamstress and try to get your dress made there. You know there's nothing I can do about it."
Jenna sighs forlornly. "I know… It's just that no one can pull an outfit together like Mrs. Hillard can. Thank you for your time, Henrietta."
"Have a good day, Miss Jenna."
Jenna leaves looking dejected, and Henrietta turns to you. She's a bit shorter than you, her head looking like it only comes up to about your chest. She has curly auburn hair and lovely green eyes. There's a smattering of freckles all over her face. She looks like she'd burst into flames if she took one step out into the sun.
"I apologize for the wait, Miss. Just this for today?"
"That's right. What was all that about, if you don't mind me asking?"
Henrietta sighs and her eyes get a little bit more tired than they already were. "Oh, Miss Jenna is just all out of sorts trying to get a dress made in time for this big fancy party happening at the end of the month. She waited a bit too long trying to find out what all the other ladies would be wearing so that she could have something unique and now she's scrambling to find a seamstress to get it done."
"Are they all flooded with orders to fill?"
Jenna nods sadly. "Mhm. I'll be surprised if anyone takes her order at all. She said that she came here first because she specifically wanted a dress made by Mrs. Hillard, but unfortunately she's out sick with a nasty cold and most definitely won't be well in time to make Miss Jenna's dress. A shame too, this party's all anyone can talk about."
"I take it that it's the event of the season then?"
She pins you with a puzzled look before understanding washes over her. "Oh, you must be new in town. Well, let me welcome you to the lovely city of New Orleans. You picked a swell time to drop on by."
She starts ringing you up and you let her words sink in. So, New Orleans huh? There are absolutely worse places you could have ended up. But there were also better ones, too. A city as superstitious as this definitely wouldn't take kindly to witnessing you practicing your magic. You're not so certain that some of the more… religiously fanatic minded people wouldn't let it slide. With what some people are willing to do to others with darker skin tones at this point in American history, you wouldn't put it past them to try burning you alive a la witch hunt style.
You absentmindedly pull the exact amount you need to pay and don't have time to freak out over the fact that Hell's currency may be similar to Earth's but it's noticeably different. And you don't need to. All the money you have is from Hell, yet the bills you've handed Henrietta look like any you could find here on Earth. Some kind of automatic conversion spell maybe? Given that there are some demons who have express permission to come to and go from Earth as they pleased – mainly succubi and incubi – it would make sense to have any currency they bring from either location converted. Can't have them getting caught on Earth due to their bills and coins not matching.
"What's this party for anyway," you ask as you take the bags your purchases have been placed in.
"Oh, the mayor's doing his best to drum up support for his reelection campaign. I figure he thinks a night spent rubbing elbows with the other important folk in the city will be just the ticket he needs. Jenna's family is some of those important folk so she's been beside herself with excitement over this party. Apparently there's gonna be music and dancing along with quite the spread." Henrietta sighs again. "Wish I could go."
"Really? Don't get me wrong, good music and good food sounds great and all, but wouldn't it be like torture having to be around all those stiffs?"
"Oh I don't want to go because of them. I want to go because one man in particular's been confirmed for the guest list. But my mama would box my ears something fierce if she caught wind of me even thinking about trying to go to that party."
"That's a shame." And you mean it. Seems like she really wants to go, but even if her mother wasn't an issue and she had an in into the party, you're pretty sure that there'll be alcohol despite Prohibition and Henrietta doesn't look like she's old enough to imbibe. "So who's this man of mystery?"
Her face lights up. "Oh yeah, you wouldn't know! He's a local radio broadcaster. Alastor Hartfelt!"
You wait until you're a good distance away and are sure there aren't any people around before you drop your purchases into your shadow and meld into the wall. You'd thanked Henrietta for her assistance and wished her a good day before you left the store and speedwalked away.
In your ever-growing concern with gaining immense power while simultaneously keeping yourself out of the spotlight, you may have let more than a few things slip your mind. The first had been Extermination Day and you'd paid dearly for that little blunder, and now this. Despite the few fleeting thoughts you had in regards to him, you'd sort of forgotten that you were in the same time period as one Alastor. The Radio Demon. Or rather, as you just learned, the future Radio Demon. He was still alive and well for now, having already broken into the broadcasting business and made quite a name for himself. Henrietta had cooed and gushed about how he'd come from seemingly out of nowhere and took the entirety of the Crescent City by storm. He was a household name.
And you needed to do your damnedest to ensure that your paths never crossed. Or at the very least, in the highly likely case where that unfortunately happened, you needed to make sure that you didn't do anything to catch his attention. That's just what you need. Someone with little to no regard for others' privacy invading yours on a whim and making your return to Hell take longer than it needed to.
There was also the whole serial killer thing. Apparently a fiend known only to the public as "The Bayou Butcher" had been active for a while now. There weren't many discovered victims of the Butcher, but every dead body they'd tied back to him had been carved up in a similar manner, according to Henrietta. She was obviously uncomfortable talking about it and clearly only did so because Alastor was so good at reassuring the public that the police were hot on the Butcher's heels whenever more of his victims sprang up. Apparently there were varying time gaps between every corpse. Long enough to wonder if the Butcher had moved on, only for the fear to renew whenever a new body was found.
Yeah. You'll just bet he was good at soothing the public's nerves. You weren't concerned for yourself. Even if Alastor did target you for whatever reason it wasn't like he could do anything to hurt you. You'll have slipped into the shadows long before you could find out his preferred method of cutting up his victims. You absolutely could kill him yourself, but the butterfly effect was still very much a thing you were concerned with. It wasn't quite time for his death to occur yet, and you weren't eager to be the cause either way. That's one person you sure as shit don't want for an enemy. Not without ample assurance that you could best him in a fight.
So yeah, avoidance all the way is how you're going to approach this. There's literally no need for you to get involved with him in any capacity. A shame that you didn't know what he looked like when he was alive, you'd be able to avoid him so much easier that way. You wonder if there's anywhere in the city that he wouldn't wander into and figure that maybe there is, but it isn't like you could figure that out when all you know about the guy is from what little was in the show and on the wiki. He's a real person now and is just as complicated and multifaceted as one. You might know about the dark shit he gets up to when no one's looking, but that's it. His mind's a total mystery to you, and you're just fine leaving it that way.
Instead, you're now concerned with finding a place to stay. You're not going to risk secretly living in someone's home in the shadows. People can tell when something's off in their personal spaces. An abandoned or condemned building could work, but that ran the risk of other squatters coming around and you just didn't want to have to constantly be looking for another empty space to sleep. That left you with limited options, and you were already considering one over the others.
A boarding house would likely be cheaper than staying in a hotel for however long you're stuck here. You may have a good amount of cash, but it won't last you forever. You'd be surrounded by other women, true, but the same could be said about the hotel. Sure, someone could come barging into your room if you didn't lock the door at the boarding house, but that's true of the hotel as well and the staff would also have a key whereas the only one who should be able to unlock your door at the boarding house would be the matron. So your mind's already been made up. Now all you have to do is find one with a vacancy.
That doesn't prove to be a challenge in the least. The matron of Bayview Boarding House – which was not anywhere near the bay – was a stern looking older woman. She had a no-nonsense air about her and her face looked like it was permanently sucking on a lemon. But her eyes were kind and the room fee fair – and again, dirt cheap as far as you were concerned. Clara Donahugh was a woman who'd definitely seen some shit and although it'd toughened her up it hadn't hardened her heart enough to turn away a poor soul seeking room and board who has nothing but the clothes on your back and in the bags you carried and what little – as far as Mrs. Donahugh was concerned – you had in your wallet. Your totally real wallet that definitely existed. Absolutely.
Your room was on the ground floor and about the size of the dorm room you'd had in college, though it felt significantly bigger seeing as how you wouldn't have to be sharing the space with another person. It looked very impersonal and barebone. So nothing different from the last two places you've lived in. There was one bathroom on this floor that everyone shared. More of a nightmare than it had been in college seeing as the bathroom was a single use space. You weren't concerned with the chaos that morning and night bath times would bring. You planned on being the last one to use it at either time.
There was a small vanity across from the very plain bed whose mirror was intact. Finally, a reflective surface you could clearly see yourself in. As previously stated, your hair hadn't changed. It was still an inky black. The ears on your head weren't visible any longer and you had human ears on the side of your head once again. Your skin was pale and you still had freckles under your eyes. But instead of being pure white, they were brown now. Your teeth remain the same, mostly dull and flat but your canines are still unusually sharp. You'll have to hope no one notices that, or at least thinks nothing of it. Your nose is still thin and sharp.
Really, it's just what your demon form looks like as a human. Your only concern about your disguise is your eyes. They're still yellow. Henrietta certainly hadn't acted like she noticed or maybe she did and just didn't find it strange. If anyone asks, you could just say that it runs in your family and only pops up a few generations every so often. It's kind of a shitty lie, but not a farfetched one.
You've just finished hanging up your new clothes when a knock comes at the door. It can't be Mrs. Donahugh because she told you to take your time getting settled in. You're proven correct when you open the door and see a young woman on the other side whose smile doesn't reach her eyes. Her brown hair is coiffed in tight little curls. Her eyes are brown and darkly lined so that they pop. Her grin is a deep red and so is her dress. The waist in cinched with a white belt and she's wearing little white heels and stockings.
"Hello, neighbor! It's so good to see a new face around here," she greets. "I'm Louise Williams, nice to meet you!"
"It's… nice to meet you, too." It's not. You were hoping to be left alone for the rest of the day to better get yourself in the right headspace to plan how you were going to be doing things for the next however long.
If she notices your insincerity, she doesn't show it. "I know you're probably busy getting settled in, but I just wanted to let you know a few house rules that Mrs. Donahugh has."
"Wouldn't that be something that Mrs. Donahugh would tell me?"
Louise titters behind her hand as though you've just told the finniest joke ever. "Oh, she doesn't need to worry herself over the small things! I'm more than happy to do this for every new girl that comes here, I've been here the longest after all!" She lowers her hand, and you notice that her smile is looking strained after you question her. Interesting. "So I know the rules like the back of my hand. The first rule is that everyone has to help out with the cleaning. We all share a space, so it's everyone's responsibility to make sure it's kept tidy. The second rule is that absolutely no men are allowed past curfew. It's fine if your beau is visiting but staying overnight is an absolute no-no. And speaking of curfew, it's from ten at night to six in the morning. Going out after curfew is strictly prohibited and if you're caught breaking it you'll be out on your behind faster than you can apologize."
Louise gets real close to your face and grabs you by the wrist so you can't step back. She's got a crazed look in her eyes and her smile has gotten wider and thinner and more strained. "Mrs. Donahugh is a lovely woman who's just trying to offer a place for unworthy scum such as yourself to rest their heads. These rules are for your benefit as much as they are hers. You won't break them if you know what's good for you."
If you hadn't seen actual horrors for six straight months, you might've found her little one-eighty to be somewhat intimidating. As it stands, she's all bark and no bite as far as you're concerned. There are better ways for her to go about making sure that Mrs. Donahugh's tenants behave themselves. All she's doing is attempting to punch well above her weight class. You twist your wrist so that hers is the one being gripped. And you aren't gentle. She has to bite her lip to hide the cry of pain. You raise your hand and idly note that she'd been digging her nails into your skin.
Funny. You didn't feel a thing.
"That's nice and all. I think I'll be checking in with Mrs. Donahugh to make sure these rules are actually real. As for you… You probably feel like your wrist is about to snap in half. I could easily make it so. Work on that attitude problem of yours. You're the second little bitch today that's had the gall to act so rudely to me, a complete stranger. You're lucky that I'm not easily offended by the barking of mangy strays like you, just annoyed." You throw her wrist away from you and she clutches it to her chest. She looks properly afraid of you now. You lean real close to her face as she had done to you. "Try and threaten me again and see where it gets you Louise. I promise you won't like it. Now, get out of my sight."
You watch as she all but runs down the hall and up the stairs. She makes the mistake of looking back at you and you bare your teeth at her. She nearly trips trying to scramble up the stairs.
Word gets around fast in a confined space such as this boarding house. You expected the other women to be wary, even fearful of you. So you're genuinely surprised when they welcome you with open arms as your first week progresses. It's done out of sight and earshot of Louise but not Mrs. Donahugh. The women all express their awe at you having stood up to and put Louise in her place. Apparently she was a bit of a special case here at the boarding house. The matron had taken her in when she was a little girl who'd just lost her family and Louise had simply refused to leave Mrs. Donahugh's side once she'd gotten old enough to be independent.
You don't care what the circumstances were, she still thought it necessary to terrorize the other tenants into compliance. The rules were just as fake as you'd thought they were. And by that you mean that Mrs. Donahugh had no such rules in place.
"You're a grown woman," she'd said. "While I may have expectations for how you conduct yourself in the boarding house, you are the one in charge of yourself."
Louise flinched whenever your eyes locked and she was always the first to look away. You found it appalling that no one had stood up to her before now. You weren't going to go out of your way to instill fear into her, but if she tried you again, you'd return the favor. But you're pretty sure that she wouldn't. She'd backed down too easily when you'd bitten back the first time.
But enough about her. Your first week at the boarding house was spent getting to know the more pleasant tenants – which was everyone who wasn't Louise – and listening to them giggle about the latest gossip around town. It was mostly about the party that Henrietta said would be at the end of the month. Apparently most of the women in the building would be attending as the dates of some of the more well to do men in attendance.
You'd also made good on your word to practice your casting. You made sure that your door was locked and that your window was fully covered before you cast and released your human disguise over and over to the point of exhaustion before going to sleep. It already didn't take much energy to cast, but you could feel that it was already requiring less and less than the first time you'd cast it. Pretty soon you're certain that you won't feel a drain at all and then you'll move on to the next low-cost spell you find.
Kimberly, a bright and bubbly girl whose cheer knows no bounds, dances into the kitchen where a few of you have gathered for breakfast. She has fancy footwork and is light on her feet, twisting and turning this way and that all the while avoiding bumping into anyone or anything.
"What's got you in such a good mood this time, Kimmy," one of the women asks.
She giggles and twirls about. "It's that time of the week again ladies! I'm just so excited to get out there and cut a rug at the ju-!"
Several hands slap over her mouth and panicked looks are sent in your direction. What's the big deal? So she's going out dancing, it's not like that's ille- Oh. Right. At this point in time, the only places to go out dancing late at night are the "juice joints," or as they're better known, speakeasies. Where all sorts of hooch would be served and everyone was wary of the boys in blue coming a'knockin' to spoil the fun.
You raise an eyebrow as you set your cup of coffee down after taking a sip. "I'm not one to go running my mouth ladies, unless it's to give a certain someone a much-needed dressing down." That got you a few relieved giggles. "You have fun, just not so much fun that you wind up getting caught."
"Why don't you come with us?" Kimberly latches onto your arm and you're thankful that you hadn't been reaching for your mug. "C'mon, it'll be all sorts of fun!"
You pat Kimberly's hands and she lets go. "For starters, I have absolutely nothing to wear to a place like that. I know you all have seen my few similar outfits."
That doesn't deter Kimmy. "You can borrow one of ours! We don't mind, right ladies?" No's all around. It's a little unnerving that these women are already so fond of you. Just what was Lousie doing to them that they'd all flock to the new girl who didn't care about snapping at her for companionship? You swear, if you find out that Louise had gone further than verbal threats…
"As much as I appreciate your generosity ladies, I can't dance." You can't. It's horrifying to witness. You'd like to never force anyone to witness that ever again.
"Bushwa! Anyone can dance, even if it's downright awful! But you don't have to go to dance, plenty of people are just there to… mingle."
You're pretty sure she's trying to say drink without saying drink. Or it's a double-entendre where people are looking to "mingle" as in drink themselves stupid, or "mingle" as in find a partner for the evening. Or you're reading too much into things. Again.
You sigh and agree to go with them, and the ladies all cheer. Honestly, you're sure they would have had just as much fun this week as they did the last when you hadn't been here. But here you were, being dragged away to see whose dress and dancing shoes would fit you best. You didn't even get to finish your coffee. Oh well. It's fine.
It's not like anything bad was going to happen after you arrived.
Chapter End Notes
Razzmatazz
Chapter Notes
I'm just tickled that so many of you were caught off guard by Tom in the end notes of the last chapter. Seriously it just made my day.
Loved reading the theories about what some of you thought would be happening in this chapter. Someone got very close for one part of it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Despite the rule about curfew being absolute bullshit, you do still have to sneak out of the boarding house. Which you thought would be a bit difficult considering that Louise – for all that she's afraid of you – still watches the other women like a hawk for any sign of suspicion. You can only imagine the glee on her face if she were to catch you with them, thinking that she had a way to make you fall in line the way she'd done with the rest of them.
Fortunately, that isn't the case. The girls have been doing this for a while and know exactly how to get past Louise with no muss or fuss. Every week on the night they're ready to hit the town and dance until the early morning they slip a copious amount of alcohol into the tea that Louise prepares for herself to drink as she stays up late to listen for any sign of movement. How she's never caught on to the fact her drink's been tampered with all this time on one particular night a week is beyond you. Maybe whatever tea it is she makes is just that strong to mask the smell and taste.
Either way, it doesn't take long for the alcohol to take effect and Louise is slightly stumbling upstairs to retire for the evening, suddenly overcome with a bout of exhaustion. She was such a lightweight and sleepy drunk. You all wait until Louise shuts her door and hear snores not long after before you're skedaddling downstairs and out the door, quietly giggling and shushing one another all the while.
None of the few people gave your little group more than a passing glance and the occasional nod of acknowledgement. They weren't the least bit suspicious of the lot of you and you attributed that to the way you all were dressed. You'd been expecting for the ladies to try and stuff you into a flapper's dress and heels, maybe a feathered headband in your hair. Surprisingly – and pleasantly so because the thought of such an outfit dredged up unpleasant thoughts – the dresses you'd been presented with were a bit fancier than the ones they wore in their day to day lives but wouldn't look out of place if one chose to wear them casually. The one you'd decided on had a long black skirt that fell just a bit above your ankles and had a red top and long sleeves. The heels you wore were black and short enough to dance comfortably in. Your hair had been curled but not pinned. It fell about your head in waves. Dark eye shadow and deep red lipstick had been applied to your face. You felt like you were getting ready to take glamour shots.
The others were dressed similarly modest. Not a one of you looked like you were going out to have a good time at a speakeasy, though you aren't entirely sure what exactly that would look like anyway. If you'd all been dressed in sparkles and tassels, then maybe you'd look suspicious. As it was, you just looked like a group of ladies who were going on an evening stroll with each other. And with the "mysterious" Bayou Butcher still on the loose, nobody would give it a second thought if any of you were questioned and simply stated that you felt there was safety in numbers.
You're led to a nondescript looking building. You can't begin to imagine what it's used for during the day it's that generic. The girls walk around to the back from a side alley and Kimberly knocks on the door in a specific way. A moment passes before a slot in the door is moved so that whoever is on the other side can peer at who's knocking. A moment passes before the slot is moved back and the door is opened. You're led gently but firmly inside by the ladies currently intertwining their arms with yours and as you go further downstairs, music you couldn't hear from the street level gets louder and louder.
What little light there is does a poor job illuminating the entirety of the scene before you. Fast and upbeat music plays as dancers sway to and from to the rhythm. Smoke and spirits flow freely through the speakeasy and you can barely hear the chatter that's being drowned out by the music. It's quite possibly the rowdiest party you've ever attended.
Kimberly squeals with excitement and is the first to break off from the group. Apparently she's the one who's always looking forward to tonight the most out of everyone at the boarding house. The other ladies watch her shimmy off with fond looks of exasperation and shakes of their heads. No doubt this is a regular occurrence.
You yourself aren't quite sure what it is you're going to do. Despite going out regularly with friends before, you wouldn't consider yourself the definition of a party animal. And even if you did, this is a markedly different party than the ones you're used to attending. The atmosphere is so much more laid back than you found those get-togethers to be. There's obviously energy permeating throughout the room, but it's just… different. In a good way. Your bit of apprehension must be showing because the next thing you know you're being taken gently by the shoulders and guided towards the bar area.
"Don't you worry that pretty head about having to keep up with the rest of us," Polly reassures. You've found that she's a bit like a big sister to the other women, always giving out advice when asked. "We're all here to have a good time, and that's different for everybody. If you just want to sit and relax, maybe have a drink or two, then you go right ahead and do that. We'll all be somewhere out there if you need to find us."
You're set down at a stool and a reassuring squeeze is placed on your shoulders before Polly's mingling with the crowd and you soon lose sight of her. You're touched by her words; you knew too many friends of friends who would have seen your reluctance to try and keep up with them as being a stick in the mud and try to make you keep up anyway. It's nice to be told the opposite of that for once.
You grab the bartender's attention and order yourself a martini. You'd see where the night took you from here.
As with every other juice joint he'd patroned, the air was electric with the upbeat energy of those in attendance. Especially those who'd taken it upon themselves to cut a rug out on the dance floor. He sipped his whiskey as one of the members of his party began to fully dive into the outlandish and most certainly embellished tale of how his latest hunting trip had gone. He sincerely doubted the man had wrestled a fully grown buck with his bare hands. Anyone with eyes could see that the man wasn't the outdoorsy sort and if he had indeed come across the beast he was describing, realistically he'd have either gotten trampled or gored to death if he'd disturbed the creature. Stags began to grow so irritable and unruly when fall rolled around.
Still, he made sure to pay attention to what was being said. It wouldn't do to appear as though he didn't give a damn about the conversation, as true as that was. He had an image to maintain after all. He could only imagine how tongues would wag if he ever tried to present himself as anything less than the public persona he'd meticulously and carefully crafted over the years to get where he was today.
In truth, he'd much rather be at a different juice joint, one on the other side of the city. One where he was a well-known regular and had actual people who he could tolerate being around for an extended period of time. Alas, he was no fool. When the man who signs his paychecks says that he wants to go out and celebrate with those in his employ, it's best to not rock the boat and simply smile and nod.
And smiling was one thing that he did best.
Speaking of, he laughed along with his coworkers as his boss finished regaling them all with his fascinating flight of fancy. Truly it was amusing to some degree. If he were in the mood to toss all his hard work out the window he'd rip the man's story apart bit by bit, pointing out all the flaws and inconsistences before alluding to how he must be compensating for something. It was a very good thing he wasn't in the mood to burn this already rickety and unstable bridge. He knew where he stood in his boss' eyes despite the good publicity and reputation having him for a broadcaster brought the station. A big enough misstep and he'd find himself plummeting all the way back down to rock bottom. And possibly then some.
Sometimes he thinks about how that wouldn't be a problem if something were to happen to the man.
"Well, well! If it ain't the most eligible bachelor in all of New Orleans," a voice cuts through the din of his boss' voice. A young lady saunters up to the table and it takes his mind a moment to place where he knows her.
"And if it isn't the most darling canary to grace the diners at Monroe's each and every morning!" He brings her in for a brief hug before swiftly removing her from his person without making it seem like he's utterly repulsed by the contact, which he is. "Kimberly dear! How are you this fine evening?"
She titters and bats her eyes at him. "It's treating me well! Especially since you're here! Oh!" She takes notice of his company. He doesn't appreciate the looks some of them are giving her. Most of these men are married and have no business eyeing a lady the way they are. "I'm terribly sorry gentlemen, but would you be so kind as to let me steal him away from you?"
His boss laughs heartily and if he didn't know what the man's actual laugh sounded like he'd think he was genuine in his amusement. A large, meaty hand clasps his shoulder and it's all he can do not to rail against the unwanted touch and rip the man's arm off. "Of course you can, sweetheart! Man's been quiet all evening! You'd think with how much of a chatterbox he is on the air, he'd have something to say when he's out of the studio!"
His boss roars as though he'd just told the most amusing joke and his coworkers join in. He does as well; it wouldn't do to appear that he didn't agree with the man after all. Still, he could feel his blood simmer underneath his skin and he was thankful the establishment was so poorly lit. He didn't trust that his anger wasn't seeping through in a furious flush.
He gingerly offers Kimberly his arm and throws a genuine sounding farewell over his shoulder. It's anything but. It rankles at him that he has to spend his days with those dullards. He'd rather them not make a habit out of intruding upon his evenings as well. He holds out for the hope that this was just a one-time thing that his boss wouldn't want to repeat. Ever. He hopes. But he knows how much the man loves to flaunt his authority over his employees and knows that sooner or later he'll be dragged out for another subpar night on the town. Only next time an acquaintance might not show up to give him a convenient excuse to pull away from the group.
But as he finally allows the music to wash over him, the horrible time with his boss and coworkers fades from his mind and he focuses on keeping in time with his dance partner. He's seen her flit and flutter about the diner, always impressed by how she never bumps into or drops anything while singing along with the wireless radio tucked behind the counter. Perhaps he ought to introduce her to his favorite juice joint. If she became a regular there and he ever had to go out drinking with his boss again, provided he had enough of a heads up he could ask her to meet him wherever it is the man feels like wasting his precious time at. At least then he wouldn't have to subject himself to the man's presence the entirety of the night.
He spins Kimberly out away from him before spinning her back just as quickly. "Thank you for the rescue, my dear! As entertaining it is to chew the fat with my coworkers, sometimes a man needs a break from his job, you know?"
Kimberly laughs and nods. "I understand completely. You already spend most of your days with them after all! Your nights should be spent having fun, not doing more work."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," he chuckles. "So, what brings you out this fine evening?"
"It's the night that me and the girls like to come out and let loose a bit. Though I suppose tonight's a bit more special."
"How so?"
She giggles again. "We have a new addition to the boarding house. Joined us just last week in fact!" She lifts a finger from where their hands are clasped and points towards the bar. "She's right over there. The lovely woman in the red and black dress drinking a martini. Oh, she looks so sophisticated! Golly, what I'd give to look that effortlessly elegant…"
He shifts his head casually, as if simply looking about to make sure he isn't going to bump into any other dancers. His gaze follows the point of Kimberly's finger and- Oh. Well now. He can feel his smile grow, both in size and in sincerity.
It's you.
The martini isn't bad… But you've definitely had better. Specifically, you've had better martinis with Avary. Possibly because Hell isn't currently going through Prohibition and therefore doesn't have to be secretive with the making and distributing of booze. Quality just isn't a concern for people on Earth at the moment, if it's alcoholic they'll take it no matter how bad. You briefly recall once reading about how some moonshine was used to fuel the vehicles that transported it and hope to fuck that none of that had gotten anywhere near your drink. You weren't looking to try and poison yourself.
You eyed what was left of your drink dubiously. Well, you'd already downed most of it. In for a penny, in for a pound as they say. You sip on the last swallows and place the empty glass down on the bar. You're not entirely sure that you want another one. As you're contemplating whether or not you'll continue to imbibe alcohol of questionable quality, Kimberly flounces up to you and hugs your arm while giggling.
"Hello, Kimberly," you greet. "Did you need something?"
"Not me! A friend of mine just wanted to meet you is all."
"Oh?" You're somewhat curious. Just what could someone who's friends with someone as bubbly as Kimberly want to know about a wallflower such as yourself? "And just who is this friend?"
"That would be me," a vaguely familiar voice says from the side and you swivel your head to face where it came from. The man is tall. Taller than any other man from all those you can see in the establishment. His complexion is light brown and his hair is soft looking, well-groomed and chestnut brown. His eyes are brown and are framed by circular glasses sitting on a sharp upturned nose. He's wearing a long-sleeved white button up with black sleeve garters. A brown waistcoat is worn over the shirt and a little black bowtie is tied neatly around his neck. He has on brown slacks and black Oxfords.
For a moment you don't recognize the well-dressed man. Then you finally register his smile and it jogs your memory in a quick hurry. This is the man from the park last week. Odd. You'd figured that the impression you made was bad – or at least odd – enough to put anyone off wanting to try and get to know you. You hope his little date isn't anywhere nearby. You don't feel like dealing with more judgement from total strangers right to your face. It's annoying.
The man extends his hand in greeting and you shake it firmly, not one of those weak wristed handshakes. "Pleasure to be meeting you, my dear. The name's Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt."
And just like that your night is ruined. He releases your hand and stands there in silence long enough for it to begin to get awkward.
He coughs unconvincingly to the side. "And you are?"
Oh. He's waiting for you to introduce yourself. Huh. Come to think of it, you hadn't actually done that in the six months since you'd manifested in Hell.
Kimberly giggles. "Oh Alastor, you aren't going to be getting a name out of her! She hasn't even told us ladies at the boarding house what it is!" She turns to you, a mischievous grin on her face. "So we've taken to referring to her as "Miss Mystery!" Isn't it just the bee's knees?"
The look in her eyes is so childishly hopeful that you'd hate to stomp on it. Plus, it saves you from having to think up a name on the fly. "Positively darling, Kimberly." You turn to address the last person you wanted to run into. "You heard the lady. You can call me Miss Mystery."
His smile stretches wider and there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Fuck. "Well then, it's truly a pleasure to have a name to put to the face, my dear. Tell me, since our brief encounter last week have you managed to catch my radio broadcast by any chance?"
"No." Your answer is swift, done unthinkingly and you make no effort to sound the least bit sorry about it. He looks momentarily taken aback, however brief the expression takes up residence on his face before he resumes his default look. Good. Maybe if you show just how incredibly uninterested in him you are, he'll grow disinterested in turn and leave you alone.
Kimberly on the other hand thinks your deadpan delivery is hilarious. She guffaws and has to excuse herself. If you had to hazard a guess, she's off to tell the other ladies about this little encounter. Shit. Now you have no potential buffer between you and Alastor. This is less than ideal.
"A shame, I do believe you're truly missing out, my dear!"
You hum nonchalantly as you feel yourself don an unamused and uninterested façade. "What can I say? I've never been one for radio. It's just never particularly interested me."
His eyes narrow and one of them twitches a bit. Perhaps insulting his medium is the way to go? No. You can't have him view you in an antagonistic light either. That's still him putting his attention on you. You need him to find you boring and completely uninteresting. Shit. Maybe you should've just come up with a name on the spot. Not giving him one only adds to the allure of trying to get to know you. Too late now.
He takes up residence in the stool next to you. You are not a fan of the forced proximity he's enforcing. "Surely you jest! Why radio's the hottest thing! What better way to receive one's daily news?"
You snort and retort reflexively, "I don't know if you've heard of it, but there's this great thing called newspapers."
His lips twitch. "While that may be, radio reaches a wider audience and is much more riveting in the way it distributes the news! Not to mention that along with those news reports, the radio also offers delightful musical accompaniment throughout the day!"
Wow. You think you're genuinely upsetting him, at least a little bit. Okay, rethinking not antagonizing him. If he thinks you uncouth then he may not be inclined to want to stick around you. Perhaps you ought to give his buttons another- Wait a second.
Your eyes drift away from Alastor as he continues to rave about the wonders of radio to instead focus on a mop of curly red hair. A familiar mop of curly red hair. Henrietta? You're certain that she's far too young to be frequenting establishments such as this, so what in the world is she doing here? You watch as she stumbles her way through the crowd of people and up the stairs out a door you didn't enter through. Not long after you spot the hulking silhouette of a man lumbering after her. Oh fuck no.
Alastor is still going on, so you cut him off. "Yes, yes. That's fascinating. I have to go… someplace that isn't here now. Goodbye. Hope to never see you again." And then you're off quick as a flash after Henrietta. You don't even get to see the offended expression Alastor makes at your dismissal of him, or how it does nothing to quell his interest. If anything, it just adds fuel to the fire. He watches you go with an unidentifiable look in his eye.
But again, you aren't there to see it.
No, you're up and out of the speakeasy quick as lightning. You practically burst through the door you saw Henrietta stagger her way through, but there's no sign of her or the man you saw follow after her. You hear the sounds of scuffling and an abruptly cut off scream before you run towards the noise.
The man has Henrietta pinned to a wall; a hand clamped over her mouth. She's clawing uselessly at his arm to try and get him off of her. Tears are streaking down her cheeks and you can hear her muffled sobs of terror. He reaches down to start tearing at her skirt and you can feel something in you snap.
Your shadow detaches itself from your feet and races towards the man. It stops directly under him and inky, dripping tendrils wrap tightly around his legs. He doesn't have time to react before he's pulled under, leaving nothing behind but a terrified girl and an angry demon. Henrietta falls to her knees and you're rushing to her side. Her eyes are blank and unseeing and tears continue to fall ceaselessly down her face.
"Henrietta," you prod gently. "Can you hear me?"
It takes her a moment to register that you're speaking to her. Her eyes snap to yours and after a moment or two of blank staring, her face crumples and her body becomes wracked with heart wrenching sobs. She clings to you, burying her face in your chest. You hold her firmly but loosely and stoke her back as she continues to release muffled cries. She absolutely reeks of alcohol.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
She can barely manage a nod with how hard she's crying. You let her take a moment to try and get it under control before you follow her drunken directions to where she lives. You hold her close so that she doesn't fall flat on her face when she stumbles. When you arrive at her house, the lights are off. That's to be expected with how late it is.
"Your mother isn't going to try and accuse me of corrupting you if I bring you to her like this, is she?" You're only partially joking.
Henrietta shakes her head. "Mama's out for the night. She's over at my aunt's house helping her with her new baby. Said for me to be a good girl and stay home and stupid Henrietta got it in her head that she's eighteen and can do as she pleases! "It's not like anything bad's going to happen!" That's what stupid Henrietta told herself and look what happened."
"Is there anything I can do for you right now?"
She laughs, hollow and humorless. "No. Not unless you can kill the bastard that done went and tried to do that to me." She's beginning to slur her words. You take her inside and to her room.
"Sure," you joke. "Just give me your soul and you've got yourself one dead man."
"Deal," Henrietta says, drunkenly reaching for your hand and weakly shaking it before falling dead asleep on top of her bed.
But that was more than enough. A black chain appears briefly around her neck before disappearing and you can feel that familiar feeling of yet another soul adding itself to your collection. You can feel the blood rush from your face. Shit. Shit. You didn't mean to do that. You absolutely did not mean to do that. You have no idea how to take it back.
And there's a very large part of you that rails and rages against the very notion that you let Henrietta's soul go. It's so vicious in its rejection of the thought that your knees nearly buckle after closing the door to Henrietta's house. No. No, this soul belongs to you now. And to keep it permanently, you have your end of the bargain to keep.
You vanish into the shadows and return to the river you crossed to get to the city last week. When you pull the man from your shadow, he's unconscious. Odd. You thought he'd be a squirming screaming mess when you removed him. But then, you'd never put anything other than inanimate objects into your shadow before. Well, that's not entirely true. You're pretty sure it was your own shadow you fled through when you escaped the Exorcist. You blamed your passing out on the blood loss, and that still could have been a contributing factor, but for all you know putting living creatures into your shadow – yourself included apparently – put them to sleep.
You dangle the unconscious man above the river with your tentacles, fully intent on drowning him, when you're hit by an idea. Killing him like this would be so wasteful. Your new idea is so much better.
When he awakes, the man is groggy and not fully coherent of his surroundings. That doesn't last long as he feels the constriction of your tendrils surrounding his body and he begins to thrash against his bindings.
"Struggle all you like, it's not going to do you any good," you call from your position on the ground.
The man looks up, or down as it were. He's quick to discover that he's currently being held upside down over the river.
"What the Hell is this?! You crazy bitch, do you have any idea who I am?!"
"No, and I already didn't care. Hurling screams and insults at me will only make me care in a way you really aren't going to like."
"And what's that supposed to mean?!"
You sigh. "Oh look. Your screaming woke them up. Now they're coming over here to see what absolute moron had the audacity to disturb their sleep."
The moon is no longer full, but it's still bright out enough that the man can see drifting shapes in the water that one might mistake for logs. And it would potentially be the last mistake one made.
"See, I've got you all nice and tied up here and I'm the one who decided when and where you'll be dropped. Could be soon and safely on the ground. Could be soon and in the water. And then in the gators' bellies."
You hear him whimper, finally cluing in that he really shouldn't be running his mouth as he has been.
"And you know, right now I'm awfully inclined to just walk away, let you struggle against your bonds, have you break them and let the gators feast. However," you stop any begging he may have begun to do in its tracks. "There is something you could offer me that would make me reconsider."
"Yes, anything you want! Is it money?! I've got plenty, just please let me go!"
You laugh, and it sound cold and cruel. "I don't want your money. Your money is worthless to me."
"Then what could you possibly want from me?!"
"Why, the only thing of true value a person could have. I want your soul. Give it to me, and I'll let you go right now."
He doesn't even pause to consider what an odd request that it. "Yes, yes! Fine! You want my soul you can have it! Just let me go!"
You bring him down low enough to grasp his hand quickly and the deal is sealed. Power flows through you once again. You've doubled your soul count and it was through your efforts alone. Not – totally – by chance and not with anyone else's assistance. You, and only you, did this.
"Now will you hurry up and let me go!?"
"Hm? Oh! Of course. Silly me, I nearly forgot!"
You dangle him back over the water. The gators keep a safe distance from you, as all the wildlife has.
"Wh-what are you doing!? You said you'd-!"
"I said I'd "let you go,"" you interrupt. "I never said I was letting you live. Maybe I'll see you when I get back to Hell. Maybe not. I don't really care."
You drop him and the gators swarm. His screams are short and grating, and then blissful silence. You stretch pleasantly and duck back into the shadows before you make your way back to the boarding house. It's quiet and dark when you return. A quick look around shows that some of the ladies have returned while a few of them are still out and about having fun. You slip into your room and clean your clothing before divesting yourself of it and curling up under the sheets.
You sleep soundly, but you don't dream.
Chapter End Notes
Proposition
Chapter Notes
A lot of you are liking how stone cold I made the reader while she was in the midst of killing that man last chapter.
Good.
:)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When you rise the next morning, you're bright eyed and bushy tailed. The same cannot be said for the majority of the other residents. Whereas you only partook in a singular drink, you're pretty sure that the other ladies imbibed well beyond their limits and were paying for it now; if the low energy and wincing scowls whenever something made too loud of a noise was anything to go by. Even Kimberly was noticeably a bit less cheerful than usual, nearly drowning herself as she downed her coffee to try and stave off the headache you didn't doubt each of them were sporting.
They all hiss when a loud knocking comes from the front door. Odd. You were sure that everyone was here. Louise was still up in her bed snoring away and everyone had a key to get into the boarding house should they go out and return to find the door locked. It would seem that there was a visitor at the door and no one was in any hurry to get up and answer it. No one was in any state to. Except for you. You pull yourself away from the table and make your way to the foyer and open the front door.
"Hel-!"
You slam the door in Alastor's face. Then open it again.
"-lo!"
You slam it again. There are weak cries of protest coming from the kitchen at the sudden loud noises. You walk away from the door and don't go back when the knocking starts back up. But unfortunately Mrs. Donahugh hears it this time and is all too happy to open the door for the growing bane of your existence.
"Why if it isn't Alastor Hartfelt," you hear Mrs. Donahugh gush from where you've resituated yourself at the kitchen table. Heads snap in the direction of the doorway and it's a mad scramble for everyone who isn't you to sneak out the other way and make their way back to their rooms. Oh perish the thought that someone who's come over uninvited should see them without their faces on. Meh. You get it. You'd hate for someone to show up unannounced and you just so happened to still be in your pajamas.
"How have you been, dear? It's been ages since you've come around," Mrs. Donahugh continues. "Not since Bernadette left us to move to North Dakota after getting hitched."
He laughs. "And I do apologize for that! Work's kept me quite busy I'm afraid. Hardly any time for leisure these days!"
Mrs. Donahugh sighs regretfully. "Don't I know it. If it's not one thing it's always another. But come in! Come in! Help yourself to some coffee if the girls haven't made off with the pot. Breakfast too if there's any left. I have to wrap up some business, but then we can catch up."
"You are a gem, Mrs. Donahugh!" He waves over his shoulder as he enters the kitchen and pauses when he turns and sees you sitting at the table. You have today's paper in front of you and you don't acknowledge that he's entered the room. "Ah! Good to see you again, my dear! And how is this glorious morning treating you?"
You move the paper down and you can see his grin grow a smidge. It shrinks back down when all you do is take a sip of your coffee and pull it back up, blocking your face from his view.
He clears his throat a bit. "I see you're enraptured by one of those newspapers you're so terribly fond of. If you're looking to know about recent event, I'm certain that telling you about them would be far more entertaining that simply reading about them!"
You're done with this article. The paper ruffles as you flip the page. You hear as the chair next to you is pulled out and Alastor sits down next to you. Your totally real reading is rudely interrupted when he takes a finger to fold the paper back and you have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are crinkled in annoyance.
"I thought I made it clear that I wasn't interested in speaking with you."
He chuckles. "Oh I simply attributed that to you being overwhelmed by last night's atmosphere! It's not uncommon to lash out at others when one is experiencing too much stimulus! So I took it upon myself to come and see if removing yourself from the situation had improved your mood! And look at you! Still as prickly as you were last evening!"
"Then perhaps you ought to remove yourself from this situation before you get stuck."
Seriously, you'd very much like it if Alastor could go about his life how he had been before taking notice of you. Was he really so unused to people not wanting a thing to do with him that the very notion you were genuine in your disdain for further interaction with him hadn't crossed his mind? No. Be serious. This is Alastor you're talking about. He absolutely understands that you don't want to interact with him and finds that amusing. So he's going to keep bothering you until he stops finding you amusing.
But with how squirrely this guy is, it's impossible for you to know just what it would take to get him to wash his hands completely of you. You're flying blind here and just can't help hitting every button that makes him want to get all up in your business.
Calm down. You've only bumped into him three times. Granted this one was deliberate on his part but look at it this way. He's like a kid who's just received a shiny new toy. Of course he's going to want to play with it as much as he can in the beginning. You're just hoping that he'll grow bored of you if you keep up your disinterest. Sooner would be far preferable than later. You'll just have to grimace and bear it until then.
He laughs at your blunt remark and rests a hand on his cheek. "My dear you are so terribly humorous! One would almost think you were serious with how much bite you put into your words!"
You don't get the chance to retort as Mrs. Donahugh walks through the door looking a bit too pleased with herself. She was absolutely listening in on the conversation. "Well, that's all taken care of now. Alastor dear, are you acquainted with our newest resident by any chance?"
His grin looks awfully smug to you as he eyes you from the side for a moment before turning his attention to Mrs. Donahugh. "Hardly! We've had a few run ins, but nothing of substance! I was hoping to rectify that and so brought myself here to see if this lovely woman had any plans for the day."
Oh this was not fucking happening. You fold the paper and place your empty mug in the sink to be washed later. "Unfortunately for you my day is booked solid. I'm afraid you'll just have to find some other way to amuse yourself."
You walk with your back straight and head held high, not looking back. If you had you would have seen the amusement spread across not just Alastor's face, but Mrs. Donahugh's as well.
Mrs. Donahugh watches you leave with no small hint of amusement on her weathered face. You'd been so quiet and withdrawn the entire week that she was afraid your time at the boarding house would have been a short one and that your leave would be… abrupt, to put it delicately. But thankfully there seemed to be a spark of life in you yet. And she had the young man watching you intensely with interlaced fingers under his chin sitting at her table to thank for that. Now, don't get her wrong, Alastor Hartfelt had always been a sweet boy. But he could be a little hellion when the mood struck him. She can't recall all the times the boy's mother, God rest her soul, had come to her looking for advice after her boy had gotten into yet another altercation at school.
He'd thankfully grown out of his fist throwing ways and instead chose to talk circles around anyone that managed to earn his ire these days. She didn't doubt he could still deliver a nasty haymaker if he needed to though. Mrs. Donahugh smiled to herself as she checked the coffee pot and was pleasantly surprised to see that there was still enough for two mugs left. Her girls always guzzled the brew the morning after their nights out drinking and dancing. Don't give her that look, just because she's old doesn't mean she's oblivious to what her girls get up to from time to time. So long as they didn't get caught, she didn't mind looking the other way when they decided to go out and get dizzy on the giggle water. She poured a mug for herself and her guest and sat down in the spot you'd vacated.
"Now, you know I'm not one for being nosey-" she begins but is cut off by Alastor's startled bubble of laughter.
"Excuse me for saying so, but you are the busiest busybody this side of the Mississippi Mrs. Donahugh!"
"Ha! And I see you're still as cheeky as ever, you little scamp. Back to what I was saying, just what is it about our dear Miss Mystery that has you so drawn to her?"
The nickname her girls had come up with for her newest tenant was just darling. And fitting too, seeing as how the poor girl never offered up a name even when she came to see about a vacancy. And despite the slanderous falsehoods that some people like to throw around, Mrs. Donahugh knew when to mind her own business. Now if only dear little Louise could do the same…
Alastor pauses from drinking and sets his mug down. "I just find her terribly amusing, Mrs. Donahugh. The first time we ran into each other she was sat up in a tree draped across the branches like a particularly comfortable cat! And instead of climbing back down like anyone else would do, she leaps down from the tree and lands several feet away before saying her piece and skedaddling away! How could I not find myself intrigued by that? I was ever so put out that I didn't stop her to converse for a bit longer, so sure that I'd never meet her again. But lo and behold! I have! And she continues to be so terribly amusing."
"I see that hasn't changed either." She laughs at his confusion. "You never did learn how to leave well enough alone. Not that that's a bad thing. But you've been known to go a bit far at times."
He chuckles good naturedly, unable to deny the accusation. "What can I say? I love a good challenge."
Mrs. Donahugh looks at him softly, seeing so much of his mother in the boy. No, he hasn't been a boy for some time now. It'd be best for her to remember that. But it's a bit difficult when she's watched him grow up into the fine young man he's become.
Her expression and tone are soft, but serious. "I know you do. Which is why I'm asking you to not push Miss Mystery too hard. I don't know what that girl's been through, but she came here with nothing but the clothes on her back and what little she'd bought from Mrs. Hillard's shop. I think she's running from something, or someone, and I don't want anything to happen that might spook her away. I know it may be hard for you but try not to overwhelm the poor girl."
He hums and sips on his coffee some more. "I can assure you that I have no such intentions of scaring the dear off. I merely find her to be amusing and I'd like to get to know just what sort of person she is. But if it'll soothe those nerves of yours, I promise to not intentionally do anything that might offend her in any way." He has one hand raised and the other over his heart, still gripping his mug.
He meant every word he just said. He wouldn't do anything to intentionally upset you. But you seemed to be at a point where just about anything would set you off. How the ladies had managed to convince a bearcat such as yourself to go out and try to have some fun last night is something he can't quite wrap his head around. But then, they'd spent the week getting to know you and it could also be that you were just more comfortable around women than you were around men. And that was completely understandable. Some men were just beyond awful.
He would know.
He washes the empty mugs – yours included – despite Mrs. Donahugh's protests that guests shouldn't be doing any housework.
"Nonsense! I dropped by unannounced after all." He finishes drying the last mug and sets it back in its proper cabinet. "Now I'd best be off. I seem to be in need of a way to pass the time today, seeing as how our resident mystery is busy today."
There's a bit of pep in his step as he makes his way down the boarding house's stairs. He happens to glance up and sees you through your bedroom window briefly before you notice him and firmly shut the curtains. His smile is a little toothier and he begins to whistle a little tune.
Today is going to be a good day, he can just feel it.
Today is going to suck majorly, you can just feel it.
And it had started out so wonderfully, too. And then Alastor had to go and show up because he just can't leave well enough alone. The other ladies had pestered you about what it was that Alastor had dropped by for. You said that he'd just come to speak with Mrs. Donahugh. Not a total lie, the two of them were talking for a bit before he finally had the decency to leave. But not before looking at you through your bedroom window. You're keeping those curtains shut forever now. Who needs natural light filtering into their room anyway?
The ladies had bought it. Seems that a couple of them had been around when this Bernadette had been staying here and had seen the radio host quite often before the woman's departure. The women who hadn't been here at the time begged for stories about him. Well, no one could say that Alastor didn't have fans all over the city. You leave, not at all interested in hearing about what Alastor had to eat on a random Thursday when he visited however many years ago.
Instead, you confine yourself to your room. The curtains are drawn and the door is locked. You weren't kidding when you said that your day was booked solid. You snicker at your little pun as you pull the grimoire out. The disguise spell was no longer a noticeable drain on your energy. You'd even messed around with it and gave yourself a few new faces before going back to the default look. It still didn't feel draining. You felt nothing when you used it, like when you used any of the magic that had to do with shadows.
You don't doubt that the two new souls you'd gained had something to do with that. You felt a surge of power each time you'd made a deal for someone's soul, it only makes sense that it was enhancing you magically as well as physically. However, you knew that you were by no means ready to attempt anything other than the "easy" spell list. You'd cast the restoration spell earlier and though the drain on your energy was less, you still felt the drain. You couldn't allow yourself to fall victim to impatience.
You knew that this was going to take you a while and you simply had to grow your magical reserves until they were large enough for you to cast the portal spell and get yourself back to Hell. Preferably not when the extermination was taking place or was just about to take place. You knock on the wooden bedframe and hope that life hadn't just taken that stray thought as a challenge. Please.
You scan the "easy" list. Anything below the disguise spell is an immediate no-go. If a spell that's listed as stronger – though more draining would be a more accurate descriptor in your opinion – then it wasn't going to drain you like you would need it to. Before you'd made those deals, you felt that draining your energy to the point you were exhausted was working, though very slowly. In just a week you had already been able to cast double what you'd been doing at the start. And now you were slowly working your way up the list until you came across a spell that you felt would drain what you felt was an appropriate amount of energy.
The downside of living surrounded by other people was that they expected to see you during the day. Nighttime was really the only time you could do your magic training. But you didn't want to wait until then to find which spell you'd be casting over and over again until it cost you nothing to perform. It also had to be quiet you reminded yourself as you pointedly ignored the spell to fling lightning at someone with but a point. Potentially useful if you needed to defend yourself. In Hell. Here it would just attract unwanted attention and you were already getting plenty of that.
The next spell to meet the requirements is telekinesis. The drain you feel is acceptable and you have plenty of soft objects that you can lift and drop all without rousing any kind of suspicion.
Spell chosen, you put the grimoire away until later tonight. Right now, you have other places to be.
The shop is locked when you arrive, and it doesn't look like anyone's inside when you peer in through the window. Henrietta didn't go to work today. A shame, this was the only way – bar showing up at her house – that you could have checked up on her. Though, maybe it's a good thing that your impulsive decision to see how she was doing wasn't going to bear fruit today. For one thing, what had happened to her was extremely traumatic and you aren't sure if your presence will just remind her of it more than she's possibly thinking of it already. Another thing is that you don't actually know how much she recalls, if anything.
She'd been stumbling around and had smelled like she'd been marinating in alcohol when you'd gotten to her. In that moment she was aware – seemingly anyway – but for all you know last night was one big blank in her memory. All she could potentially remember was going to the speakeasy, drinking an unwise amount of alcohol, and waking up at home. Hopefully, for her, before her mother either came back or checked in on her so that she could try and do something to hide the fact that she'd been out and about.
So yeah, maybe it's for the best that you don't actively seek her out. You don't know her anyway. Not in a way that matters. You've had two conversations with her and one of them led to her unwittingly selling you her soul in exchange for the swift death of her would be rapist. Whose soul was also sold to you in a misworded deal.
"They're closed today," a voice says right next to you.
You do not nearly jump out of your skin, but it's a close thing. You turn around to see the lady who'd been in the shop last week. What was her name again? J-something. Jody? June? Jenna! That's it. Right, she'd been hoping to specifically get a dress made here for that party coming up soon.
"I noticed," you reply.
She huffs out a sigh, ignoring your flippancy. "I was hoping to see if there were any accessories to go with the dress I ordered and ask Henrietta something."
Oh. So she did manage to find a place that would get it done. Good for her. She still sounds pissy that she wasn't able to have it done here though.
"For the party coming up right," you feign interest. Hey, you've got time to kill until you can go practice. Might as well waste a few minutes having a conversation with someone you aren't actively trying – and miserably failing thus far – to avoid.
Her expression lightens up a bit. "Oh, yes. It's going to be all sorts of fun. There'll be music and dancing and everyone's just going to have the most wonderful time." Her face dips into disappointment again. "Well, almost everyone. I'm certainly not as excited as I was a few months ago."
"Oh? Why's that? I hear this thing's supposed to be the event of the season."
"Oh. Um. It's nothing I should be bothering a stranger with. Don't mind me."
Okay, now you're a little curious. Gossip can be fun sometimes. "Oh go on. I don't mind listening to you vent your frustrations. If you don't want to do it here on the sidewalk where just anybody could walk past us, we can go find a bench to sit on and chat there."
"I- I don't-"
You hold your hands up in mock surrender. You're fine either way if she wants to talk with you or not. You can always find some other way to pass the time. "Look, it was just an offer. If you're not comfortable with it, just tell me and I'll drop it. Really, there's no pressure."
Jenna bites her lip before giving a hesitant nod. "Alright. Maybe talking about it with someone not directly involved would give me a new perspective on things."
You wind up sitting on a bench that's situated along a walking path. There are a few others scattered about with people on them, but they're all a reasonable distance away from the two of you that Jenna feels she can speak comfortably.
"So, I've gotten myself in a bit of a bind. I'd promised my cousin James that I'd get him a date for this party. The trouble is that the girl I had in mind already went and got herself a date. Anyone our age who's going to attend already has a date this close to the party. My cousin's a real nice guy, just a bit awkward. And if I can't deliver on my promise to get him a date, not only is it going to crush him, but my mother's going to make me cancel on my own date to attend the party with my cousin! That's why I was hoping to speak with Henrietta about attending the party as James' date. But she wasn't there today, and my mother is expecting me to have an answer either way by the end of the day! So. I'm stuck!"
Her lips are held tightly together, and she looks like she wants to cry. You feel kind of bad for her. For one thing, it isn't her job to try and get her cousin a date, promise or no. The man should be able to go out and ask someone if he really wanted to. Second, it's unfair to Jenna if her mother makes her attend the party with her cousin instead of her already scheduled date just because she wasn't able to find someone.
Her head snaps over to you and you don't like that look in her eye. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be interested in-"
"No."
"Oh please! I know we're strangers and you don't owe me anything, but you'd be doing me a favor if you agreed!"
"Still no."
"Don't you want to see how the wealthy individuals in the city party?"
"Not especially."
"I mentioned the music and dancing, yes? There's also going to be a banquet!"
"I can get music and dancing and food at Monroe's." Thanks, Kimberly, for your little habit of oversharing.
"Alastor Hartfelt will be there! You could meet the most eligible bachelor in New Orleans!"
"While I'm supposed to be someone else's date? Don't you think that's more than a bit tacky?" Not to mention bringing up that Alastor's going to be there only made you want to double down on your rejection.
Jenna has her hands clasped in front of her, pleading with you. "Oh please, please, please! Surely there's something you want! I'll do anything!"
And that. That makes you pause. She sounds well and truly desperate. And she's just offered to do "anything" for your cooperation. Such a dangerous word, "anything." You place a hand over your mouth not only to look like you're considering her offer, but to also hide the way your mouth twists into a smile that has too many teeth.
"Tell you what. I'll do it. And in exchange, all I ask is for something that I know someone like you would find very inconsequential."
"What is it? Money?"
You let a little laugh out. "No, no. Nothing like that I assure you."
Her brows scrunch up in confusion. "Then what-?"
You hold a finger up to quiet her. "I'd prefer it if you didn't ask. All you need to know is that what I'm asking for is something within your power to give, that me asking for it isn't going to hurt you, and that you won't even notice it's gone." You uncurl the rest of your fingers and hold out your hand to shake. "So, do we have a deal?"
She's hesitant, and you're convinced that she's going to say no with how long she's taking to respond. But then-
"Alright. You have yourself a deal."
-she shakes your hand.
The black chain flashes around Jenna's throat and winds around your arm. And yet she doesn't see it. It's like it's invisible to her. That's good news for you, you were dreading trying to explain to her what it was she would have seen.
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me!"
"No, no," you reassure. "Thank you."
Chapter End Notes
Oh dear.
The event of the season's just around the corner.
And the reader has to attend now.
:)
Throw On Your Dancing Shoes
Chapter Notes
Looks like you're all getting excited about the reader finally taking the initiative and beginning to make deals all on her own. She's come so far in a relatively short amount of time. I'm so proud of her.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You'd half expected for Jenna to try and pull you back to her home with you to prove to her mother that she'd made good on her promise to her cousin. You were relieved when she said that she was waiting until the night of the party to introduce you to her cousin so that there would be no chance of her having to cancel on her date. A smart move on her part, very underhanded and devious. You could appreciate that. You weren't exactly keen on Jenna's mother or cousin figuring out just how uninterested in doing this you really were until it was too late to do anything about it.
But now you were faced with a bit of a conundrum. When you'd returned back to the boarding house, you'd offhandedly mentioned that you'd been invited to the big party and for some bizarre reason a good number of the ladies were convinced that it had been Alastor who'd invited you out. No amount of arguing would convince them that he wasn't your date for the evening. Currently they are all scrambling through their closets yet again to try and find a dress and shoes for you to wear to the party. You said you would be fine with borrowing the same dress you'd worn last night and that was met with a resounding and nearly deafening "no."
"He's already seen you in that dress," Kimberly wailed. "You can't go out on a date with a man in an outfit he's already seen you in until at least the third month into your relationship!"
"Again, I'm not going to the party with Alastor. I'd rather chew on broken glass," you implored them to listen to the words coming out of your mouth.
"Sure you aren't," Polly said unconvinced as she rolled her eyes playfully. "Kimberly told us all about how he took an interest in you last night, and then he shows up here the next morning after staying away for so long? You've caught his eye, Miss Mystery. And why wouldn't you have? You're a catch!"
Polly keeps holding up dresses to your body before frowning, shaking her head, and repeating the process. Combined, the girls have quite the selection for you to borrow from. However, nothing seems to be good enough in their eyes. You don't know why. To you, this party wasn't anything special and you really didn't feel like treating it as such. You wouldn't show up in rags, but you wouldn't be upset if you weren't dressed to the nines like it seemed everyone else would be.
But the ladies vehemently disagree with that notion and with the party only in a couple of weeks there isn't any time for you to go out and try to either get a dress made or to buy one and haphazardly attempt to do the alterations yourself. So rifling through their closets for an outfit they all think would suit you best it is. But in addition to not being able to find anything that they individually think would be good enough for the party, you have to also factor in that they may not agree with each other should they manage to find a dress they like on you.
It's quite the commotion that they're all stirring up. So much so that the one person you all would much rather not interact with comes out of her cave to see what all the fuss is about. A sneer graces her face when she sees the ladies flitting to and fro out of their rooms and into Polly's with dresses in hand. She haughtily marches her way to the doorway and raps obnoxiously loud on the frame to pull everyone in the room's attention towards her. Her domineering demeanor takes a rapid nosedive when her eyes land on where you're standing in the center of the room. You raise an eyebrow, daring her to try her bullshit on you a second time.
Louise averts her gaze from you and instead chooses to focus on Polly. "Now just what in the world is all this commotion about? You all should know better than to be raising a ruckus especially at this time of day!"
It's late in the afternoon. Something everyone in this room is well aware of. A few ladies barely manage to hold in their laughter, but a few snickers still escape here and there. Louise's face flushes with embarrassed anger.
Polly, ever the mediator, attempts to defuse the situation before it becomes volatile. "We're just going through our wardrobes, Louise. You know that most of us have been invited to the big party at the end of the month. Miss Mystery here just got asked to attend as a certain someone's date so we're all going through our things to try and find her something to wear."
Louise's lip curls up in a snarl. "And you know very well that little get-together is going to go on well after curfew!" Her face twists into a smugly cruel expression. "By the time you get there, you'll have to leave immediately if you want to make it back here on time."
"Ah yes," you drawl. "The curfew. The curfew I specifically asked Mrs. Donahugh about." The blood drains from Louise's face and her ugly smile falls. "The curfew she said that she doesn't have in place. That curfew."
The ladies who weren't in Polly's room are peeking out from behind Louise and are also doing their best to hold in their laughter. No one in this house can manage to mind their own business completely, so when you'd asked Mrs. Donahugh about the supposed house rules, a few of them had been listening in and had spread the truth around like wildfire. The only real thing they had to fear from Louise now was her following them when they went out to the speakeasy, hence spiking her nightly tea once a week was still going to be an upheld tradition around here.
A loud snicker escapes one of the women and that's the start of a chain reaction. More and more muffled laughs slip out until they're no longer muffled. The ladies try to keep them at a reasonable volume, but the sheer absurdity of the situation makes that impossible. Soon boisterous peals of laughter are spilling out from Polly's room and from behind Louise, who whirls around at the sound of them. Her attention is split between Polly's room and the hallway and she eventually grows so frustrated that she lets out a roar of discontent and stomps all the way back to her room before loudly slamming the door behind her.
That just sets everyone off again.
You feel no sense of shame or guilt for being the cause of Louise getting ridiculed. She was going to learn that being a tyrant didn't make one any friends and that the moment that they could, the people she was squishing under her thumb would turn on her. For all that it's been a week since you've met them, you're already a bit fond of these women. You get attached far too easily; it's always been one of your flaws. You're going to leave them eventually, that's just a fact. However, you can leave them with the knowledge that they don't have to sit back and take it when someone tries to walk all over them.
You hear Christine laugh triumphantly from her room down the hall before she's bursting in with a dress clutched in her hands. "This is the one, I'm sure of it!"
She holds the dress out away from her so that everyone can see it. It's quite lovely. This dress looked like it would flow all the way to your feet. It's completely black save for a bit of sparkly sheer fabric that's almost gold in hue. It's sleeveless and has a high neckline. Not so high that it would actually begin to cover your neck though. It looks like it would rest right on your collarbone. Contrary to your earlier worries, the ladies all agree that this dress would be just perfect for you.
When asked just where she'd been hiding such a gem, Christine couldn't offer any information.
"It was just sitting there in the back of my wardrobe! You'd think I'd remember getting this little beauty, but I honestly don't know where it came from!"
Thankfully, the ladies aren't against you wearing the same shoes as you had last time. Black with sensible heels that were perfect for dancing should you choose to force everyone in attendance to witness such a horrific atrocity.
Of course, not everything can be sunshine and rainbows for you. If that were the case then you wouldn't be in this mess, now would you? The mess in question smiles down at you from where he walks beside you and you grimace back. That in turn only makes his smile grow wider and his expression become much more mischievous as a result.
You'd mentioned earlier that Alastor had apparently not visited the boarding house for quite some time. So his sudden visit the day after officially meeting you at the speakeasy had all the ladies clucking like hens. You'd think these girls were starved for gossip with how laser focused they were on Alastor's interest in you. And now he'd gone and made things even worse. For you, he was clearly enjoying himself.
You'd had a blessed reprieve from his presence. He'd seemingly backed off from approaching you anymore than he already had. You'd thought that maybe – just maybe – whatever he and Mrs. Donahugh had discussed in the kitchen had convinced him to leave you alone for the rest of forever. And you were a fool for having thought that could be the case. A week and a half after his last visit, Alastor was back on the boarding house's doorstep rapping on the wood eagerly.
Mrs. Donahugh answered and let him in because of course she did. This time, none of the girls had been caught unawares by his surprise visit. They were all dressed and ready for the day. Kimberly and a few others had already left for their shifts at the various diners they worked at. Louise was unfortunately also in attendance. An apparently rare and unsurprisingly unwelcome occurrence. Almost as unwelcome as you found Alastor's presence being anywhere near yours again. Sadly, the ladies didn't agree with your sentiments. They were all too pleased to see the radio host taking up residence in the kitchen, Louise included.
"Alastor! It's been far too long since I last saw you," Louise purred as she looped her arms around one of his and pressed close. It's a struggle for you to not gag on the bite of eggs you'd just taken.
To his credit, Alastor barely flinches at the contact. You figure he's better at hiding how uncomfortable he is with touch from people he knows well. It makes sense that Louise would be very familiar with him. After all, she's been here the longest. She was probably there for every visit he'd made before he stopped dropping by. She must be over the moon that the man she's so clearly infatuated with has come back after staying away for so long.
A shame for Louise that she didn't know his last visit was just a little while ago. She was too busy sleeping off a surprise hangover.
"That it has! A shame that you weren't around when I dropped by earlier this month, we could have caught up on thing!" That revelation has Louise's grip slacking enough that Alastor can retrieve his arm without seeming like he's ripping it out of her grasp. "Unfortunately, I have a matter of utmost importance to attend to today, so I'm afraid our reunion will have to hold off for a while longer!"
"And just what matter needs your attention on this fine day, Alastor?" Kimberly giggles out. You've never heard a question be giggled before. It's kind of a bizarre experience.
You have the paper held up in front of your face again, desperately hoping that it'll work as a deterrent this time. So of course, it doesn't. Alastor leans down and folds the paper back with a finger just as he did during his last visit.
"Why," he states, eyes hooded and smile wide. "Asking this lovely darling here if she would do me the honor of accompanying me for an outing on this lovely day!"
Louise looks like she's just swallowed an entire barrel of lemons and you don't get the chance to even think about telling Alastor where he can stow his offer before the rest of the ladies are practically screaming about how you'd love to accompany him. The next thing you know, you're being shoved out the door by a bunch of giggling, delusional women telling you to have a good time and to be out as late as you please. You'd like to go back inside now. But as always, life so does enjoy denying you.
Alastor offers you his arm and you stare blankly at him with a brow raised until he slowly lowers it. He already knows damn well that you want nothing to do with him, if he was expecting you to just cave into his whims then he really ought to find a different girl to be his entertainment until he gets bored of her. You are not the one. No sir.
And that brings everything up to speed. You're currently walking side by side with the last person you wanted to be doing anything with. And you can tell he's juts tickled pink at your obvious unhappiness at being out and about with him. You've passed by several people on this little excursion already who exchanged brief pleasantries with Alastor. You'd hoped you could lose him by continuing to walk on ahead, but he always kept the conversations brief enough and caught back up with you in no time. You have a feeling that there are going to be rumors floating around the city about how "the most eligible bachelor in New Orleans" was seen chasing after some mystery woman.
You're starting to wonder if disappearing into the bayou would be preferable to this.
Aside from the aforementioned exchanging of brief pleasantries, the entirety of this little outing has been spent in tense silence. Well, tense on your end of things. You're pretty sure your persistent smiling shadow there has been enjoying your discomfort since before you'd been shoved out the door. But something has to give eventually, and it looks like even Alastor has a limit to how long he can go without hearing the sound of his own voice for an extended period of time.
"Truly," he says. "You are quite the scintillating conversation partner. I've truly never had a more in-depth discussion with anyone else."
He's clearly being sarcastic. No doubt trying to goad you into actually speaking with him. You refuse to give him what he wants and increase your pace a bit to get just a little further than him. Naturally, he quickens his pace to keep up with yours and it's like you didn't do anything to try and get away from him.
Alastor – as you're beginning to learn – isn't one to be deterred so easily. "But really, my dear, are we to spend the entirety of this outing in frigid silence? I was under the impression that you were a woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind whenever she felt the urge to do so."
You roll your eyes and stop walking. It takes Alastor a moment to register that he's the one walking away from you now. He stops short and turns back around towards you. You fix him with a stare so cold it could burn.
"If I thought that you'd actually listen to what I have to say, then I would. As it stands, anything I try and tell you would be a waste of time. You clearly don't listen to what anyone says but yourself, seeing as how you're still bothering me even after I've told you to leave me be."
He holds a hand to his heart in fake hurt. "My dear, you wound me with such harsh words!" He's laughing as he says this, not at all hurt by your bluntness. "And blatantly untrue ones at that! Why I do believe that it's been over a week since I last saw you!"
You scoff derisively. "And I do believe that I told you that I hoped to never see you again. And then you went and showed up to bother me the very next day, just like you're doing now."
"I can't help it if your demeanor peaks my interest," he smiles coyly.
"And I can't help it if you don't peak mine. So do us both a favor and lose yours," you glower.
He clucks his tongue at you. "Now that isn't any way to be! You really ought to smile, my dear! As my mother always told me, you're never fully dressed without one!"
You resume walking and Alastor falls back in step beside you. "I don't have any reason to be smiling around you. You're like a fly, constantly buzzing around. Shoo off, why don't you?"
"When there's a gal as sweet as you around?" He chuckles. "Perish the thought!"
The bayou is starting to look awfully tempting. By the time you've decided that you've had enough of being forced to endure Alastor's company and make your way back to the boarding house, the sun has already set. Night falls, the moon rises, and there's an unusual chill in the air despite the fact that summer has just begun. Alastor flat out ignores your attempts to rebuff his offering of his suit jacket.
"Don't be fussy now," he chides, as if scolding an unruly child. "It won't do for you to catch your death out here."
You roll your eyes. "I highly doubt a little chill is going to kill me. I'd be more worried about that killer on the loose if I were you."
His eyes light up. "Ah! So you have been listening to my broadcasts!"
"No," you immediately deny. "I was warned about them my first day in town. Apparently the whole city's holding their breath to see if the Butcher's finally moved on since it's been a while since their latest victim was discovered."
"All the more reason you should be tuning in, my dear," he insists. "Would it not be prudent to keep yourself well informed of the next time this dastardly villain strikes?"
Wow. He is laying it on thick. If you didn't already know it was him, you'd assume he actually gave somewhat of a shit about your wellbeing.
"I'm not worried. Besides, the Butcher's victims have all been men. I certainly don't fit the profile."
"That may be so," Alastor concedes. "But one can never be too careful, no?"
The boarding house comes into view. The lights are still on and you see a figure peeking out from a window upstairs before she's darting away, letting the curtains fall back in place. You're pretty sure that's Louise's room. Whatever.
"Mr. Hartfelt-" you begin.
"Alastor," he interrupts.
"Mr. Hartfelt," you repeat. "Your persistence isn't at all endearing. Drop the matter and leave me be."
"Oh, but I just can't bring myself to do so, my dear! In any case, I never did get around to the important matter I had to attend to today."
You pause with your hand on the doorknob. A quick turn shows it to be unlocked. "You told the ladies that your "important matter" you had to attend to was asking me to accompany you out today."
"Yes! But I never said that our little jaunt was what I was asking you to accompany me to!"
Oh, for fuck's sake. Is he asking what you think he's asking?
"In just a few days, there's this little soiree happening, and I'd be ever so delighted if you would do me the honor of attending it with me!"
Oh God, he is. You're lucky that he can't see your face right now, the grin that's clawed its way there you feel is awfully sadistic looking. You school your expression and look back over your shoulder at him. He has this smug look on his face, and you can hear whispered murmurs of excitement from beyond the door where nosey little eavesdroppers were waiting to ambush you.
"Why Mr. Hartfelt," you croon. Ha! Suddenly he's not looking so smug anymore. In fact, he looks downright apprehensive at the quick turnabout your attitude has done. You turn to face him fully and look down at him from the top step. You lean down right into his face and you take sadistic glee in the fact that he visibly flinches back before he realizes what he's done.
"You're out of luck," you deadpan, dropping the sweet act. "I've already agreed to go with someone else and even if I hadn't, I certainly wouldn't have agreed to go with you." You throw his jacket in his face, and he scrambles to yank it off of his head. "Goodnight, Mr. Hartfelt."
You relish the look of shock on his face as you slam the door before you're swarmed by your overly curious housemates.
You remain tightlipped about what exactly went on between you and Alastor during your little walk. You know that whether you spill the details or not, the ladies are just going to spin things to be overly romantic, like the start of some great love story. You're only keeping quiet because you think it's funny how much it pisses Louise off that you won't share any details about what the rest of them mistakenly assume was a date.
You dodge their attempts at prying in the days leading up to the party. Thankfully, when the day arrives they're all too preoccupied with getting preparations out of the way to try and pry into your nonexistent love life. They have their own to worry about after all. They're dressing to impress their – somewhat – high society beaus after all and they feel that they can't afford to look anything other than their absolute best.
You'd be in the midst of getting ready yourself, the party's only hours away after all, if it weren't for the teeny tiny, itty bitty but oh so very important detail that the dress Christine had lent you was currently hanging up in your closet sliced to ribbons. She'd handed it off to you early this morning so that you could change in the comfort of your room later instead of trying to fight for time in the bathroom.
Guess who bore witness to the little handoff?
And now, thanks to a certain jealous little someone who'd bought into the theory that you and Alastor were an item, you had absolutely nothing to wear to this stupid party! Yeah right, you wave your hand and the restoration spell fixes the dress up better than when you'd received it. You cast it on the shoes as well, just in case you overlooked something minor Louise might have done to them.
Polly is all too thrilled to help you do your hair and makeup since she missed out on getting to do so last time. She'd gotten ready before everyone else and has been helping where she can without mussing up her own look. This time your hair's been curled up and pinned so that it looks as though it naturally fell a little way below your ears. Your eyelids have a smokey look to them and your lips have been painted black. You have to give it to Polly; she really knows her stuff and has an incredibly steady hand.
When the group is ready to leave, Louise is waiting by the door, no doubt to look on smugly as you either don't leave with the other due to your loaner dress being scrap fabric, or to see you leave in a dress that doesn't suit the venue you're going to. Instead, you get to watch the blood drain from her face as she looks on in horror at the dress she was so sure she'd sliced to bits mere hours ago. But evidence to the contrary has just slapped her clear across the face. You wonder if this is going to widen the crack that you think is already present in her mind.
None of you are walking to this party. It's much further away than the speakeasy they'd taken you to. Instead, everyone's dates had come to pick them up. Some of them were leaving solely with their dates while others were carpooling. When it's finally your turn to get in a car, you take a moment to turn around and lock eyes with Louise. She's still looking at you dazed and stricken. The smile you offer her is more a baring of fangs and she slams the door so hard that you're surprised that it didn't fall off the hinges. You're getting annoyed with her. If keeps pushing her luck with you, she's going to find out just how hard you can push back.
A man opens the door for you and you sweep into the vehicle gracefully. Jenna is inside and you can see her shoulders slump in relief at the sight of you as you sit down next to her. Up in the front seat is the man who opened the door and a woman, both looking incredibly elegant. Jenna's parents, if you had to hazard a guess. But guessing wasn't necessary.
"See Mother, Father? I told you that I'd found James a date."
"Yes, yes. We see that, Jenna darling," her mother drawls. "I still don't understand why we had to wait until the eve of the party to meet the girl. You know very well that it's important for us to maintain our image." She fixes you with a glare that could curdle milk. "And I doubt some no name boarding house girl will be able to measure up to our standards."
You just sit there and offer a fake, serene smile. Your nails are digging into the palms of your hands, you can only hope this judgmental bitch shuts her mouth before you break the skin and bleed all over this very nice car. Keep a cool head. Remember what's on the line here. You have a deal to uphold and you weren't about to make it null and void when you're so close to upholding your end of things. All Jenna asked for you was to show up to the party as James' date. That's it. That's all it's going to take for you to be able to get what you want from her.
Fortunately for you and Jenna's mother, her father speaks up. "Now dear, let's not jump to conclusions. You may not know of this girl, but you do know of Mrs. Donahugh. She's always run an exemplary boarding house and would only allow the most well behaved of ladies to stay under her roof."
You resist outright laughing at that.
Jenna's mother sighs but relents. She doesn't say another word and turns back around to face the front. Jenna catches your eye and mouths "sorry" over and over until you wave her off. No one speaks for the rest of the car ride. The atmosphere is incredibly tense and unpleasant for everybody. You and Jenna both let out sighs of relief inaudible to her parents when at long last you reach your destination.
The hotel is a grand, sprawling building. Jenna's father hands his keys off to the valet and links arms with his wife. They are approached by another couple and Jenna takes you by the arm to lead you towards them.
"Aunt Hilda, Uncle Clyde, so good to see the both of you," Jenna greets.
In contrast with Jenna's parents' cold demeanors, her aunt and uncle's faces light up at the sight of their niece and she's swiftly pulled aside for gentle hugs and brief kisses.
"Jenna sweetie," Hilda returns the greeting. "So good to see you, too! Just look at how much you've grown since we last saw you!"
"What a fine young woman you're turning out to be. That beau of yours is lucky that you think him worth your time," Clyde nods.
Jenna blushes. "Thank you both. Not that I'm not happy to see you, but where's Cousin James? I go through the trouble of promising to find him a date, and he isn't even here to greet her?"
Hilda and Clyde finally take notice of you and to your surprise their attitudes don't immediately do a one-eighty. Instead, they smile warmly at you as well.
"Why Jenna," Hilda gasps. "Are you sure this lovely young lady is here for our little Jimmy?"
"Now dear," Clyde playfully scolds. "You know how he feels about us calling him that."
She nods sadly. "Oh yes, he's so against it these days. It seems like only yesterday that he only wanted us to call him Jimmy or Jim, now it's all "That isn't proper, Mother." Just where did my little boy pick up the thought that image is everything?"
The two of them not-at-all subtly glare at Jenna's parents, who aren't paying the slightest bit of attention to the conversation. Instead, their focus is on an equally dour looking couple that's strolled up to converse with them.
Clyde takes Hilda gently by the shoulder. "You'll find James inside somewhere. Young lady I'm terribly sorry that our son didn't have to decency to wait for you to arrive when he knew that you'd be arriving with Jenna. Speaking of not waiting, Jenna sweetie, your date went on ahead with James. You'll probably find them together. Your aunt and I are going to wait for your parents to get done with their riveting conversation and make them greet us properly. You two go have fun."
Jenna links arms with you and drags you off before either of you can witness whatever scene her aunt and uncle are about to cause with her parents. A shame, you really would have liked to see those two assholes get torn a couple of new ones by their relatives.
The banquet hall is as extravagant as you were expecting for a place as ritzy looking as this, maybe even more so. People are scattered all throughout the room engaged in all different kinds of conversations. You see a few of your housemates from a distance hanging off the arms of their respective dates. You can't actually tell from this far away, but it appears like they're all having a good enough time so far. It's quite the spread that's distributed amongst the various tables, but you aren't feeling particularly hungry right now. Maybe later after you've met your date for the evening.
Jenna is doing some crowd scanning of her own and huffs in irritation when she can't find hide nor hair of either her cousin or her date. She drags you away from the banquet hall and looks through various parlor rooms until at last she stumbles across the one containing the people she's been looking for.
"Rodney! Cousin James!" Jenna releases your arm and embraces the two men in quick hugs.
"Jenna baby! There you are! Been wondering when your cute, little face would show up," Rodney greets, planting a swift and chaste kiss to Jenna's lips. She giggles at the action.
"Good to see you, Cousin Jenna. Lovely as always," James says. "So tell me, is this mystery date you've gotten me real or is Aunt Patricia going to have words for you?"
Jenna pouts as she faces her cousin. "You know, you could have just a bit of faith in me. Especially considering that your date is indeed real and standing in the doorway right over there!"
Both men's gazes follow where Jenna's pointing and land on you. Rodney gives you a brief once over before smiling politely and focusing his attention back on Jenna. James, however, keeps his eyes locked on you and smiles.
And if it isn't just the smarmiest smile you ever laid eyes on.
Chapter End Notes
Party time~
Puttin' On The Ritz
Chapter Notes
Life could be a dream if it weren't too busy being a huge bitch.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You resist the urge to claw your skin off as James' eyes rake over you slow and calculative. It feels a little like you're a cow being evaluated to see if you're ready for slaughter or not. You do not like the way he looks at you. He struts towards you, cocky and self-assured. You remember Jenna saying that her cousin was a kind guy, just a bit awkward. Either she was spouting bullshit, or she had grossly misjudged his true nature. Then again, family can be blind to the flaws of family. And Jenna just seemed to be a bit too desperate to convincingly lie when you agreed to this. But maybe you misjudged her character.
Either way, you were here meeting her cousin James whose date you agreed to be. He looms above you, smiling down with that smug face that makes you just want to punch it the longer you look at it. He takes your hand in his and holds it up to place a small kiss to the back of it.
"A pleasure to meet you. The name's James Vaughn. And just who might you be, dear?"
You fake a smile and hope it doesn't come out looking like a wince. "People around here call me Miss Mystery. I'm afraid that's all you'll be getting out of me, Mr. Vaughn."
You won't deny that he's a classically handsome man. His blonde hair is smoothed back to better draw attention to his green eyes. He has a strong, square jaw and an aquiline nose. His skin was creamy and flawless from what you could see of it. His suit was dark blue and crisp. He had a stark white button up underneath, a black bowtie, and black dress shoes to pull the look together. The watch on his wrist looked expensive and that's all you could say regarding it. Oh yes, this was a man who was all about appearances.
You immediately can't stand him and delicately remove your hand from his grip.
If he's put off by your refusal to give him anything real to work with, he lets it slide over him like water on the back of a duck. "A woman of mystery then? I can't say I'm not intrigued." He cups your chin between his thumb and forefinger and you refrain from biting him for the unwanted touch. "But I'm sure I'll be able to crack you wide open before the night's over don't you worry."
Forget clawing your skin off. You're going to set yourself on fire and hope the pain of immolation is enough to forget about the way his touch is making every inch of your flesh crawl with revulsion.
You already had one insufferable bastard with boundary issues to try and get off your back, and you weren't looking to increase that number!
James offers you his arm and you reluctantly take it. He and Rodney lead you and Jenna back to the banquet hall where you can now see a small band gathering together on the stage. Oh good, the music portion of the evening has arrived and will most likely soon be followed by dancing couples throughout the hall. Hopefully in the big open space, but people can be incredibly stupid at times for no good reason. If someone doesn't manage to knock into a table because they felt like having their own little semi-private dance away from the main dance floor but still in the same room as the music, you'll be somewhat surprised. You're pretty sure it's going to happen though, along with couples sneaking away to dance elsewhere and couples sneaking away to "dance" elsewhere.
Hey, people are going to be people no matter what time period it is.
A microphone is placed center stage and not long after an older gentleman walks up to it and taps a few times to get everyone's attention. The constant stream of chatter dies down to silence and the man clears his throat before speaking.
"I'd like to welcome and thank you all for attending this little party. I can't tell you all how much it means to me to see how many of you are here in support of me being reelected as mayor of our fine city. Now, I don't want to take up too much time here and keep the band waiting. I hope I'll be able to speak with each and every one of you about any concerns you have about the city going forward and to reassure you that by having me continue on as mayor, you're doing your part to ensure the city of New Orleans continues to have a bright future."
The crowd claps as the mayor exits the stage and the band flips their sheet music to the appropriate page before taking up their instruments. You're disappointed when slow classical music begins to permeate the hall. You'd been hoping for loud, upbeat, swinging tunes, not a waltz. But you supposed this whole event was meant to be some degree of "classy" and this is the music they chose to go along with that theme. You still find it disappointing, even if you weren't looking to dance.
Nothing wrong with classical music, it's just something you personally have to be in the mood to listen to is all.
"Is that Jimmy Vaughn I spy," a voice calls out as the crowd resumes their mingling.
A man approaches James and extends an arm towards him. James tenses and slowly removes the arm he had you take from your hold and grasps the man by the forearm. "George Littleton as I live and breathe! It's been ages since I've last seen you! Since when were you back in town?"
George squeezes James' forearm back before both of them drop the other's appendage. "I only got back just a few days ago. Mother sent me a letter months ago asking if my schedule would be clear to come down for a visit during the mayor's little soiree and here I am!" George's eyes stray from James to you. "Oh, but where are my manners? A pleasure to meet you Miss. George Littleton."
He holds out a hand for you to take and you do so firmly. Unlike with James, George doesn't attempt to bring your hand up for him to kiss. All the two of you do is share a polite yet firm handshake with each other before ceasing physical contact.
"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Littleton," you respond honestly.
"Please, Mr. Littleton is my father. Call me George!"
"Alright, Geroge it is then."
He laughs deeply and turns his attention back to James. "I honestly never thought I'd see the day when the James Vaughn would be walking around with a girl on his arm! But didn't I tell you old friend? Didn't I tell you that finding someone would make the world seem all the brighter?"
Oh dear. Seems Geroge is under the mistaken impression that you and James are actually a couple. Oh well. Not your problem. After tonight you're never going to have to interact with him again so James is the one who can deal with clearing up this little misunderstanding.
"Why don't the two of you go on and catch up with each other?"
George pauses at that. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude on your evening."
You wave him off. "You wouldn't be intruding at all. Isn't that right, James?"
James' smile is tense as he addresses you. "My dear-"
But George is already tugging James along without waiting for a response. "Ah, if your gal says it's fine, then it's fine! Let's go catch up, Jimmy!"
You watch as the two of them saunter off into the crowd. George has an arm placed across James' shoulder and James is attempting to keep as much distance between him and Geroge as possible without making it obvious that that's what he's doing. You get the distinct impression that James isn't too terribly fond of George. Or it could be that they were the best of friends and it's simply been so long since they last saw each other that James isn't sure if it's alright to fall back into the easy camaraderie that George is all too happy to. You don't know and you really don't care either way.
You make your way over to one of the many refreshment tables scattered throughout the room. The food looks quite appetizing, but again, you aren't feeling particularly hungry at the moment. You do, however, take a glass of punch and give it a cautionary sniff then sip. Yep. Just like you'd suspected, there's alcohol in this. You sip slowly on your drink as your eyes lazily wander about the room and see just how many people are partaking in breaking the law this evening.
Everyone. The answer is everyone. Even the mayor who was going on about how he'd be cracking down on speakeasies even harder to "get the giggle water off the streets" had a glass in his hand. You wondered if he was oblivious to what he was ingesting or if this was just another example of the rich believing that the law oughtn't apply to them. Most likely the latter. After all, the "well to do" citizens of New Orleans were the only ones who'd been invited, minus those of the lower class who'd been brought along as dates.
The hypocrisy so brazenly on display nearly made you snort into your drink. You sipped delicately on your drink some more, fully intent on passing the night away as a wallflower and cashing in on what Jenna owes you as soon as you could.
Someone sidles up next to you and gets their own glass of "punch." You pay them no mind, simply allowing yourself to mindlessly people watch in the vain hope that it would make time pass by even just a little bit faster.
"I would have thought you'd be out there on the dance floor swaying away with your date," a voice that you were becoming oh so familiar with says from right next to you.
You begrudgingly allow your eye to swivel to where Alastor has taken up residence next to you. He sips from his glass as he looks out at the crowd before fully turning to face you.
"After all, with how you spoke of them the other day, I was under the impression that the two of you would be all but glued at the hip!"
His eyes are squinting so hard they're almost shut, and his smile is strained so wide you can see the edge of it quiver a bit. He makes no effort to school his expression into a more pleasant one.
Ah.
He's pissed.
Let's rewind a bit, shall we? Let's go back to, oh, a little bit after you'd arrived in town and had your chance encounter with the local celebrity heartthrob.
Alastor had spent the days after briefly meeting you gently but firmly removing himself from the personal life of the woman who'd been so foolishly brazen to insult a complete stranger directly to their face within moments of meeting them. Though the fairer sex should always be handled with a certain amount of care, that didn't mean he was beholden to the whims of each and every woman he deigned to spend his time with. That didn't mean he wasn't critical of them when they acted rudely. It just meant that he had to handle them with care when he politely informed them that he would no longer be personally gracing them with his presence. If he happened to pass a former acquaintance on the street, he'd nod in a polite yet detached way, but that was it.
In any case, the way that the young woman had deigned to act towards you had made him a bit more aware of the fact that she was a bit of a bitch. She'd yet to take the hint that he was done with her, but in time it would become all too clear. He wondered if she would become angry and confrontational at his rebuff of her affections, or if she would crumple like wet tissue paper when she realized she'd been discarded as such. Either outcome held no source of amusement for him; breaking hearts was all too simple and had never held any allure for him.
In any case, cutting the young lady out of his life was a trifle compared to what he was currently dealing with. Mr. Forrest – his boss – had been breathing down his neck as of late in both the metaphorical and literal senses. Something had sent the man into a tizzy that had been going on for several weeks now and everyone around the studio was beginning to strain under the constant and consistent beratement he had for them all. Him especially more than the others.
Alastor had worked in the mailroom when he'd first been hired on at the studio. He'd spent his days sorting through the letters and packages meant for the hosts before a stroke of luck on his part had the studio scrambling to find a temporary host to fill in when one of the regulars had come down with a nasty case of being dead. From completely natural causes, of course. Well, as natural as drinking oneself into a stupor and being so sloshed that one falls over at just the right angle and snapping one's neck can be. Either way, that chance opportunity had been just what he'd needed to make his big break into radio.
He wasn't as skilled at it as he was now. He made mistakes in the beginning. But the previous proprietor of the station saw potential in him and helped coach him through learning the voice he now uses for every broadcast he does – as well as the voice he puts on for the public so as for them not to think he is in any way unrefined. He doubts any of them remember how he used to sound before he'd learned better.
But thanks to his previous boss' patience with him, he soon rose to become a local celebrity and had people all but eating out of the palm of his hand when he spoke to them. That was the upside of things. The downside was that humans could be so very pettily jealous of each other and his coworkers were no exception to that. One coworker in particular had been quite vocal about his disdain for Alastor's rise in popularity. Those complaints only died down when his previous boss had decided that it was his time to step down an appointed the loudly opinionated coworker as the new man in charge.
Needless to say, the power quickly went to his head, and it only continued to swell. The first order of business that Mr. Forrest attended to once he was fully in charge was to attempt to cut Alastor's airtime and replace him post haste. This, thankfully, immediately backfired as the station had been swamped with letters demanding that the public's favorite host be given his full timeslot back and to drop the new guy. Alastor wouldn't deny the sick sense of satisfaction he'd gotten at Mr. Forrest looking like he was swallowing a glass of nails as he all but begged Alastor to return to his usual hours.
And of course Alastor did. Radio was his passion after all, and it wouldn't do for him to abandon it simply because some buffoon didn't know a good thing when he had it until he nearly lost it due to his own incompetence and prejudice. Mr. Forrest became a lot more careful in how he handled Alastor after that. Specifically, while nothing was ever done to intentionally sabotage him again, his boss seemed to make it his mission in life to make things around the station so unbearable that Alastor would feel that he had no choice but to quit on his own. Why such animosity had been extended towards his coworkers, he couldn't say. But Mr. Forrest had already proven himself to be an idiot of the highest caliber, so that probably had something to do with it.
But it was fine! His boss couldn't very well spend every hour of every day personally tormenting him, or else nothing would get done and the station would go under. At most, he only had to endure the man's unpleasant presence for a few hours once he was done broadcasting and then Alastor was free of him for the rest of the day. Except his boss had gotten it into his head that a night spent out and about with his employees was a grand idea. For whatever reason.
And then he'd found himself having to endure the man's presence during his off hours at a speakeasy he didn't frequent with company he very well didn't care to keep. His nights were meant to be spent unwinding from the day's tediousness. Either by drinking and dancing the evening away at Mimzy's, or relieving stress in a more… violent way. Also sometimes spent in Mimzy's company because she was one of the few people who understood why he did what he did and she always had a source for him to take his aggression out on. Though, there were times he wished she weren't so enthusiastic with courting the attention of the degenerate. He was always up for cleansing his lovely home of such filth, but sometimes he was just looking to enjoy a quiet evening.
Thankfully, he hadn't had to endure their company for too long. Dear Kimberly had stolen him away from the unpleasant louts and had swiftly pulled him onto the dance floor. She was a true master of the craft; it was a shame that such talent was tucked away in a little diner where the only audience would ever be the patrons of said establishment. He'd have to be careful if any of his coworkers asked about her. Though most of the men were married, the way they'd looked at dear Kimberly as though she were nothing but a fresh carcass and they the wolves ready to pounce and devour it made his blood boil.
His growing ire went miraculously unnoticed as Kimberly eagerly spoke of the new arrival at Mrs. Donahugh's boarding house. It'd been an age since his last visit. He missed conversing with the woman who'd practically helped his mother raise him back when he'd been a scrappy little hellion. He was still a scrappy little hellion, though not that little anymore and much more discreet about it. He'd have kept up with his regular visits if it weren't for the fact that he'd had to stop them due to Mr. Forrest taking over and doing his damnedest to undermine Alastor's career.
And then dear Kimberly pointed out the newest addition to their little household and he could feel as his smile grew in size and sincerity, anger at those he worked with fading to make way for intrigued amusement. It was you. The woman from the park. Dear Kimberly was right, you did look effortlessly elegant as you sat there delicately sipping on your martini. The contrast to how you were now was jarring when he compared the you of now to the you of then who'd been lounging about in a tree seemingly without a care in the world. He was all too thrilled when Kimberly eagerly agreed to introduce him to you. He'd made sure that his suavest smile was in place when he sauntered up to give you his name.
And then you'd just stared at him blankly. He'd already figured you were from out of town due to you not knowing his moniker of "the most eligible bachelor in New Orleans" so graciously given to him by the public. And then you had the gall to go along with Kimberly's little nickname for you instead of properly introducing yourself! It was official, you were the most interesting thing he'd come across in a while and he was eager to get to know you just to discover how interesting you could be.
And then you went and insinuated that newspapers were somehow superior to radio! To his face! After he'd informed you of his profession! He was grateful that Kimberly had already vacated the area as he had no doubt your responses would only add more fuel for the terrible gossip session she would no doubt have with the other women of the boarding house. He didn't think he could bear the embarrassment that his usual charm just wasn't working. He could feel himself getting more than a bit worked up as he raved about the wonders of radio before you removed your attention from him.
And then you had the audacity to brush him off and say you hoped to never see him again before disappearing into the crowd. Despite the fact that he remained in the establishment well into the early hours of the morning, he didn't see you again. It was fortunate for him that he'd learned to function on very little sleep because if you thought he was just going to let the most interesting woman he's ever stumbled across, you had another thing coming.
Your attitude towards him hadn't changed in the slightest when he knocked on the boarding house's door. You'd slammed the door in his face not once, but twice! And then didn't open it a third time. He had to knock repeatedly until Mrs. Donahugh had opened the door for him and eagerly invited him inside. He was a bit surprised that Louise wasn't already up and about, but not at all disappointed by her absence. Now there was someone who just couldn't take a hint even if it slapped her clear across the face. He felt no particular irony in thinking that particular thought.
Graciously though, none of the other women were present in the kitchen when he strolled in. The two of you were the only ones present. Your irritated face at his antics was just so delightful to witness. He'd never had anyone look at him the way you had before! Nowadays it was usually awestruck admiring looks or barely restrained hateful ones. Yours was simply a look of utter disinterest and he wanted to know what it would take for you to look at him one way or the other.
And then you had to go and ruin his plans by proclaiming that your day was fully booked before storming off to your room. He was less than appreciative of Mrs. Donahugh's assumptions that he would do anything to purposefully upset you. After all, all he'd done thus far was be his usual charming self. It wasn't his fault that you took such offence to it! You were like a cat that hated anyone getting too close to you and he half expected your hair to puff up and for you to hiss at his insistence to try and get to know you.
But his mother raised a gentleman and Mrs. Donahugh was a reminder of that. He'd give you a bit of space and return later to see if you were more amenable to his presence. And when he did return, he was more than happy that your housemates were so willing to throw you at him in an attempt to make the two of you spend time together. To his surprise, you spent hours with him walking about town. True, it was more like you were attempting to lose him the whole time, but he knew these streets better than anyone and he had no trouble keeping up with your quick little strides.
He was fully expecting you to reject his invitation to accompany him to the little soiree at the end of the month. He was just hoping your rejection would prove to be as amusing as you'd been thus far.
It wasn't.
In the week he'd left you be, someone else had come along and swept you off your feet enough to convince you to attend the party with them instead of him. He's not sure he'd be any less angry than he is even if you had rejected them. The thought that someone else would be interested in his new source of entertainment had never even crossed his mind. His skin felt too tight, hot and cold and clammy all at once. It felt like he was going to be sick.
He's ashamed to admit it, but when he returned home that evening he spent an inordinate amount of time looking at his reflection in the mirror and contemplating just what he was doing wrong. It didn't matter how long he'd stared, the answers he was looking for just wouldn't show themselves. His irritation grew and before he knew it he was cleaning up bloodied knuckles from where he'd punched the glass in.
His rage persisted as he removed his clothes and got ready for bed. It only subsided as he was hanging up his jacket and he caught a whiff of a scent that was decidedly not his own. That's right. He'd placed it over your shoulders despite your protests. How could he have forgotten when you'd so cruelly thrown it in his face after delivering that devastating tidbit? He pressed the jacket to his face and inhaled deeply. He couldn't place just what it was he was smelling, but it was unmistakably you. It was faint and would likely fade away in no time. But in this moment he allowed himself to be wrapped in the faintest trace of you and it settled him for now.
That brings us to just a bit before the mayor was to give his little speech before milling about and mingling with his fellow partygoers. Along with a handful of journalists for the newspapers, Alastor was invited to this little gathering so that he could tell the majority of the citizens of New Orleans about the rousing speech the mayor had given and how much he cared about ensuring the safety of the city and all who dwelled in it. Which of course was complete bullshit. None of the upper class gave a rat's ass about the lower class unless they needed something from them. For the mayor, he needed those who had the people's trust to spread around that he actually gave a damn about what happened to them.
If he could get away with doing so, Alastor would happily tell the fine people of New Orleans what exactly their mayor thought about the vast majority of them. Unfortunately for the general populace, he was quite content with keeping his job as well as his life. For all that the mayor valued what Alastor could do for him as the city's most popular radio host, he was none too quiet about the way he felt about "people like Alastor." Oh, the man hadn't said so directly, but he learned to pick up the subtleties of conversation when all his life had been spent being judged for something beyond his control.
The mayor of New Orleans was someone Alastor would very much like to have a private one-on-one chat with. Sadly, the man never went anywhere alone. Certainly not anywhere Alastor could frequent without arousing suspicion. As beloved by the general populace as he may be, the upper areas of the city were another matter entirely.
Really, he'd half expected the opportunity to potentially endear himself to members of the upper class to be pulled out from under his feet at the last moment by his boss. If you had accepted his invitation and that had indeed happened, he would have taken you to Mimzy's and shown you how a juice joint ought to be run. But curiously, no one had seen hide or hair of Mr. Forrest for a couple of weeks now. Not since Alastor had been forced to endure the man's company that one evening. And so here he was, the envy of everyone back at the studio. Contrary to his expression, he isn't having a very good time.
His mood only sours further when he manages to catch sight of you entering the banquet hall on the arm of one Mr. James Vaughn. His hands squeezed tightly from where they were clasped together behind his back. Anyone who was anyone regardless of social status knew who Mr. Vaughn was and Alastor wasn't referring to the man's father. No, that Mr. Vaughn was a pleasant rapscallion with a penchant for getting up to all sorts of good fun along with his wife. Naturally, high society didn't think too highly of the two of them.
James Vaughn on the other hand was a well-known socialite in high society. He was often seen frequenting about town in the company of other well to do men. He never strayed too close to what the elite liked to refer to as "the dregs" but strutted about middle class areas with his fellows often enough for rumors to fly about regarding him. The man was downright unpleasant at the best of times to those not of the same social standing or higher. He was crass, rude and not as careful concealing his bigotry as he probably thought he was.
This was who you'd decided was worth your time and attention? This- This shameless, no good, piece of shit was whose arm you'd rather wrap yours around than his?!
Alastor thinks he's going to pass out. No. He is going to pass out if he can't get his sudden, quick and heavy breathing under control. The sight of you on that lummox's arm makes his blood boil and skin crawl. It makes him want to march over there right this instant and yank you away from the brute before showing him what real brutality looks, sounds and feels like. He wants to grip the man by the hair so hard that it feels like he's going to rip his scalp off before bashing his face into one of the pillars repeatedly until it becomes nothing but a bloody, pulpy, unrecognizable mess.
The only reason Alastor is able to get ahold of himself is because of the man that you so readily hand Mr. Vaughn off to. You barely spend a moment watching the spot where the two of them disappeared into the crowd before you head towards a refreshment table and getting yourself a drink. He sees you sniff and sip at the glass and take a pause only to resume your imbibement of the no doubt heavily spiked beverage. You're alone now.
He believes that he could go for something to drink right about now as well.
He slinks up next to you and procures a glass of his own. Okay, wow. If any bulls were in attendance tonight and weren't being paid enough to look the other way, this stuff would get everyone partaking of it here arrested on the spot. The hypocrisy of the elite was fully on display and at its finest tonight. He sips a bit more before addressing you. He sees as you look at him from the corner of your eye and oh. That won't do at all. He turns to fully face you and perhaps he isn't as calm as he thought because he can hear the venom dripping off his words. Oh yes, he's still all sorts of pissed off about the whole situation.
And then what you say next makes him feel rather foolish for getting so worked up over it all in the first place.
You roll your eyes and huff aggressively. "First of all: I'm a grown woman and I can go wherever I damn well please. I don't need a chaperone dogging my every step. Second: Not that it's any of your business, but I've got no reason to be at that guy's beck and call. The only reason I'm here as his date is because I'm doing so as a favor to his cousin, Jenna. She promised to get him a date for tonight and was desperate enough to ask me. I was bored enough to agree." That last part's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that. "I didn't meet the guy until just a bit ago and quite frankly I wish I could go back to a time before I did."
Alastor can feel the tension that had been permeating his body for the past few days leave all at once and his shoulders slump in relief. And then he feels his face flush furiously because of how he'd reacted to the news that you'd gone and agreed to attend this gathering with someone who wasn't him. Why had his reaction been so strongly negative? True, he wished to unravel the mystery that was you and see just how long you could entertain him for, but that was no reason to get so worked up over you agreeing to be someone else's date. It wasn't like he wouldn't have been able to speak with you all evening.
He remembers how he'd eagerly sniffed at what little scent you'd left behind on his jacket to calm himself down and flushes harder. Why did he do that.
You think you're witnessing Alastor go through a weird version of the stages of grief. He'd gotten relaxed all of a sudden and then tensed up and started blushing profusely. You'd wonder if he were going through a sudden midlife crisis if it weren't for the fact that his time of death wasn't far off.
You down the last of your drink and set the glass off to the side. No point in concerning yourself with whatever nonsense is going through the man's head right now. It'd be better if you managed to slip away while he's distracted and hope that he doesn't spend the rest of the evening trying to track you down. You're about to do just that when a hand gently but firmly closes around your wrist.
Alastor has finished his own drink and his expression is back to how it normally is, all previous traces of something being wrong gone entirely.
"You weren't thinking of sneaking off without dancing at least once, were you my dear? Come now, it's a party! Loosen up as much as you're able and join me out on the dance floor!"
You grimace. "No thanks. There are so many other things I'd rather be off doing. Namely, doing them away from you."
Alastor tosses his head back in a laugh. "You never cease to amuse, my dear! Really, it isn't a party if you don't dance at least once!"
He begins to drag you towards the open area of the room. "Do you want me to break the bones in your feet? Because this is how you get the bones in your feet broken."
He just smiles down at you as he places one of your hands on his shoulder and one of his on your waist. He links the hand that had been holding onto your wrist so you couldn't easily escape with your free one.
"My dear, I'm sure you're exaggerating! Anyone can dance given enough time and effort put into it! I'm sure you're just simply not giving yourself enough credit."
You can't exactly get away without causing a scene, Alastor had pulled you quite a ways onto the dance floor. If it wouldn't mean potentially jeopardizing your deal for all that you've fulfilled your end of things, you'd make a hasty retreat away from him. Alas, the things you do to get what you want from others.
You lace your fingers with Alastor's and fix him with a cold glare. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when it's next to impossible for you to walk without feeling any pain."
His smile only grows at this.
Great.
Chapter End Notes
I hope none of you thought that Alastor was taking the constant rejection well.
Because he isn't.
:)
Swing Shift Cinderella
Chapter Notes
Nothing much to say here, other than I love Red from the Tex Avery cartoons.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Surprisingly, you're not doing as bad as you thought you would. That might have something to do with the fact that the dance you're doing is a simple 1-2-3 waltz. It's still pretty bad though. You manage to step all over Alastor's feet plenty of times throughout the song and he just barely manages to hide his wince of pain each time it happens. You aren't even doing it on purpose, you're just not that great of a dancer.
But hey, you warned him. And he chose not to heed that warning. If you do actually end up breaking one or both of his feet this way, maybe that'll be the incentive he needs to get it through his head that hanging around you isn't something he should be wasting his time on.
A few times throughout the dance, you catch sight of some of your housemates who look far too delighted at the sight of you and Alastor dancing together. God, this is only going to add fuel to the fire. They're never going to not think that the two of you are in the beginning of some sort of romantic relationship. You're never beating the allegations. This is only going to make Louise even more insufferable than she already was and you're already trying to think of a way to deal with her that isn't outright murder. Not that the option is off the table, you just don't feel like she's enough of a problem to warrant it. Yet.
But the music can't last forever, fortunately for Alastor's poor, abused feet. There's a dip in between songs as the band flips their sheet music and you take the opportunity to swiftly exit the dance floor.
…or you would if not for the fact that Alastor pulls you close and continues leading as the next song begins to play.
"I don't believe I happily agreed to one dance, let alone two. You can't possibly want to endure another round of me smashing your feet with my heels," you say incredulous with your eyebrows arched high in disbelief.
Alastor merely chuckles as he sways around with you to the slow rhythm. "My dear, while I may have underestimated just how serious you were about your dancing skills – or rather, your lack thereof – I can assure you that I've certainly felt worse pain that a few stepped on toes."
"And yet you keep wincing whenever I do," you point out.
"Hm," he hums in a non-response.
Your dress flares out slightly whenever Alastor sweeps you around in a spin, which is often with this particular song. He's expertly moving the both of you across the dance floor without so much as a brush against any of the other dancers, all while continuing to have his feet stomped upon. It's impressive how far he's willing to go to keep himself entertained.
From what little you can hear from those around you, it seems like the actual couples are engaged in exchanging sweet nothings with one another or gossiping about others. The names you pick up mean absolutely nothing to you. You tuck them away anyway on the off chance that you might need to put a face to them at some point in the future. You might not have been keeping up with it as of late, but you weren't going to let the skill of espionage you picked up while with Avary go to complete waste. You could get so much more information if you were tucked away into the shadows, but obviously you can't do that here.
"So," Alastor says, having grown tired of being the only dancing pair not engaged in small talk. "You mentioned that you agreed to attend as a favor to the cousin of your date. A Miss Jenna, was it? I'm curious to know just what it was she did for you to make you agree to such an arrangement!"
You have two choices here: stay silent and be even more uncomfortable with the situation than you already are, knowing that he'll just keep pushing until you've had enough and cause a scene; or you could throw him a small bone and engage in a bit of conversation. Neither option is preferable, but you know when to pick your battles. This isn't one of those times.
"Nothing yet," you respond. "I'm doing this so she'll owe me something. Not the other way around."
"Oh-ho! How interesting! And just what could you possibly be hoping to get from this young lady?"
You pin him with the "really?" look. "That's for me to know and for you to not. My business is my business and your business is yours. You don't see me asking you questions of a prying nature, now do you?"
He chuckles mirthfully. "True, you aren't. But feel free to pry away, my dear. Though, I can't promise I'll be forthright with any of my answers, assuming I deign to give any!"
He laughs quiet enough to not be a disturbance, but loud enough to draw the attention of the couples closest to where the two of you are dancing. To outsiders, all they see is a man lost in his amusement at whatever his dancing partner just told him. To you, it sounds like mockery. Like he fully expects you to ask him something deeply personal now and he'll either outright lie about it, mix both lie and truth together so you don't know which is which, tell the truth but say it in a way that makes you think he's lying, or flat out refuse to answer your question entirely.
You've never met anyone who was so blatant in doing whatever they damn well pleased. Alastor has consistently ignored every attempt you've made at dissuading his interest in you, or he's allowed your disinterest in him to fan the flames of his pursuit in trying to figure out what makes you tick. If you were at all interested in keeping his focus on you, you'd be somewhat flattered at the persistence he's shown in trying to get to know you. But you aren't interested, you are the furthest thing from interested in getting him interested in you.
It isn't that you don't like Alastor. As a character you'd found him incredibly charming; he was your favorite of the Hazbin cast. And if you'd manifested in Hell during or at least much closer to the start of canon, maybe you wouldn't be as eager to get away from him as you are right now. You'd be cautious of him, sure, but you wouldn't act as hostile as you have been thus far. But that's the problem. You aren't anywhere near the start of canon. Your actions will have consequences, good or bad. Immediate or long reaching. And you have no way of knowing how what you do will affect things. Just having Alastor nipping at your heels like this is dangerous enough. You'd rather not tempt fate into screwing you over worse than it already has. Because if it deigns to mess with you in a way that significantly affects a canon character, who knows what could come of it?
So you'd like it if he could just decide that you aren't worth his time. You want him to forget about you and go back to however his day-to-day life was before you'd crashed into it. Because if things end up not going the way that they should then you have no idea what you're going to do. You are terrified of causing any significant change to canon. Scared shitless of the constant whispered inquiry of: "What if you already fucked everything up?" And you don't know yet if you have or not. Won't know until it's too late to potentially do anything to salvage it.
And it's all because the man currently holding you close to him just doesn't seem to want to let you out of his sight. Metaphorically, but for all you know it could be physically too.
Alastor spins you away from him, and before he can pull you back your other hand is snatched up and you're tugged out of his grasp. James spins you tight against him and holds you close. He gives you a smile that looks like he's trying his hardest to appear debonair, but his eyes are hard and cold and one of them keeps twitching in irritation.
"Apologies for keeping you waiting, my dear," he says. He spares a brief moment to look over at Alastor who isn't pleased at the interruption. "Thank you for keeping my lovely date entertained while I was away. I'll take it from here." The sneer that overtakes his smile is barely restrained. You grow more and more irritated with James every second you spend in his presence.
Alastor opens his mouth to retort, but James is already spiriting you away across the dance floor with none of the grace that Alastor had been. You manage to avoid crashing into any of the other dancers, but you have several near misses. You can't even really call what you and James are doing dancing. It's more like he's just dragging you away while occasionally spinning you to and fro on a whim. You don't doubt it makes for quite the sight to those who are bothering to pay attention to their surroundings.
It's only when you're pulled all the way to the edge of the dance floor on the opposite side of the room where Alastor had been that James lets go of any pretense that the two of you are dancing together. His grip tightens around your wrist and he pulls you out of the banquet hall.
Alastor watches you go, smile tense and strained. Not that you can see it of course.
You continue to allow James to pull you around like you were some sort of ragdoll. You're somewhat curious as to what the Hell he thinks he's doing and revealing that you could break out of his grip at any point would mean that you don't get to see just how bad this creep is about to make things for himself. You pass by a handful of couples on the way to wherever James is taking you. None of them pay the two of you any mind, too wrapped up in their own little worlds to notice. Or they just don't think anything of seeing what they believe to be a fellow couple rushing off somewhere for privacy. Which, ew.
James finally comes to a stop when he's pulled you all the way out to the front of the hotel and far away from the door in front of the large fountain you'd passed on the way in. The sounds of the party leaking out are muffled, practically drowned out by the flow of water.
James has lost his earlier façade of composure. He's panting and flushed red in the face. Whether it's from anger or exertion or a mixture of both is hard to say. You just stare at him passively and wait for him to catch his breath. What could he possibly want from you that he felt the need to so obviously and visibly drag you away from the party?
When he finally catches his breath, James stands up straighter than he did when he'd introduced himself. You think he's trying to make himself look bigger than he already is in comparison to you as some sort of intimidation tactic.
Idiot.
"What," he snarls. "The Hell do you think you're doing?"
You raise a brow at him, face staying perfectly passive. "You're going to have to be more specific. Do you mean right now? Because right now I'm looking at and speaking to someone who's lost his composure for some unknown reason and felt the need to drag me all the way outside to start swearing at me."
"That isn't what I meant and you know it!"
"Then be more specific with your question. What exactly are you asking me?"
"That little stunt you pulled by dancing with that colored man! Do you have any idea what people talking about how my date being seen dancing with one of them instead of me is going to do to my reputation?!"
Oh look. You've found a whole new reason to vindicate your immediate hatred of James.
"As opposed to them talking about how you dragged your date across the dance floor in a vice grip before storming out in a rage?"
James claws at his hair in frustration, making it fly every which way. His outer appearance is starting to match his temperament. Wild and unkempt.
"No one is going to give a second thought to a man taking his date aside! If a woman steps out of line, then it's her man's job to put her back in her place however necessary!" He sneers down at you, face full of ire and contempt. "Especially if that "woman" is nothing more than a two-bit whore."
Excuse him?
"Excuse you?"
"What?" His sneer turns into an ugly smile. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? A word of advice, sweetheart. If you don't want people figuring out that you spread your legs for any John willing to pay to make ends meet, then you really ought to introduce yourself with an actual name instead of some uncreative moniker."
The urge to punch James in his stupid fucking face has reared its head again. And it's rapidly and steadily rising.
"Now," James continues. "I don't know how much my cousin paid you, but I can guarantee that a low-class tramp like yourself most certainly ripped her off." A hand is slowly extending itself towards you. "But it would be a shame if I didn't try to make sure she got her money's worth. So, why don't you be a good little girl and get on your kn-"
Your hand latches onto James' wrist hard enough that it's going to leave a bruise. You yank him forward and punch him square in the nose. You hear a sickening crunch the moment your fist makes contact with his face and he screams in pain. You let go of his wrist and both his hands fly up to cradle his face. You lift your dress up enough to where it won't get in the way and kick James right in the chest. He flies back and lands in the fountain in a crumpled heap.
His soaked and bleeding form groans in pain and he only looks up from where his hands are ineffectually shielding him when you place a heel on the edge of the fountain. Blood gushes from his broken nose and he can't hold back the tears of pain welling up in his eyes.
"Let's get one think straight you piece of shit. The only reason I showed up as your date tonight was so that Jenna would owe me. And that's all I agreed to. To show up as your date. As far as I'm concerned, I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. And just so we're clear, I fully intend to collect what I'm owed regardless of if you go running to your family crying about how I just bashed your face in. I'm sure your parents would just love to know exactly why I did so."
You remove your foot from the fountain's edge and allow your dress to fall down. You glare down unflinchingly at the waste of air who's only getting more waterlogged the longer he stays sitting there.
"I advise you to take your unpleasant ass back home and reflect on every action you've taken that's led up to this moment. I don't care how much of a scandal it'll cause. If you try to retaliate against me for protecting myself, I'll make you regret being born."
There's an air of finality that leaves no room for argument in your tone. You snarl one last time in James' direction before you head back to the hotel. You need another drink or several to get the bad taste of that horrid conversation out of your mouth. Seriously! Who the fuck does that guy think he is?! Who just says shit like that to a person they'd only met just that evening?! Why, in this short month on Earth, have you knowingly run into three people who feel like it's perfectly fine for them to talk to a total stranger any way they please and not have to face the consequences?!
Granted, you haven't let any of them get away with treating you like that. This was the only time that it had turned truly violent on your end of things. You don't know if James is going to try and run to his parents with his tail between his legs and crocodile tears in his eyes bitching about the "brutish whore" that Jenna had stuck him with for the evening. His face is going to be bruised for a while after that punch you gave it. He's undoubtedly prideful about how he's viewed by others. Perhaps prideful enough not to want to let the true origins of his injury get out.
But that's neither here nor there and it really isn't your problem. And if he were to try and make it your problem, then you can just as easily make him not a problem anymore. At the very least not a problem for the land of the living. Let the afterlife sort him out.
You tromp off angrily up the stairs so completely done with the evening's bullshit.
Unbeknownst to you, and subsequently James who is preoccupied with pulling himself out of the fountain and getting to the valet to have his car pulled around, Alastor watches you ascend the stairs from the shadows next to the staircase. An triumphant smile dancing across hip lips.
He spares half a glance as the insect who wasn't fit to lick the ground you walked on limps off in defeat before following you back inside from a distance.
Your mood barely lightens as you down your third glass of "punch" in a row. This low-quality booze isn't doing anything to get you even the slightest bit buzzed, but just tasting the alcohol is enough to soothe you, if only a little.
You're back to people watching at one of the refreshment tables. Seems like someone finally got it through their head that classical music juts wasn't cutting it for the partygoers' enjoyment and more upbeat music flows from the instruments and blankets the hall. It's still not as swinging as you would prefer, but it's a definite improvement and it's a lot more fun to watch people trying to keep up with the current beat.
You also have a plate of finger sandwiches all to yourself and anyone who side eyed you for it got a look so nasty in return that they were quick to avert their gaze. After the shitty night you've had, you deserve to be able to comfort yourself how you see fit to. Everyone else can just screw off. Except for the ladies. They came to check on you after you came back from being dragged away. You waved them off with reassurances that you were fine. Sweet of them to be concerned for you. The ones still on the dance floor were dancing as close to you as they could just to make sure you really were alright. Those who weren't were staking you out from the refreshment tables closest to the one you'd taken up residence at.
You've polished off about half a plate of finger sandwiches when someone clears their throat next to you. Oh, great. It's Alastor.
"What," you growl out, not bothering to hide how pissed you still are.
He holds his hands up in surrender, amusement dancing all over his face. "Now, now. I come in peace, my dear. I was just checking up on you to make sure that hooligan hadn't done anything to harm a single hair on that lovely head of yours."
You shove another sandwich into your mouth and chew aggressively before swallowing. "Well as you can see, I'm fine. Now go away. I'm really not in the mood to put up with more bullshit tonight."
Surprising absolutely no one, Alastor does not in fact go away. He takes a sandwich from the plate you'd commandeered and takes a much more appropriate bite and chews thoughtfully. "Now what sort of gentleman would I be if I left a lady alone when she was so clearly not doing as alright as she claimed?"
"One with sense," is your gruff reply.
He just giggles before finishing off his sandwich. "I'm afraid that should you ask around, those who know me best will ascertain that I more often than not lack sense when it comes to matters of a particular nature. The treatment of the fairer sex being high on that list."
He reaches out to gently take the wrist James had grabbed. There's no mark showing just how hard he'd been squeezing you. And from how white his knuckles had been, you know he'd been hoping to grip hard enough to hurt or snap your bones.
Too bad for him that human strength was nothing compared to that of a Sinner.
Alastor rubs his thumb across your wrist, the sensation tickling a bit. "I was concerned that brute had left you injured. I'm pleased to see that isn't the case. I'd hate for you to have been left with a physical reminder of that man's unpleasant nature."
You hear a muffled yet high pitched noise coming from nearby that turns out to be several of the girls covering their mouths and squealing excitedly as quietly as they can while their eyes are practically bugged out of their heads. The allegations. They remain undefeated.
Thankfully, your mental faculties return to you in a quick hurry and you delicately extract yourself from Alastor's loose hold. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm tougher than I look. Someone that pathetic couldn't ever hope to leave a mark on me. Really, I'm fine."
Alastor's gaze lingers on your wrist. "If you say so, my dear." His eyes trail up to yours. "But if you do find yourself seeking a sympathetic ear, I'd be delighted to lend you mine over another dance!"
And you just can't help it. The absurdity of how the night's gone finally gets to you and you burst out laughing. It's loud, it's boisterous, it grabs the attention of those close enough to hear it over the music. It makes your sides hurt and tears of amusement well up in the corners of your tightly shut eyes.
It makes Alastor's chest puff out in pride at having been the one to lift you from your dour state.
"I highly doubt," you chortle out. "That you're all that eager to have your feet paraded on again. Go on and find some other girl to waltz into a stupor, my dance card's all punched out."
"A shame," Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders and not looking put out in the slightest. "Then until next we meet, my dear."
Alastor rests his right hand over his heart and graces you with a bow before taking his leave. He doesn't make it very far before he's being accosted by several people who are overly eager to meet New Orleans' most popular radio broadcaster. There, now he's getting the attention that you certainly weren't going to give him.
It truly is a shame that you have to try and figure out how to get him to want nothing to do with you. That little bout of banter was fun. If you weren't so sure doing so could potentially jeopardize everything, you'd like it if you and Alastor could become if not friends then at least friendly acquaintances. Alas, you aren't going to let such frivolous thoughts dissuade you from trying to make him leave you be.
You sip on your fourth glass of "punch" and nibble on another sandwich, and desperately try and put thought of allowing Alastor close out of your mind.
Truly a shame.
Chapter End Notes
Really, just a shame.
Rated E For Evisceration
Chapter Notes
This fic is now officially rated E.
A fair warning for you all that there is a graphic depiction of torture in this chapter. I can't say exactly how graphic you as individuals would find it. For me personally it made me cringe while writing it. I'm not good with gory media and I outright refuse to watch horror movies because they freak me out too much. Writing is better because I can put the work down and come back to it at any time.
I have no idea if how I've described the torture in this chapter is going to upset some of you. Obviously, it's supposed to be upsetting content, but I can't speak to my skill at writing it. So. Take that as you will.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In the days following the party, it was nigh impossible for anything to dissuade Alastor's lingering good mood. It was so persistent that even his coworkers took note of it and commented on him appearing to be even more cheerful than usual. They poked and prodded at him for any scrap of information that could allude as to just what it was that had him in such a jubilant mood lately, but Alastor remained tightlipped about the whole affair. This was something that he wanted to keep far away from the flapping gums of his fellow radio hosts. A good number of them often let private information about their personal lives or the personal lives of others slip on the air, and it wouldn't do for them to lead the fine people of New Orleans to believe that he was looking to partake in romance!
That would just draw unwanted attention onto him and he certainly didn't need that. Especially right now. No. It was best that he leave these nosey busybodies that called themselves his coworkers in the dark about what had him in such a good mood. Not only to keep any scrutiny off of him, but also to avoid any animosity being thrown your way. Alastor wouldn't deny that he'd had many female companions throughout his life. The relationships never developed beyond anything other than friendship on his end and he preferred it that way.
Most of his companions understood that he wasn't looking for romance and respected that, however reluctantly. But, unfortunately, there were still a number of women who thought themselves the exception to his aversion to seriously seeing someone. Their rampant jealousy and disdain for the other women he deigned to spend his time with only served to make those women an annoyance to him. Those women were no longer involved in his life in a significant way. Not from a lack of trying on their part. He had to be incredibly firm with several of them before they took the hint that he didn't want anything to do with them anymore.
Those were always the most irritating of the rejections he had to dole out. No amount of screaming or crying at him was going to get him to change his mind. If anything it only made him that much more assured of his decision to cut them out of his life. His most recent of these rejections he had to give comes to mind, and he winces a little bit. She'd finally gotten it through her head that he wasn't interested and instead of the usual bout of screaming or crying at him, she began to insinuate that his complete disinterest in her was due to something you did.
Which was so very laughable! The woman was truly so self-unaware that she felt the need to blame her failings on others! Even if she hadn't chosen to insult you withing moments of meeting you, he still would have cut her off. Her pitiful attempts at trying to ask him to go steady with her would have been enough for him to promptly remove himself from the relationship.
It had nothing to do with you.
What did have to do with you was his persisting good mood. He doesn't believe that his evening with you could have gone better even if he'd planned it! He'd gotten to dance, drink and converse with you and all with minimum attempts from you to put a fair amount of distance between you and him! A shame that his time with you had been cut short by that no-account James Vaughn.
Alastor had silently stalked after the two of you after Mr. Vaughn had so rudely ripped you from his hold. His temper – which had cooled immediately upon discovering that you had come as that lout's date as a favor instead of doing so due to genuine interest in the man – had come back in full force. Following after the two of you almost felt like he was on one of his hunts. No one had been the wiser to him tailing your movements and neither of you had noticed when he'd taken up space in the shadows just next to the staircase leading up to the hotel.
Mr. Vaughn's outrage at you having danced with a "colored man" wasn't anything Alastor hadn't been expecting given what he knew of the man's character. The flash of indignation he felt was a mere prelude to the engulfing rage that coursed through his body at the impudent wretch's words directed at you. To insinuate that he had any right to bring about physical harm to your person made his fists clench so hard that he was sure that his still healing knuckles would split open again.
And then the miserable, little worm had tried to demand that you demean yourself and get on your knees for him.
His already frayed patience snapped and he nearly lunged out from his hiding spot to deliver a sound, swift and final beating to Mr. Vaughn when you beat him to the punch.
Quite literally.
It was truly a pleasure to watch as your fist caved that fool's face inward. The kick you delivered that knocked Mr. Vaughn clear into the fountain was positively delicious, and the very real threat to his reputation you gave was the cherry on top.
Witnessing that was enough for him to regain the grip he normally had on his impulses. As satisfying as it would have been to end that worm's miserable existence then and there, he didn't think you would take witnessing someone being murdered right before your very eyes all too kindly. Not only would you more than likely have become immediately terrified of him, but you would have also immediately become a liability to him. Had he revealed the less than socially acceptable side of him, he would have had to make sure you wouldn't be able to go running your mouth to the authorities.
Women were not his victims of choice and he would have tried to ensure your silence in a way that wouldn't necessitate your death. But if a way to do so couldn't be found, well…
Mimzy had no such hangups, as much as he would hate to see your fiery spark be snuffed out.
But thankfully for everyone such an ugly scenario was nothing more than a "what if?" idle thought.
Instead, you'd put that hooligan in his place and had returned to the party in a much fouler mood. He watched from a distance as our concerned housemates fretted and fawned over you until you managed to shoo them away. They didn't go far, but they were no longer hovering over you like bees to a flower.
Watching you down drink after spiked drink and inhale half a platter of sandwiches made him wonder how you would fair match him and Mimzy shot for shot of whiskey. If earlier that evening had taught him anything, it was that your prickly exterior could be somewhat overcome. He already knew that you weren't the most initiative of conversation partners, but you could certainly hold one, and with such wit at that!
…though, perhaps he ought to have you work on your dancing skills before trying to introduce you to Mimzy. She'd be much more… colorful in her assessment of your dancing skills than he had been.
He'd approached with the genuine intention of making sure you'd made it out of that confrontation relatively unscathed. The sight of your unmarred flesh released a coil of tension in his chest he hadn't been aware of until it was no longer there.
And then you went and laughed at his heartfelt offer to lend you an ear to chatter off if you felt the need to and he couldn't even pretend to be miffed about it because the mere notion made you bubble over with amusement.
And he got to see your wonderful smile again.
So, he respectfully backed off and wished you a pleasant rest of the evening before walking off and immediately getting swarmed by those who'd been vying for his attention the entirety of the night. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd been hoping to endear himself to at least a few members of the upper class.
He spent the rest of the night schmoozing, but you remained at the back of his mind.
Of course, all good things must come to an end at some point. The end of his good mood was preceded by the whispers that James Vaughn had been seen skulking about the middle-class area as of late. Enough of the guests at the party hailed from the area to have spread work about Mr. Vaughn's behavior towards his date that night. And enough of those of the upper class deigned to spend time milling about the middle-class area to overhear those whispers and spread them around the upper-class area.
Which naturally made their way to Mr. Vaughn's family. And if hearsay was to be believed, his parents were absolutely beside themselves that their son would feel it was appropriate to act so roughly towards a lady. Apparently a great fight broke out between his parents and his aunt and uncle. Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn blamed Mr. and Mrs. Williams and their stance on appearances for how their son had been warped from the once sweet boy he supposedly had been at one point. Mr. and Mrs. Williams blamed Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn for not caring about appearances enough and for allowing their way of thinking to pollute their daughter's mind so badly that she thought it was a good idea to get some no name woman to agree to be her cousin's date.
The elders of the two families were currently not speaking to one another. Jenna Williams had been seen out and about with her beau more often looking on the verge of tears as of late, and Alastor already knew where James Vaughn had been seen. Word going around was that Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn had kicked little Jimmy out of the house until he could find the dear girl he'd treated so poorly and bring her over to be properly apologized to. Jenna remained tightlipped about where you could be found to her cousin.
Now, normally just word of how someone he didn't care for in the slightest was doing wouldn't put a complete damper on Alastor's mood. However, it was another matter entirely when the object of his ire was sitting on the other side of the bar and getting deeper and deeper into his cups while also becoming even looser lipped as time and booze passed.
And the shit falling from the swine's mouth was enough to reignite Alastor's rage and decide that what he had planned for James Vaughn could stand to be moved up.
He looked over to where Mimzy was finishing up her last performance for the evening and inclined his head towards her when their eyes met. Her eyes widened briefly before a wide smile broke out across her face. He supposed it had been a while since his last hunt. Of the two of them, Mimzy was more of the kill first, worry about the consequences later type of gal. A mindset that he delighted in enabling. But for his own kills, Alastor preferred the hunter's method. Identify your prey, track it, wait for the right moment, then strike without mercy.
When she was finished, Mimzy eagerly shimmied her way over to sit next to him at the bar.
"Alastor! I was starting to think you'd become no fun anymore," Mimzy fake pouted before grinning with too many teeth. "It's so good to see that you're still your old self!"
He laughs at her enthusiasm. "Apologies, my dear! But you know me, I like to take my time and have fun my way."
Mimzy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. But your way just means I have to go for however long without getting to see you really cut loose."
"Fortunately for you, I'm looking to have all sorts of fun tonight." He casually leans against the bar and subtly nods his head to where James is all but passed out on the bar. "Interested in joining me?"
Mimzy eyes this evening's victim of choice and shoots him a disbelieving look. "Him? You sure you wouldn't rather go for someone who'd be able to keep up with you for a bit?"
Alastor chuckles darkly, eyes hooded with ill promises. "Oh, I'm not looking for simple pleasure tonight, my dear. This one is of a more personal nature."
A shiver of anticipation runs down Mimzy's spine. "Ooh! You haven't dealt with any personal matters in a long while!"
And it's true. Most of his victims he finds through word of mouth. Rumors of husbands mistreating their wives. He stalks his potential victims for a bit to see if the rumors hold any water, and when they do he takes care of them plain and simple. Personal matters are only attended to when his victim has wronged someone he knows.
And oh how he feels that you've been wronged by this worm.
The fact that James is here at Mimzy's joint when she's all too willing to help Alastor bag his latest victim is nothing more than sheer luck. An opportunity that he's more than happy to take advantage of.
"Indeed. I think once I've dealt with this sudden irritation that's been sprung up on me, I'll take a bit of a short retreat to my cabin. Would you care to accompany me?"
Mimzy's smile twists into something a bit more sadistic briefly before she's back to looking as sweet as ever. "I adore the view around your little home away from home! It's always so nice and peaceful. Quiet. Secluded."
He sighs internally. He loves Mimzy's enthusiasm, truly he does. But often he finds himself wishing that she'd show a little bit of restraint and choose her words a bit more carefully. The way she just described his lovely little cabin made it sound like he was asking her to go away with him to engage in some tryst. He barely restrains himself from shuddering in disgust. He loves Mimzy dearly, but not like that. Not in a way that would make him want to seek out the pleasures of the flesh with her.
He needs to stop thinking about this before he makes himself sick.
Cooperation gained, Alastor keeps an eye on James as he waits for the man to either leave of his own accord or be booted from the establishment when closing time comes around. Mimzy fluttered off to the back rooms to freshen up after being under the hot stage lights for so long, or so was the excuse she was giving to anyone that tried to grab her attention. But Alastor knew better. She was going on ahead after changing into far less conspicuous attire. The two of them worked so well together whenever they decided to collaborate.
He: the hunter, and she: the bait.
Alastor watches with a critical eye as James peels his limp body from where it had been draped over the bar. He stumbles violently, clearly having had far too much to drink. He bumps into several tables, chairs and people as he clumsily makes his way out of the speakeasy. Alastor finishes the remains of his drink before wishing the bartender a pleasant evening and saunters his way out. As eager as he was to get started, it would look suspicious if he were to just suddenly bolt like a bat out of Hell.
No, Alastor was a patient man and he knew how to take his time to really savor the feel of a hunt.
But he supposed this time it was less about stalking after his prey and more about what he was going to do to him once Alastor caught him. The man was no where near being at his best. Normally Alastor would be grateful for that, inebriation made following after and claiming his prey all the easier. But this was one of the times he wanted his victim to be fully aware of what was happening. Wanted him to understand what the end result would be and how there was nothing he could do about it.
Well, there wasn't any rule in place that said he couldn't let his victim regain their senses. He could wait for the alcohol to completely leave James' system before Alastor began having his fun.
Mimzy knew where to go whenever he asked for her assistance with a hunt. He always parked his car a good distance away from the speakeasy. Not too far to walk, but not close enough to potentially alert the authorities about the establishment. She knew where he wanted his victims to be lured after she made sure to invite them to her juice joint and plied with enough spirits that they wouldn't think twice about where she was leading them when she decided to play the honeypot card.
Mimzy was leaning against the side of the car as James loomed over her, words slurring so bad that Alastor couldn't make out what he was trying to say from this distance. But Mimzy giggled and tittered as if it were just the funniest thing she'd ever heard and pretended to be paying rapt attention to James. People were always so eager to underestimate a person if they played right into the preconceptions others had about them. It was one of Mimzy's greatest strengths, getting others to fall so easily for her feigned air headedness that they didn't realize the danger they were in until it was too late.
Alastor pulled out a small, metal case from the hidden pocket on the inside of his vest. He removed the syringe and tiny vial and plunged the needle into it and pulled the stopper up. When the vial was empty he placed it back into the case, and the case went back into his pocket. He flicked the needle twice and felt his face twist sadistically.
He locked his eyes on James and advanced.
Alastor had just finished laying out the tools he deemed to be necessary for this little procedure when the sound of muffled groaning caught his attention. Ah! Seemed his guest was finally awake. He'd been out for far longer than any of the previous men he'd invited over, but then none of his former guests had been as sloshed as this one. He'd have to remember that for next time. It would be just terrible if his future guests weren't able to shake off the narcotic's effects simply because they'd been a bit too deep in their cups.
Terribly disappointing that is.
He turns around from the table and watches as James tries to blink the weariness from his eyes. He looks dazed and confused, still a little out of it. But that was just fine. He'd be caught up to speed soon enough.
"Oh, good! You're finally awake! I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up," Alastor greets.
James winces at the volume of Alastor's voice and glares once the pain passes. Alastor just smiles down at him.
"My apologies! You're no doubt suffering from a terrible hangover! Though, the blow your head took when you dropped like a sack of bricks probably isn't helping matters either!"
James attempts to rise and demand answers from Alastor. Key word: attempts. He's quick to discover that he can't move due to the restraints around his arms and legs. His arms are held aloft by metal shackles around his wrists and his ankles have been bound with rope. A cloth gag is stuffed between his teeth, preventing him from making any noise other than what sound like muffled insults. Maybe. It's hard to make out.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Alastor held a hand up to his ear condescendingly. "I'm afraid I can't quite understand you my good man! Might you try speaking up a bit?" The muffled yelling gets louder. "Oh! Silly me, of course you can't! That pesky gag is in the way."
When the cloth makes it past his teeth, James attempts to bit him on the hand. But he's still too woozy to use what little control over his body he has properly and misses by a mile. Alastor narrows his eyes at him and his upper lip twitches in irritation.
"Now, is that any way to act? And here I thought you prided yourself on how you appeared to others. Tsk, tsk."
In truth, it doesn't matter how James wishes for others to view him now. Though covered by plaster, Alastor can still see the deep purple bruising caused by you breaking his nose. Rumors regarding that were all over the place with only a few coming anywhere close to the truth and they were immediately dismissed. Most just seemed to find the notion that a woman could dole out violence just as well or better than a man to be absurd.
Alastor was thankfully not most people. It would be hard for him to, considering how often he'd witnessed Mimzy's brutality towards the victims she could handle on her own as well as the aforementioned nose breaking you'd done.
He snickered to himself as he pulled black leather gloves on over his hands. Something about them just made what he was doing feel all the more thrilling. And anything that could further enhance his enjoyment of his work was more than welcome.
James works his jaw in an attempt to loosen it up. "Who- Who the Hell do you think you are? Do you have any idea who I am?"
Alastor's fingers brush against the tools lined up across the table. So many ways to make this worm hurt. But what to start with?
"Of course I know who you are," he proclaims excitedly. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Alastor picks up a hammer and stares at it in contemplation for a moment before shaking his head and setting it back down. Though the pain would be immediate, quick wasn't what he was going for with this victim. His suffering needed to be long and drawn out before Alastor would be satisfied.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not surprised you don't understand, given how you seem to lack a brain to think with!" Hacksaw? No. There'd be lingering pain from the cut off section, but it's kind of a one-and-done type of tool. Knives would be better for carving him up. Small enough to get good and close. "You lack a sense of self-awareness at what you could have possibly done to end up here and that angers me almost as much as the reason for why you're here!"
Ah-ha! Yes, this would do nicely to start with. He wasn't in the mood to listen to the uninspired, clichéd tirade of this simpleton. He could have done this while the man was knocked out, but he wanted to hear his screams of agony. He'd have to ignore any biting, but the gloves would cushion the impact.
Alastor twirls the pliers in his hand as he rounds back on James who flinches at the sudden movement. Alastor doesn't give him time to react as he darts out a hand to pry James' mouth open and latches the pliers around a tooth before yanking it out harshly. It doesn't come out easily and James screams as blood spurts from the hole the tooth leaves behind. The roots are lengthy, extending the extraction by a few more deliciously painful seconds.
"You crazy son of a bitch! What do you-"
Alastor punches James' face hard, agitating the plaster across his nose and causing fresh blood to flow from the nostrils. He grips him tightly by the scalp just like he'd imagined doing at the party when he saw you walk in on his arm.
"My mother was a saint and you'd do well not to insult her. Keep her out of your filthy mouth."
He takes his time with each and every tooth. For some he stops pulling them about halfway and pushes them back down just to start the process all over again. By the time he's done, Alastor has a bowl full of bloody teeth and James has a mouth full of ripped, empty gums that are steadily oozing blood. His voice is hoarse from screaming and he's crying already for all that Alastor hasn't even begun to get to the really fun tools yet.
Mimzy wanders down the stairs and James looks up at the creaking of wood in hopes that he's just been discovered by someone who will want to run away and go get help. That hope is quickly dashed as Mimzy roves her eyes over him before turning to Alastor with a puffy pout.
"You started without me? I'm hurt Alastor. You know how much I like to watch you break them from the get-go."
He chuckles sheepishly. "My apologies, Mimzy dear. I just couldn't stand to hear another word fall from this degenerate's mouth. Especially not when he went and insulted my mother."
Mimzy sucks in a breath. "Ooh, yeah that'll do it." She giggles as she sets up a chair to get a good view of the carnage soon to follow. "Strangers like him have no right talking about your mother as if they knew her!"
"Quite right." He contemplates ripping James' finger and toenails out, before deciding against it. He couldn't have his guest getting too used to the sensation of one tool, now could he? He might revisit the idea later, but for now he was moving on to the next instrument.
It was remarkable what he'd come across over the length of his killing career. The thumbscrew had been a gift from an acquaintance some time back. At the time he'd found it quite the odd gift to give someone, but he'd eventually found a use for it.
He'd removed James' shoes so that on the off chance the man managed to wriggle out of his bonds, he'd have quite the time trying to make the trek back to civilization. Time Alastor would have gleefully spent tracking and hunting him for sport. Like the streets of his beloved city, Alastor knew the woods surrounding his cabin better than anyone. And he wasn't a bad shot with a shotgun either. Sometimes he allowed his prey to escape the confines of the cabin's basement so that he could enjoy the thrill of the hunt in a more traditional way, but now wasn't one of those times.
James thrashed as best he could when Alastor brought the chunk of metal out and grasped on of his bound feet tightly. But no amount of fighting put up did him any good. Alastor placed the pinky toe into the contraption and twisted and twisted until the familiar sound of bone snapping was heard. James screamed hoarsely and Alastor didn't doubt that the man would lose his voice entirely before he was done with him. He repeated the process with all nine other toes.
Alastor stood up from his hunched over position and cracked his spine pleasantly. "Are you enjoying yourself, Mimzy? This isn't too dull for you?"
Mimzy looked up from where she'd been filing her nails. "Nothing like that, Alastor! But you know me, I prefer it when they're finished off quick and messy. I don't have the patience to take my time like you do. But it's still fun to watch!"
"Wonderful," he laughs. "But do feel free to head back upstairs if you find yourself getting bored. I have a bottle of rye, a few new books and the radio, of course, to keep you entertained if this doesn't!"
"You're a gem, Alastor!"
"Now then," Alastor says darkly as he looms over James' trembling form. "Where were we?"
Mimzy did eventually go back upstairs, not due to boredom but because unlike him she needed more than four hours of sleep to function properly. He bid her goodnight as he looked down at the broken, bleeding mess that was one James Vaughn.
As Alastor had suspected, the man ended up losing his voice as the night progressed into the wee hours of the morning. He was cut up, bruised, and sporting even more broken bones that he had been earlier. Alastor had gone back to the idea of ripping his nails out with the pliers and it was especially painful when he went back to James' toes. He'd made sure to grip the broken digits tightly as he yanked out each nail.
The hammer had eventually come into play when he was debating what to do about the man's hands. He'd briefly let his eyes wander back to the hacksaw before dismissing the tool entirely. It wasn't something he wanted to use tonight. Instead, he'd grabbed the hammer and pinned James' hands to the wall as he took swing after swing to his fingers, crushing the bones into itty bitty fragments. He took a similar approach to the man's arms and legs, but instead used a mallet for them.
He'd broken his guest so beautifully, and now there was one last thing to do. At some point James had passed out from the pain of torture, but that hadn't stopped Alastor from having his fun. Now, as he brandished his serrated hunting knife, the fun would soon have to come to an end. Mimzy would be upset that she missed it, but Alastor was sure she'd figure out a way for him to make it up to her.
He unbuttoned James' ruined dress shirt to better access the bruising flesh underneath. With how slumped over he was, Alastor was going to have a difficult time with the next step. But fortunately, the chains attached to the shackles around James' wrists were attached to a large overhead pulley system that allowed Alastor to hoist the man fully into the air. Like this, James resembled one of the large slabs of meat suspended on a hook at the butchers. Alastor found that he quite liked the comparison for some strange reason.
The knife tore through flesh as easily as it always had. From sternum to pelvis, Alastor dragged the knife down, down, down. Blood gushed from the freshly made wound and even in his unconscious state James managed to cough up enough that it dribbled from his mouth in rivulets.
From there, Alastor proceeded to live up to his moniker as the Bayou Butcher. He hacked and slashed away at the torso, jabbing the knife deep into the hole he'd made until every last internal organ was turned into bloody chunks and began to spill out in a heaping mess.
Blood and stray chunks of viscera decorated the front of Alastor's clothing and he briefly lamented the fact that it was going to take ages to get the stains out. A shame he didn't have a little helper with a penchant for cleaning up messes of all sorts. Now that would be a godsend.
Alastor stepped back and admired the results of his efforts. Like all the others, this body would be wrapped up in canvas tarp and the dumped a good distance away from his little sanctuary. He saw a new installment of his broadcasts following the dreaded Bayou Butcher's movements in his future.
He held a bloody hand up to his cheek and paid no mind to the additional gore he was streaking across his face.
He wondered how you would react to the news of the worm's passing. Would you be delighted? Horrified? Some bizarre mix of the two? He wanted to know. He wanted to see what your reaction to this would be.
After all, the offing of this miserable soul had been dedicated to you.
You feel a surge of power flow through you and it's almost enough to distract you from the crazy bitch currently trying to plunge a knife into your chest.
Almost.
Chapter End Notes
Cliff Hanger, hanging from a cliff~
And that's why he's called Cliff Hanger~
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You
Chapter Notes
Here we are, finishing that cliff hanger.
I wonder if anyone can figure out what it is I'm doing with a specific character.
More of a relaxed atmosphere from the last chapter because that's just how a lot of slow build stories are. But I guess it also depends on the context of the world they take place in and right now reader is in a relaxed location.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The days following that Godawful party were spent in relative mundanity for you. You returned the dress to Christine who eagerly gushed about how pretty you'd looked swaying about on the dance floor with your "gentleman suitor." You could only smile politely as you refused to comment on that statement. Nothing you said would convince any of these women that you and Alastor weren't involved with each other, so you didn't see the point in even putting up a token amount of denial. People would think what they would even if evidence to the contrary was staring at them point blank in the face.
Thanks to Jenna's generous donation to your slowly but ever-growing collection of souls, the telekinesis spell's drain had been reduced to a mere trickle of energy lost. You figured it wouldn't be long before you couldn't feel a loss of energy at all and had already been looking into which spell you would be practicing with next, though you hadn't settled on one just yet. It was still so incredible to you just how much of a boost even just one soul gave you. And it also made you marvel at just how much magical power an Ars Goetia must possess for that boost to still not be enough to push you further up the middle of the "easy" spell list.
Putting that aside, the constant giggled whispering of just how darling you and Alastor looked while dancing together wasn't grating on only you. You'd been fully expecting Louise to confront you about the dress by at most the morning after the party, but she's stayed mum about the matter entirely. In fact, she's now actively going out of her way to avoid being in your presence whether someone else is there as well or not. And it wasn't that she wasn't avoiding you after you'd bitten back when she tried you the first time, but she's become a lot more obvious about it over the past few days. It probably has something to do with the constant talk about the object of her obvious – and unreciprocated – affections happily spending his time with you.
You can't imagine the kind of beating her pride has taken. And you don't care. If she wanted to be viewed as someone to sympathize with then she should have been a more pleasant person. No one is that unpleasant by nature, she chose to act the way she did and the consequences of her doing so are you and your fellow housemates just not giving a shit about her wellbeing in the slightest. It might sound cruel, but that's just how that sort of thing works. Be kind, get kindness back. Be a bitch, get the cold shoulder.
In any case, with the confrontation you were fully expecting looking like it just wasn't going to happen, you found that you could breathe a bit easier. You hadn't been worried about what Louise might have tried to do, you were just glad that you didn't have to brace yourself to talk with her.
Speaking of not talking with someone, Jenna had unfortunately told you in the brief moment she was able to sneak away from her parents that she wasn't allowed to associate with you anymore. You punching James in the face hadn't gone over well with them it seemed. And now they were in some sort of silent feud with James' parents and Jenna had burst into tears when telling you about it. From the greeting they gave her at the party, you could tell that Jenna was very close to and loved her aunt and uncle very much. Them not being on speaking terms with her parents meant that they couldn't speak with her either. Her parents wouldn't allow it.
"I don't blame you," she'd said all watery. "Plenty of people saw how rough James was with you when he took you out of the hall and word got back to my family about it. I don't know exactly what he did that made you punch him, but too many people saying that he was being less than gentlemanly towards you makes me think the worst. I'd like to be able to repay you for the favor you did me, as bad as it ended, but with my parents forbidding me from associating with you, I don't think that will be possible. I'm sorry."
You waved off her apologies with an air of understanding. Unfortunately for poor Jenna, she'd already given you what you were after. New power coursed through you and it felt as good as ever. Her soul was yours now. You'd maybe feel guilty for tricking such a genuine person into selling you their soul if the night hadn't gone as bad as it had. You'd honestly been seriously considering asking for something else, something tangible, before that shit show went down. But the night had been a fiasco, more so than what you'd been expecting, so you felt that Jenna's soul was the most that anything could be done to try and make things right with you.
Before she left, Jenna warned you about James sniffing around for you. She'd overheard her parents lamenting the fact that her aunt and uncle had barred him from returning home until he found you and brought you back with him to be properly apologized to. They didn't feel that such a "vulgar woman" should be allowed anywhere near their precious nephew after what you did to him. You internally scoffed at that and thanked Jenna for the information before watching her leave. She'd walked to the boarding house so as not to alert her parents as to what her plans for the day had been.
It was a shame that someone so kind had such frigid stiffs for parents. A shame that her life was theirs to command as they saw fit and that she felt like she couldn't do a thing to argue against their decisions. Coming to see you was probably the first act of rebellion she'd ever made against them, small though it may be. You turn to head back inside but pause mid step. You whip your head back around and scan the area over several times but always come up empty. You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you walk backwards into the house.
Someone was watching you.
The feeling of eyes on you persisted even through your firmly shut curtains. It wasn't a consistent feeling either. There were enough times over the next few days where the unsettling sensation went away completely, only to return later at varying lengths of time. Clearly whoever was keeping an eye on you didn't want you to catch onto the fact that they were doing so. Well, they'd already failed. You weren't sure how you'd been alerted to the fact that you were being watched, but you were grateful for it. Imagine if you'd felt confident enough that you were alone and decided to do magic in public for some reason only to come to the horrifying realization that you weren't. Magic is great and super useful for getting rid of unwanted pests. But if you had no idea there was a pest to be rid of in the first place, then it didn't really do you much good when the unknown pest could get away right under your nose and start blabbing about what they'd seen.
It was anyone's guess if they'd be believed, but it could get enough people wary enough to start keeping an eye on you. And of course the ladies at the boarding house would eventually find out somehow and keep a vigilant eye out for any creeps and keep an eye on you for safety. Some of them could even propose that they sleep in your room with you or you sleep in their rooms with them and then there goes your nighttime practice sessions.
So thanks whatever made you aware of your little stalker. Things could have gotten bad if you'd gone on ignorant to them.
But just because you were now aware of them doesn't mean that you could just do something about it right away. All you know is that the sensation of being watched goes away for a little while before returning. That could mean that it's one person doing their best to keep an eye on you while also going about their day. It could also mean that there are multiple people watching you and that they switch places with each other randomly to further try and avoid detection. You can't recall seeing any recurring faces over the past few days while you were out, but that didn't mean a thing. Memory was notoriously unreliable, especially when you needed it. That's why you'd gotten ahold of a journal some weeks ago and wrote down everything you could remember about Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. Just for future reference. Hey, you have nearly a century before either show's canon starts, you are not going to be able to mentally hold onto this information for almost one hundred years.
It's not like anyone could get to it when it's safely tucked away into your shadow. And even if they could, it wouldn't mean anything to them. They'd probably just think you were crazy or something along those lines. Still, you'd be keeping that journal as close to you as physically possible and would not be transferring the information to digital once the technology was available. You just know a certain future television headed voyeur with no regard for anyone's privacy but his own wouldn't be able to keep his nonexistent nose out of your business if he registered the information he'd be seeing. No. It stays on paper so you can trash it easily should you ever need to for whatever reason.
But back to the current voyeur(s?) that you're annoyed with. The longest you've felt their searing gaze in your direction was at night. You'd taken to draping your blanket over the curtain rod for as long as you practice so as to bring the chance of them seeing what little light the telekinesis spell produces down to the absolute minimum. Their persistent spying was starting to get in the way of your training and that you weren't going to stand for it. Which is why you are getting ready to head out for the evening on one of the nights not designated to go visit a speakeasy. The girls had tried to get you to come along again, but you turned them down in an effort to avoid running into Alastor.
And just look at how well that turned out.
Louise still watched the door like a hawk until she grew too tired to do so and headed back to her room to sleep. You could hear her now, yawning and trudging up the stairs. You waited until her door closed and you could just barely manage to make out the telltale snores she let out. Seriously, the ladies on that floor must be able to sleep through anything by now if they can sleep through Louise's snoring.
You slink as quietly to the front door as you can, ducking briefly into the shadows just to avoid stepping on any floorboards that felt like being particularly squeaky tonight. You were tempted to use them to bypass the front door entirely, but that would have defeated the purpose of making sure your stalker saw you leave the house. You needed to get them to follow you to a more isolated area and they couldn't very well do that if they didn't know that you'd left the house now could they?
As quietly as you could, you opened the front door, thankfully with minimal squeaking. You paused to listen for any signs of movement from the first-floor rooms, but there was nothing. You shut the door just as quietly as you had opened it and make sure to lock it back. The feeling is stronger now, like your little friend is laser focused onto your form. You look back and forth casually as if making sure that no one's around before you head down the stairs and walk off into the night.
It's quiet enough that you can hear them trying to match your footsteps, and you don't clue them in on the fact that you know they're there.
Not yet.
All the twists and turns you take as you lead your hapless tail around by the nose reminds you of your time in Greed when you were the one following others. Except you always made sure that they didn't know for certain if someone was trailing after them. They could be paranoid about it all they like, but they never had any definitive proof of their concerns. Whoever it is that's following you – and it is just one person – is either not very good at it when they don't have a crowd to rely on hiding them, or they've gotten a bit too eager and confident due to the fact that it's nighttime, no one else is around, and you haven't shown any signs that you're aware of their presence.
For fuck's sake you can hear them doing a piss poor job of keeping their laughter muffled! You heard giggles bubble past their lips before they audibly slapped a hand over their mouth! They didn't even attempt to cover their nose! You can feel a grimace stretch across your face and a headache starting to form as your annoyance with your stalker only grows more prominent. They are making a mockery of the word "subtle."
You were already tired of this before you decided to deal with them, now you're just pissed. You whirl around to face whoever had the audacity to creep on you and-
Wait who the fuck is that.
No really. Who the fuck is that?
Your stalker is a woman. She looks like she's around the same height and build as you. She had a small, shallow crowned hat with a veil that fell to her chin. Her dress fell to halfway down her calves and the shoulders of the dress were exaggeratedly puffed. Her shoes looked like they'd seen much better days and you leading her around every which way hadn't done them any favors. She had on delicate looking white gloves to complete the ensemble, but that wasn't what drew your gaze to her hands.
The large knife gripped tightly in one of those gloved hands and glinting in the moonlight was what drew your attention to them.
…okay. So you can get the gist of just what it is this lady wants to do. The only thing you don't understand is why. And maybe there isn't a reason. Alastor certainly wasn't the only serial killer around, you could simply fit the profile of this woman's victims, assuming she actually is a serial killer. If she isn't, then you have no idea what she's targeted you for. Unless you're her first victim. That would explain just how amateurish this whole thing felt. But that angle just doesn't seem right to you.
"Finally," she giggles. "I have you all to myself."
"So you do," you respond casually. "Mind telling me what this is all about? Or do you even have a reason?"
Her little grin drops off her face in a quick hurry and a twisted snarl takes its place. "Oh, I have a reason alright! Everything is all your fault!"
That tells you nothing. That's a nothing answer.
"Uh huh… You know, that doesn't really tell me anything. Also, I don't know you. How could whatever happened to you possibly be my fault?"
You're pretty sure your nonchalance at the whole situation is only pissing her off even more. But who cares? Nothing you said was incorrect, though you doubted she would see it that way given the fact that she's carrying that knife.
"Of course it's your fault! You're the reason he left me," she screeches. "It was all going so perfectly! We'd been spending so much time together and finally I was going to be able to get him all to myself! But then you had to show up and ruin all my hard work! He started avoiding me after he met you! And then when I managed to get him to properly talk to me again, do you know what he told me?! Do you?!"
She isn't actually looking for a response, and you don't give her one. The veil attached to her hat isn't thick enough to hide her face. Her eyes look wild. Crazy even. You'd be afraid for your safety if you were still human.
You still don't know who this woman is. Maybe she's confusing you for someone else?
"He told me that he wasn't going to associate with a woman who felt it was appropriate to verbally harass a complete stranger within moments of meeting them! I wasn't verbally harassing you! You intruded on our date and I rightly told you off for it!"
Date? You never interrupted any- Oh. Wait. Now you recognize her. She's the woman Alastor was having that picnic with in the park when you first arrived here. You'd literally given her no thought whatsoever since the incident. So, Alastor cut her out of his life then, huh? And it looks like she blamed you for her personal failings.
How pathetic.
"And you though what exactly? That killing me would somehow put you back into his good graces? I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't want to associate with someone who kills others when she feels that she's been slighted by them." You think that's probably a lie, but you aren't privy to whatever weird morals Alastor supposedly has so who knows?
"You don't know him! You don't know anything about him!" She brandishes the knife; the light reflects coldly off of it. "I'll make sure you never speak of him again!"
A sudden surge of power distracts you for long enough that this crazy bitch almost manages to plunge the knife into your chest.
Almost.
You were already planning on killing whoever it was that was stalking you, so you don't hesitate to stop her in her tracks with your tendrils. Her eyes nearly bug out of her head and you wrap and limb around her mouth before she can scream. She's looking at you with pure, unadulterated terror in her eyes and you can't blame her for that. You must make for quite a sight with inky black tentacles weaving lazily about your ankles as you look impassively at her. You don't feel like this is someone who'd be willing to strike a deal with you. She was too far gone in her anger towards you and she'd probably just scream obscenities at you and call you the devil incarnate if she could speak right now.
You snap her neck, quick and painless.
The gators would probably appreciate a late-night snack.
You avoid the area where you'd fed that man to the gators earlier this month. You had yet to see any news about the authorities finding any human remains near there, but it was better to play it safe and find a new dumping ground for this corpse. Use the same area too often and people would eventually pick up on that fact. You had faith that you wouldn't be caught, but better safe than sorry.
Instead, you venture further down the riverbank and eventually cross over to the other side of it before travelling even further. You figure the father away from town you feed the gators, the less likely that any remains that don't get eaten will wash up where someone could find them. You find a spot you think is far and good enough and pull the corpse out. You're shocked by how little it feels she weighs. You aren't sure if she actually was just that light, or if you were just that strong. Either way, throwing her into the water below is an easy feat and you watch passively as the gators are alerted to the disturbance in the water and quickly swarm the body.
You wipe your hands together to get off the imaginary dirt and figure it's about time to head back when you hear the sound of a stick snapping underneath someone's foot and two sharp intakes of breath. You whirl around to face the noise and-
Fuck.
A short woman you vaguely recognize for whatever reason stares in shock at the sight of you. She's holding on to the smaller end of what you think is a dead body judging from the way the tarp wrapped around it is stained red. Holding the larger end of the body and with a smile so wide you'd think that Christmas came early is Alastor.
His entire front half is drenched in mostly dried blood. The woman is free of such mess. His smile just gets impossibly bigger when he sees that you recognize him. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no! This is not happening! Please somebody say that this isn't actually happening to you right now!
But it is. No one had been around when you removed the body, you'd made sure of that. But in the moment you'd turned to dump it, Alastor and his companion must have broken through the tree line to dispose of their own body. And caught you tossing yours to the hungry reptiles below. Wonderful. No really, this is exactly what you wanted to happen! Note the heavy sarcasm.
Before you can even contemplate turning your head to look back at the water and wonder if it'd be worth it to swim to the other side, Alastor drops his end of the body – leaving his companion to grunt under the full weight of her half – and he sprints the short distance to get to you and grips you excitedly by the shoulders.
"Of all the places and all the things to be doing, here and this certainly never seemed like ones I'd find you, my dear!"
He's got this demented look in his eye and it's almost as off putting as the unfiltered joy radiating off of his face. He's truly excited that he caught you disposing of that corpse. You can feel what little, delusional scraps of hope you had left that he could still lose interest in you go up in flames.
"If I'd known you were partial to such proclivities," Alastor continues as he slightly shakes in place. "I would have gladly allowed you to participate in my most recent hunt!"
Quick, play dumb! "Mr. Hartfelt, while I can appreciate enthusiasm as much as the next person, I'm afraid I don't understand what's got you so worked up."
The woman let's out a short, scathing laugh. "I'm so sure. Alastor, teel her to stop trying to play dumb; it isn't a good look for her. You and I both know we saw her throw that poor woman's body to the gators clear as day just now."
Alastor briefly takes his attention away from you. "Now Mimzy, there's no need for that sort of tone." And then it's right back on you. "Seeing us must have brought down the rush Miss Mystery was feeling after her kill and you know as well as I that people can do foolish things when coming down from a natural high!"
Mimzy lets the bottom half of the body fall and crosses her arms judgmentally. "Like grabbing some poor girl by the shoulders and getting blood on her shirt?"
Alastor jolts at the reminder that he was holding onto you. "My sincerest of apologies, my dear!" When he removes his hands, streaks of not quite dry blood are left behind.
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Look. Clearly all we're out here doing less than legal things. Can we just agree to say we never saw each other and move on from there?"
"I'm afraid not!" Alastor's cheerful denial overpowers Mimzy's agreement. "How could I possibly forget the sight of you so callously tossing that body as if it were nothing more than a slab of rotten meat down to the gators?! No, no, no, no. Instead, I have a much better idea!"
Alastor holds his arms out wide as if he were presenting some grand thing to you.
"Mimzy's is the best speakeasy in all of New Orleans! Why don't you join me for a night out there and we can discuss matter further?"
You ignore Mimzy squawking with incredulous outrage and stare dully at Alastor. His smile never falters, if anything it grows at the sight of your cold indifference. You could just bail and leave town for good. You could absolutely be gone before anyone realized, especially if you travelled by shadow. Unfortunately, you are a creature of habit and you've already gotten comfortable here. In truth, Alastor is the best possible person who could have stumbled on you disposing of a body.
"Fine," you grit out, ignoring the delight shining in Alastor's eyes.
It's official, you're never going to shake this guy for as long as you're on Earth.
For the sake of canon, you vow to double down on your training as soon as possible.
Chapter End Notes
Reader is going to accept that canon was affected the moment they arrived in this universe whether she likes it or not.
Forced proximity for the win!
Table For Two Sitting Three
Chapter Notes
At last, the plot moves slightly forward.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was unfortunate timing on Alastor's part that led to him having to wait two full weeks until he could properly ask you to accompany him to Mimzy's without having to fret over his plans being upheaved by sudden, unforeseen circumstances. It was almost as if the world itself had resolved to conspire against him in order to keep him from seeing you. But of course that was nothing more than wacky nonsense! As though the world would have a reason to throw a wrench into his plans if it were sapient!
Still, he mused to himself as he checked his wristwatch for the fifth time in as many minutes, it was rather odd all the little coincidences that had popped up that prevented him from going over to the boarding house and asking when you'd be available to spend an evening with him. But it had all sorted itself out in the end and he'd managed to ask you to accompany him with minimal cooing from the other residents. The look of utter disdain you'd given him when he'd asked you in front of them – purposefully done of course – had sent a thrill up his spine.
Your housemates were clearly under the impression that you and he were seeing each other romantically and it just delighted him to no end to further that little misconception. He found it almost as delightful as seeing you hurl that body into the river. And what a sight that had been! You'd tossed the carcass as though it had weighed no more than a handful of grapes and you'd done it so casually as well!
He'll admit that he'd been a tad bit overtaken with enthusiasm at the revelation that there was something that the two of you had in common with one another. True, he doubted that you killed for the same reasons that he did, but that was perfectly fine! He certainly never had a problem with Mimzy's motivations for killing those she did. You'd been tightlipped about what led you to snuffing out that woman's life, but he didn't mind. He'd let you continue on with your mysterious motivations for mutilation. In all honesty, he didn't actually care beyond superficial curiosity. Why you killed was your business but if you ever felt the urge to share he'd gladly lend both his ears for that explanation.
What he was deeply curious about and had wondered that very night – mere hours before he'd encountered you – was what your reaction to the demise of your ill-fated, never be paramour would be. When he'd proudly displayed the mangled remains before he began to dispose of them, your expression had been one of mildly confused disgust, as though you were wondering why he had shown you his most recent handywork. When he'd revealed just who the poor sod laying in slashed up chunks in the hole he'd dug was, your response was very dry. You'd said the bastard had gotten what was coming to him and had left it at that.
Truthfully, he'd been a little put out that you hadn't given a stronger reaction, not that he'd let his disappointment show. He'd been hoping for something. Rage that he'd taken the chance to do the wretch in yourself. Relief that he was dead and wouldn't be bothering you ever again. Jubilation at his demise and perhaps your lovely laugh to accompany the joyous expression. Really, he would have been pleased with any strong reaction. But instead all you'd done was look the corpse over briefly and shrugged your shoulder impassively. You'd then left after he said he'd come asking for you once he was able and the whole encounter had left him feeling incredibly inadequate. Like he'd failed some sort of test and he didn't know why.
The feeling irked him to no end and it irked him even more that he didn't know why he was so bothered.
It was as Alastor checked his watch for the umpteenth time that you finally arrived at the half-secluded table at the very back of the establishment. You pulled your chair out and sat with a huff. It'd been an absolute nightmare to get away from the ladies when it'd been time for you to head out and meet with Alastor. They'd tried to get you to dress up a bit for this little rendezvous and you'd barely managed to escape them. You weren't dressing to impress anyone the last times you'd run into Alastor at a gathering like this and you sure as shit weren't doing it now. You showed up in your regular clothes, the only thing you'd done to "gussy up" was cast the restoration spell so that both you and your clothes would be as clean as they could be. It had been interesting to learn that the spell could be cast on things other than inanimate objects.
Alastor's head snapped up when you slightly bumped the table as you sat down. "Well hello, my dear! Fancy seeing you here!"
"Cut the crap, Mr. Hartfelt. Also, quit calling me that."
Alastor chuckled and leaned a bit closer. "Only if you stop calling me "Mr. Hartfelt." It juts sounds so impersonal, don't you think?"
"That's the idea. I don't want people thinking there's anything "personal" going on between us should they decide to eavesdrop on us." You turn around and glare at the few people who were attempting to do just that. They're quick to turn their attention away from the two of you.
Alastor sighs. "Oh, how you wound me! I thought we'd become rather close despite our short time together, especially considering recent developments."
You want to slap your face and groan irritably. Does he not realize how suggestive that sounded? No, probably not. He isn't one for double entendres of a sexual nature. You know that he's talking about how he discovered you disposing of that body a couple of weeks ago, but the people around you are going to take it out of context should they still be trying to listen in. Ugh. You genuinely wish the earth would open right now and swallow you whole. Maybe that'll be enough to get you back to Hell.
But since God probably hates you for some reason, no such miracle occurs.
You choose to ignore his poorly worded statement. "Will your friend be joining us?"
Alastor leans back and reseats himself properly. "Sadly no. While I may refer to this establishment as Mimzy's, in truth she turned over ownership of it to the current proprietor some years back. She only comes around when she feels like performing."
You look around at the lively atmosphere. "Was it not doing so hot when she decided to cut her losses?"
Alastor laughs. "On the contrary! Mimzy's was – and still is – the most popular juice joint in all of New Orleans!"
"Huh. Then why did she wash her hands of it if business was so good?"
"Simple! Mimzy dear felt the call of the stage! She felt that she was made for bigger and better things, that her talents were better suited for the silver screen! She went off to Hollywood to make her big break!" Alastor's attention is caught by something behind you. "One moment, my dear!"
You don't watch him go. Instead, you wonder just what the fuck it is you're doing here. For someone who want to avoid messing with canon any more than she probably already has, you sure aren't doing a very good job of it. You tell that little voice to shut up and to take a step back to really think about things. You're in agreement with yourself that Alastor is never going to lose interest so long as the two of you are on Earth together. You've come to begrudgingly accept that. However, that doesn't mean he'll be able to keep his interest on you once he's in Hell.
His time of death isn't far off and once he gets down to Hell you know he's going to have his hands full with establishing himself as a threat not to mess with and an individual who refuses to be ignored. Both things will be accomplished through his gruesome radio broadcasts. He'll gain power quickly and establish himself as an Overlord before long. Just how he's going to manage this you don't know. But what you do know is that regardless of when you manage to get back to Hell, Alastor isn't going to have any idea what you look like down there.
Really, all you have to do is bide your time. If you manage to return before he dies, great! You can work on making it impossible for him to find you, assuming the thought even crosses his mind. If you return after, that's fine too! Again, he wouldn't know what you looked like. But you know what he's going to look like and can take measures to avoid him like any other demon with good sense will do once he's a bit more well known. Canon may have been affected slightly by you already due to your interaction with Alastor, but it shouldn't be a problem in the long run. At the least, you're hoping to just be a footnote in his backstory. And at best he'll forget about you entirely once he's thrown into the chaos that is the Pride Ring.
So you're going to stop worrying about how your interacting with Alastor is going to affect things in the far future for now. If all goes according to this new plan, things should mostly right themselves out.
Alastor returns with two wine glasses and a bottle in his hands. "Apologies for my abrupt departure! I requested that Leonard put aside a bottle of wine for us to enjoy this evening once you'd arrived!" He places a glass in front of each of you and pours a modest amount of wine into both. "Now then, where were we?"
"Mimzy handing this place over and going off to Hollywood," you respond as you swirl your glass around before taking a sip. Hm. Bitter, but not unpleasantly so.
"Ah yes! She'd left life here in our lovely city to go pursue her dreams of stardom! With her skills we were both so certain that she'd be a rising star in no time. Sadly, that wasn't the case. Some people just can't recognize talent when they see it, you know? Poor Mimzy kept getting brushed aside as the leading roles she auditioned for were handed off to less talented starlets."
You raise a brow at his choice of words. "Seems a bit judgmental of you to say when you weren't there to see just how talented they actually were in comparison."
Alastor rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah ha! You've got me there, my dear! In truth, I have nothing but Mimzy's word to go off of regarding how talented those other women were. But I do know just how talented Mimzy is and if you saw her perform then you'd understand just how difficult it would be for her to get constantly beat out through talent alone. No, Mimzy was quite certain that the reason she was being looked over was due to Hollywood's "beauty standard" for its stars."
You could see that. Mimzy was by no means an ugly woman, but she didn't fit what those in the beauty industry would refer to as the "standard." As though there actually was such a thing. Bodies came in all shapes and sizes and for a select few to decide that only very specific types of bodies were beautiful had always been disgusting to you.
"So, what? Did she call it quits after one too many rejections?"
Alastor wheezes out a laugh at that!" Ha! Mimzy? Calling it quits! Ha! No, no, no, no. Not Mimzy. No, she decided that if trying to play fair and hope that those blind as bats directors would see the untapped potential in front of them wasn't working, then she'd have to use… Untraditional methods."
Ah. You're pretty sure he means that Mimzy started killing off her competition.
"Before anyone knew it, our dear Mimzy was starring in film after film! She was really starting to make a name for herself, which many journalists called both brave and foolish due to the absolutely horrid actions of an individual known only as "The Starlet Slasher." But she wasn't one to be deterred and continued forward in her career!"
You hum thoughtfully. "So if she was doing so well for herself, why did she come back here?"
Alastor's smile dimmed. It didn't turn into a frown, but it was close enough that you sucked in a sharp, inaudible breath.
"Ah, that. It was truly unfortunate what happened. While in the middle of shooting a scene, an overhead spotlight fell. Mimzy managed to get out of the way enough so that it didn't crush her completely, but her legs were another matter entirely. She would never dance like she used to and her time on the silver screen was tragically cut short. That's another reason why she doesn't come around here very often. She only sings a few numbers on stage and refuses all invitations to dance. Not too many people know of the injury she sustained and she likes to keep it that way."
"Then why tell me about it? I can't imagine she'd appreciate that," you question.
"Hm hm! Think of it as a sign of good faith from her. She's privy to your little secret and know you're privy to hers! She said that she wouldn't mind this one time if someone else was let in on why she doesn't perform like she used to anymore. Said something about how you could consider the two of you square."
She probably just didn't want you to have an excuse to try and shut her up by any means necessary. But you don't say that. You doubt Alastor would take kindly to anyone insulting someone he truly considers a friend no matter how amusing he found them. While you'd resolved to not worry about how these interactions would affect canon anymore, you didn't want to do anything that would make an enemy out of him. The last thing you needed when you inevitably returned to Hell was Alastor having a chip on his shoulder regarding you. You recall that some of the Overlords he'd toppled had been women and while he may not have killed them, being tortured for eternity and having your agony transmitted all over the Pride Ring wasn't something you wanted to experience.
"Alright then," is all you say to that. However… "To completely change the subject, why did you ask me to meet you here? I know it wasn't just to tell me about Mimzy, so what is it?"
Alastor sips at his wine before answering. "I just figured it would be nice for the two of us to start getting to know one another is all. I find you absolutely fascinating, but I don't know a thing about you beyond what little I've stumbled upon!"
"Given that we've only interacted with each other a handful of times – including this one – I'd say not knowing much about each other is to be expected."
"Precisely! I was hoping that we could start spending actual time together whenever we can find openings in our schedules. Barring any unforeseen hiccups popping up, my schedule is relatively simple to work around. What about yours?"
"…I've literally got nothing going on in my life, barring one thing. I generally devote my nights to it. But clearly I'm not opposed to setting it to the side every now and then. As long as you don't try to monopolize my nights then I'd say anytime is good for me."
Alastor chuckles and presses a hand to his cheek as he looks at you through half lidded eyes. "Ever a woman of mystery. No wonder your housemates gifted you that moniker."
You shrug. "Eh. I'd say that it's less that I'm mysterious and more I don't want people to be all up in my personal business. Nothing wrong with wanting to keep things to myself."
"I suppose not," Alastor agrees with an amused grin. "There is obviously one thing I wouldn't want most knowing about me, so I can understand." He claps his hands together. "So then! As long as I don't ask you to accompany me most nights, any other time is fair game to ask?"
You nod. "That's correct, but I still reserve the right to refuse your offers if I really don't feel up to spending time with you. I like my alone time and just because I'm letting you try and get to know me a bit doesn't mean I'm going to give it up completely. That's not going to be an issue for you, is it?"
"Not at all," he lies. He'd very much like to spend as much time getting to know you right away and the limitations you're putting on that grate at him so. But there's eagerness and then there's desperation. And he is not desperate. He'll just have to make you think spending time with him is so much more entertaining than being all by your lonesome. He can be patient. "So, we have a deal then?"
He holds his hand out to you and the noise of the speakeasy fades to nothing. Your blood turns to ice in your veins and your throat feels tight. Oh, he has no idea the danger he's just put himself in by referring to this as a deal. Your skin feels itchy. The kind of itchy that no amount of scratching will get rid of, not even if you were to begin clawing away at your flesh to expose the muscle and bone underneath. You reach out your hand towards Alastor's, black energy crackling around it, invisible to all but you.
And you gently but firmly push his hand down onto the table by the wrist. Alastor watches you with a look of worried confusion.
"More of an agreement, really. One with no strings of any sort attached."
An indulgent smile spreads across Alastor's face, but the confusion remains prevalent in his eyes.
"Very well, my dear. Then we are in agreement."
Like fuck were you going to make any sort of deal with Alastor. As innocuous a deal as this would have been, you have to be extremely careful with him. For all you know, turning that into a deal would have carried over into the afterlife and – assuming he found you in Hell and such a deal did indeed persist – you'd be constantly turning down his attempts to spend time with you down there. Thus further wrecking canon's shit than you might have already. No. You would not be making any deals with Alastor. Not now. Not later. Not ever.
Especially not for his soul. Whoever it was that had Alastor on a leash in the show would have him here too. You taking it for yourself would be like taking a wrecking ball to a house made out of paper mâché. You being the wrecking ball and canon being the house. No. That particular part of canon was going to stay canon. You would not be interfering with it in any way, shape or form. Just thinking about doing it is making you feel queasy. Yeah, no. That was a surefire way to fuck everything up irrevocably in one fell swoop. No thanks.
To take your mind off the hypothetical scenario that would only spell disaster, you sip on your wine until your glass is empty. Alastor, gentleman that he is, refills it posthaste. He tops off his own glass and holds it aloft towards you.
"Such an occasion should be met with a toast, wouldn't you agree? To our newfound camaraderie. May it grow ever strong and remain as such."
You roll your eyes but relent. "Has anyone ever told you that you seem to have a thing for theatrics?" You tap your glass against Alastor's and a tiny chime rings out, only audible to the two of you and just barely. The music is doing its best to drown out any other noise. If you strain you can hear the murmurs of conversation throughout the speakeasy, but nothing is clear.
"Many times throughout my life, yes," Alastor chortles. "And I've no doubt the number will only increase before my time is up."
"Here's hoping that enough people find your antics insufferable enough to say so then."
Alastor laughs heartily at that, head thrown back in wild abandon.
"Such an acerbic tongue you have, my dear! Such barbs you throw out this way and that! If they could do so, I've no doubt I'd be covered in lacerations by now!"
You scoff. "Oh please. Your skin is tougher than that. Not to mention that you enjoy my barbs too much to be hurt by them. Perhaps you ought to brush up on your acting skills if you want me to believe you."
"Now where's the fun in that," he asks coyly as he laces his fingers together under his chin. "For all I know, you'd cease bantering with me altogether if you felt that I truly took offense to your words. But then again, perhaps you'd just double down and flay me open for the world to see with that sword you call a tongue!"
"You say that as though yours isn't as sharp, perhaps even more so. Tell me, how many people have you made cry with your words? Or how often?"
His laughter dies down, but his smile is cheery. "More than I care to admit I'm afraid. And quite often at that. Though I take no pleasure in causing those of the fairer sex such anguish."
"Oh? Should I take that to mean that you're quite the heartbreaker then?"
A finger scratches absentmindedly at Alastor's cheek. "Regrettably, yes. Though I make no effort to give any of them the impression that I'm interested in pursuing them romantically, many of the women I spend time with have deluded themselves into thinking the contrary over the years."
"Hm. Should I expect any of these women to try and give me trouble?"
Alastor shakes his head firmly. "You shouldn't. Most of them I've known for years now and understand that I'm not looking to woo them. However, should you find yourself being accosted by any of them, let me know. I'll set them straight and they'll either rectify their behavior or find themselves no longer a part of my life."
"Just like that, huh? A bit cold of you, don't you think?"
"Perhaps," Alastor acknowledges with a tilt of his head. "But my relationship with these women – as much as it can be called a relationship – is superficial at best. Over the course of my life I have seldom found myself wishing to pursue genuine connection with others. I can count on one hand those who I wish to be close to and still have fingers left over."
"Is that right? Well, I won't begrudge you being careful about who you choose to be close to. Given your… hobby, shall we say?"
"Quite right! Now then," Alastor stretches as he rises from his chair. "The mood is alive and well tonight. What say you and I get out on the dance floor?"
"Your memory must be as terrible as my dancing if you've forgotten the abuse your feet suffered at mine. And that was with a simple waltz! This music is a bit too fast paced for me to do anything other than ruin everyone's night."
"Bushwa! I'll admit that I was a bit concerned about taking you to Mimzy's to dance. She can be a bit harsh in her criticism of the dancing skills of others if they aren't up to snuff-"
"Which mine aren't," you interrupt. "Not by a long shot."
"Which is why," Alastor continues as if you hadn't spoken. "It was a stroke of luck that she wasn't feeling up to coming out tonight. And don't you worry, I'll walk you through the steps and before you know it, you'll be able to Charleston with the best of them!"
You roll your eyes as Alastor takes you by the wrist and pulls you onto the floor. "I highly doubt one night of dance practice is going to make me an expert, no matter how good a teacher you believe yourself to be."
Alastor just chuckles as he takes your hands in his. "Then I suppose our time spent together going forward will be spent mostly dancing with one another. How delightful!"
You groan internally and try not to trample into anyone nearby.
Chapter End Notes
Alastor is going to get himself and several others sent to the hospital to get their broken bones set at this rate. Possibly.
Dim Star
Chapter Notes
This arc is coming to a close soon. Not sure how many chapters left for it, could be as little as one.
Time skip because I don't want to unnecessarily drag shit out. I've read a few long fics that did that and it made me immediate drop them, so I'm trying to avoid that.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
With your newfound acceptance that you wouldn't be able to shake Alastor off in life, things started becoming much more bearable when it came to him. That isn't to say you were suddenly all gung-ho to become the best of buddies with him, but you actively trying to avoid him anymore and getting irritated when he clung to you like a barnacle wasn't something that happened anymore. And it wasn't as though you spent every day with him now. He surprisingly only called on you to accompany him out every few days and it was seldom that he asked you to go out at night. He was incredibly respectful of the boundary you'd set about your nights belonging to you and you alone unless you decided otherwise, as well as the times when you turned his offer to go out down because you just weren't feeling it.
What do you know. The guy wasn't nearly as annoyingly persistent with pushing your boundaries if you gave him just a bit of attention every now and then. If you could, you'd grab past you by the shoulders and shake her violently until she agreed to do things the way you are now. It might have saved you a bit of grief if you had. Might have kept you from getting Alastor's attention firmly stuck on you when he saw you dispose of that body. Oh well. You know what they say about hindsight and all that.
You gripe, but it isn't serious. Mostly. In fact, you'd say that your outings with Alastor have been downright pleasant, save for his insistence on teaching you how to dance. It's been a few months since he'd dragged you onto the dance floor at Mimzy's. You still don't want to show your face anywhere near the area, even in the daylight. You're lucky you hadn't sent anyone to the hospital with your flailing. Alastor had found your display hilarious and laughed with abandon as he spun you around without a care. Yeah. You definitely won't be going back there until you feel like you won't accidentally kill someone with a misstep.
Speaking of the speakeasy's namesake, you actually hadn't seen her since your fateful encounter in the woods all those months ago. Though, given what Alastor had told you about her, it made sense that she might be a bit of a recluse these days. Too prideful to let anyone see just how much like her old self she isn't anymore. Not that you were eager to see her again. Far from it in fact. As minor a character as she'd been – present for all of one episode – you hadn't taken to her like you had others. Unfair to the Mimzy who was undeniably as real as you are? Probably. But she hadn't even personally addressed you during your brief encounter, content with redundantly telling Alastor what she wanted him to relay to you when you could hear her perfectly fine.
You'd thought her character to be a bitch in the show and you thought the person to be a bitch in real life. So yeah, you weren't at all upset that you hadn't seen her hanging around as of late and were perfectly fine with the matter staying that way forever.
So imagine your surprise when you enter the diner Alastor had invited you out to lunch for and you see him sitting at a booth with the woman in question all but glued to his side. He waves when he spots you and gestures for you to come over and sit down. Mimzy narrows her eyes and scowls at you. The foul look vanishes quickly when you sit down and Alastor maneuvers his body to sit properly and face you. Can't have him catching the stank face she's giving you out of the corner of his eye, you guess.
"So glad you could make it, my dear," Alastor says as you sit down. "Why it feels like it's been an age since we last saw one another!"
"We saw each other last week," you dryly reply as you pick up a menu and begin to peruse its contents. All for show of course. Alastor had brought you here enough times already that you knew what you wanted.
"That we did! But then you went and turned down my next invitation for an outing!"
"Like I said, I had something that I needed to attend to. You can go a while without me there to entertain your whims."
"Be that as it may," he brushes off. "I do wish you'd been able to accompany me. You could have been present to witness the process of what I did with my latest catch!"
This again. It's only been a few times, but the nights that Alastor invited you out were so that you could witness him in his element. For some reason he wanted you to bear witness to how he stalked after and caught his victims. Though, calling them victims feels a bit like an oxymoron considering what Alastor told you they'd done to get his eyes on them. The real victims were their wives and lovers who they used and abused so callously. You'd seen him deal with three men so far, all in different ways right up until the very end when Alastor shows exactly why he's called "The Bayou Butcher." Butcher is right. What was left of those men wouldn't look out of place in an actual butcher's shop.
Alastor had told you that normally Mimzy was the one to accompany him when he had a guest over to witness his brutality. You suppose you'd just gotten lucky that she hadn't wanted to help Alastor with his murdering those three times he'd asked you to go with him. But now it looked like that luck had run out. Mimzy had buried her head into a menu when Alastor had started talking with you and hadn't removed it until a waitress had come by the table to take your orders. Now, without the flimsy shield, she had no choice but to acknowledge you. Though you really wish she wouldn't.
"So," Mimzy drawls not sounding at all interested in the conversation she's starting. "Alastor here tells me that you're staying at this boarding house. How's that treating you?"
"Well enough. Most of my housemates are pleasant and I get along with them fine."
"Most? So, are there some you don't get along with?"
You grimace. "One. A woman named Louise."
Alastor makes a small noise of amusement through his nose. "Ah, Louise. Quite the pill, isn't she?"
"Alastor!" Mimzy looks far too pleased for her admonishment to be genuine. "I never thought I'd see the day where you'd have something negative to say about a woman!"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "I may treat the fairer sex far more favorably than I do my fellow men, but that doesn't mean I don't think that some women can't be just as unpleasant as them."
Mimzy giggles behind her hands and flutters her lashes at Alastor. Ugh. You wish you hadn't seen that. You do not want to be a captive audience forced to bear witness to Mimzy flirting with Alastor, genuinely or otherwise. Scenarios like that you couldn't easily escape from made it feel like you were intruding even if the parties involved started their antics in front of others willingly. You'd just really rather not have to see it.
But remember how life likes to shit on you?
"You're such a rapscallion, Alastor! I'm sure that the women you've turned down would be just devastated to know what you really thought of them. You'd have done more than just break their little hearts; you'd have shattered them to pieces!"
Mimzy is twirling a stand of hair around her finger and you're thankful that the waitress chooses that moment to come over with the food. You were struggling not to gag at the display. Alastor doesn't seem to be bothered by it in the slightest. So, either Mimzy is very good at pretending she doesn't actually have a thing for Alastor, he's just oblivious to the sincerity of her actions, or she just wants to make you uncomfortable so you'll leave. Maybe all three. Mimzy is the only one – aside from you now, you guess – that's truly close to Alastor. He doesn't have many people whose company he can genuinely say he enjoys. Maybe he's pretending to not notice that Mimzy's flirtations are real so that he doesn't have to cut off a genuine connection from his life.
You've discovered over the months that Alastor is a very lonely person. Not lonely in the sense that he craves the company of others, but that he is alone. Isolated from those around him seeking for him to let them in. You're pretty sure he prefers it that way too. But if he had to cut someone off that he'd allowed close… Well. You could have just been reading into things when you'd watched the scene, but Alastor had seemed just the slightest bit unhappy to send Mimzy away from the hotel. He hadn't been able to look at her when he'd said it after all.
"Very true, Mimzy dear," Alastor concedes. "Which is why I make it a point not to let them know. Not even Louise, though it's obvious that my years-long absence from visiting the boarding house has done nothing to dissuade her feelings for me. So long as it doesn't become an issue, I see no reason not to let her idle in her fantasies. I've never deigned to spend a significant length of time with her in any case."
"Ah. She's infatuated with the version of you she'd made up in her head," you realize. "She's never gotten to spend enough time with you to even get to know the you that you present to the public. Only snippets."
Mimzy rolls her eyes in annoyance at you. "Yes. Thank you for repeating what he just said. So helpful."
"Now, now," Alastor soothes. "There's nothing wrong with making sure one understands the information presented to them." He turns his attention to you. "You're correct. I've never asked Miss Louise to accompany me and I never will. I can see her immediately taking it the wrong way and I'd like to avoid that altogether. Would make my visits to Mrs. Donahugh a bit awkward if I had to reject the woman she views as a daughter."
Mimzy snorts. "Only if you let it be. The way I see it, you'd be doing yourself a favor in the long run if you just let the little fool know that it's never going to happen between the two of you. You don't need some woman suddenly coming into your life and trying to change things."
Mimzy glares at you as she says this. She's not being subtle about her dislike of you at all. Alastor merely chuckles and pats her on the hand gently.
"You can be so territorial at times! But don't you worry, I would never allow anyone to try and remove you from my life."
Mimzy flushes. "I wasn't talking about me!"
Alastor playfully rolls his eyes and he tucks into his meal. Mimzy shoots another glare your way before doing the same. You figure you may as well make it three for three and stab your fork none too gently into the meal before you. It's fine if Mimzy doesn't like you, you certainly don't like her after all. But she could stand to at least act civilly towards you instead of reacting with such animosity to your presence. You doubt Alastor is actually blind to Mimzy's dislike of you. Perhaps he's hoping the two of you will become friends of some sort? Friendly acquaintances at the very least?
You can't say that you can see that happening. Especially with the way that Mimzy just seems to hate the very idea of another woman cementing herself into Alastor's life in a meaningful way.
And so more months pass. You can say that you've grown quite comfortable with living on Earth again, even if it isn't your Earth. Or the correct time period. Alastor still insists on teaching you how to dance on the majority of your outings together and you can say with confidence that you're actually starting to get better. You certainly don't step on his toes anymore, at the very least. You still won't be dancing in a crowd again anytime soon, but it's progress that you can definitively see you've made and it makes you proud of yourself for going through with it, even if you didn't want to.
Of course, you haven't been wasting the months away with dance lessons. Most nights you've spent exhausting your magical reserves until you were nearly running on empty. Enough that you can feel how drained you'd purposefully made yourself, but never enough that you were at risk of your disguise dropping at an inopportune moment. Wouldn't that just put a damper on things? In addition to your continued magic practice, you've also managed to gain a handful of souls as well. Nothing too major, but enough that you'd finally managed to cross the threshold of the medium "easy" spells and into the very bottom of the hard "easy" spells. It's ridiculously easy to make deals for souls on Earth, especially with those in fear of their lives.
You may have taken a page out of Alastor's book and started listening for whispers of people who were up to less than savory practices. But you didn't limit yourself to only men. Alastor could have his weird set of morals, but you had no issue with going after anyone and everyone partaking in despicable actions. Provided that they could legally be considered adults. You weren't going to target children, that was where you drew the line. Eighteen and up was your victims' age demographic.
Mimzy continued to be a very persistent thorn in your side. You doubted that the two of you were ever going to get along and you were fine with that. What you weren't fine with was all the needling she did to try and get you to snap at her so she could run to Alastor for safety and to possibly convince him that you weren't worth the trouble of having around, but also that the two of them just couldn't let you walk around knowing their secret. She was a conniving little shit and you didn't appreciate it coming from her.
And it wasn't as though she could physically do anything to you anyway. A fact you'd been all too thrilled to let her in on when she'd been running her mouth a little while back. It was one of those rare nights you'd deigned to accompany Alastor and Mimzy just so happened to be present for once. She'd been less than pleased when you'd shown up to the spot Alastor had asked you to meet at.
"Oh, wonderful. And here I thought tonight would be a nice, relaxing evening spent between me and a gentleman. Instead I have to share it with some hussy who doesn't know how to pick up on the fact that nobody wants her around."
You roll your eyes. "You may not want me around. Our mutual acquaintance on the other hand seems keen on spending time with me. And that just burns you up from the inside out, doesn't it? You're so insecure about your place in his life that you'll do anything to make him want to keep you around."
Mimzy's face flushes with rage. "Insecure?! Me?! Insecure?!" The laugh she lets out is not a kind one. It's the kind of laugh that is reminiscent of nails going down a chalkboard. Of a nightmare one can't fully remember aside from how terrified it made them feel. It's a laugh that promises pain. It'd send a chill down your spine if you thought Mimzy posed any threat to you.
She's too short to get up in your face, so Mimzy settles on poking you repeatedly in the chest. "If anyone ought to be insecure about their place in Alastor's life, it's you sweetie. All it'll take is a few words from me and you'll be out of his life for good. And your own."
You pluck her wrist out of the air harshly and lean down to get right up in her face. "Then why haven't you already? Let me answer that for you. Because Alastor finds me far too interesting to let me go simply because you don't like me. Sure, you've known him longer than I have. That just means you know better than anyone that Alastor doesn't do anything that he doesn't want to do. You're no threat to me and you know it."
You release Mimzy's wrist as you hear the sounds of something being dragged coming closer to where you are. It's Alastor dragging the unconscious form of his latest victim by the underarms. The man is a great deal larger than the usual targets. Not so large that he won't fit in the trunk, though it'll be a tight squeeze. You side eye Mimzy as she opens the trunk and get a funny little idea. Alastor has paused in his dragging to take a few breaths. You doubt it's easy lugging such a large amount of dead weight without being seen. So you figure you'll help him out a bit.
You pick up the man with one hand and stuff him into the trunk of the car with no issue. You shut it firmly and side eye Mimzy with a nasty smirk etched across your face. Perhaps a reminder that you could end her with no effort would get her to behave better. She gawks at you with wide eyes before she huffs and crosses her arms. She climbs into the backseat and slams the door.
"Thank you for that," Alastor wheezes out as he still tries to catch his breath. "Despite his drunken state, the buffoon nearly caught me tailing him and I was forced to put him under much sooner than anticipated."
You wave him off. "Not a problem. Let's get going before he wakes up, yeah?"
The drive to Alastor's cabin is spent in tense silence. Well, tense for Mimzy anyway. You and Alastor spend the drive in comfortable silence with a bit of commentary every so often. When you arrive, it isn't a chore for you to get the man down to the basement despite Alastor's insistence that he could do it. It's not that you don't believe him, he's been doing this for a while after all. But a man this size wouldn't stay down for long and as disoriented as he may wake up, he'd also be waking up pissed off and it would be better for Alastor if he got him restrained as soon as possible.
You aren't interested in watching the process this time. Really you hadn't been interested in watching it the last three times either, but you'd stuck around because Alastor had kept prodding at you to do so. But you weren't about to stick around in a confined space with Mimzy for any longer than you'd absolutely had to. She could watch and enjoy the process all she cared to. You were going to hang around upstairs for once and maybe snoop around a little. You've become a bit nosey thanks to your months spent as a mafia spy, so what? You already knew Alastor's dirtiest secret. You doubted anything hidden you might stumble across would be anything that could shock you.
The small living room didn't hold much in it. A couch, a fireplace and hearth, knickknacks along said hearth, a little bookshelf full of titles that held no interest to you. The picture sitting in the center of the hearth portrayed a much younger Alastor and a woman who you could only assume was his mother. You doubted it was anyone else. The two of them looked happy in this frozen moment in time. From what you'd learned about her over the months from Alastor, his mother had been a kind and gentle soul. Undeserving of the cruelty life had heaped upon her in the form of her abusive husband. The man had been a fan of using his fists when he was angry, and if that just didn't explain why Alastor despised the feeling of another's hands upon him without permission.
You didn't doubt the man had gone to Hell. Whether or not he was still around or if he'd succumbed to an Exorcist's blade some years ago was the question. One you didn't care to have answered. If he was still kicking, you felt that Alastor would eventually find him once he got down there himself. Wouldn't it be some kind of poetic justice if one of the first victims of his hellish broadcasts was Alastor's own father?
The kitchen also held no interest to you. You'd spent enough time in there watching Alastor prepare a meal after a satisfying kill that if there had been anything to discover, you would have by now. The only place you hadn't actually been was the singular bedroom the cabin held. Alastor's bedroom, obviously. And maybe you'd feel some sense of guilt over rifling through his personal space if it wasn't for the fact that the man held no regard for the personal space of others. You pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Nothing immediately jumped out to you as odd. It was just a bedroom. There was a bed – duh – that looked like it could comfortably fit two people, a wardrobe no doubt full of clothes for Alastor to change into once his bloody business had concluded, and a small nightstand. There was a bookmarked novel sitting atop it. Again, not something you personally were interested in. It was only as you were placing the novel back down that you noticed the nightstand had a drawer that was opened ever so slightly. You pulled it open to see what was inside.
Nothing but old newspaper clippings. The articles had been meticulously cut out. The utmost care had been put into removing them from the greater whole of the papers they had been taken from. You picked them up and began to shuffle through them leisurely. All of them either mentioned something about Mimzy's acting career in Hollywood or the movements of the Starlet Slasher. Alastor had been keeping up with both of Mimzy's exploits it seemed. You bet she'd just be all sorts of flattered if she knew he had these. As you put them back in the drawer, one of the articles flutters out of the pile and lands face down on the floor. You huff and crouch down to retrieve it. You flip it over to see which article fell out.
A Star Has Faded
Tragedy struck earlier this week when a spotlight gave way during a routine line reading at United Artists Studios, crushing rising starlet Mimzy Bordeaux. Miss Bordeaux was pronounced dead on the scene. A small ceremony for Miss Bordeaux will be held later thing week to celebrate the life of the young actress that was taken from this world far too soon. Miss Bordeaux leaves behind no surviving relatives.
You didn't notice your grip on the paper had gotten so tight until it began to wrinkle in your grasp. You gasp and loosen your grip. What the fuck. Mimzy was dead? And from when this article was dated, it's been for quite a while! But that doesn't make any sense. You literally just saw her downstairs! Or did you? Hell is real here and it's no secret to you that demons can disguise themselves to look human. You played around with the disguise spell enough to learn that the look it gives isn't set in stone.
The door shuts firmly behind you and you whip your head around. "Mimzy" stares vacantly at you, and then at the article in your hand before locking eyes with you again.
"You weren't supposed to see that," she says hollowly.
Before you can even think of how to respond to this situation, "Mimzy's" body ripples, elongates and turns pitch black as she lunges towards you.
You land heavily on your back and bring your hands up in time to latch onto the shoulders of a snarling shadow determined to bite your face off.
Chapter End Notes
Mimzy's wiki states that she dies sometime in the 1920s. Anywhere from 1920 - 1929 is her death year.
I've also stated at least two times that Alastor's time of death isn't far off.
I like twisty shit like this, but I'm not sure how well I pulled it off.
Exit Stage Left
Chapter Notes
Explanations incoming.
But also more questions maybe?
:)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In a time before he was he, he was it. And it was fine with that. It didn't have a choice but to be fine with that, seeing as how it had no capacity for thoughts, wants or desires before it became he. Its existence was one of simplicity, it had only one purpose to fulfill and it did so with no need for any input from it. Because, again, it couldn't do anything aside from its one purpose. And that was to reflect the one it was attached to. Not with the clarity of a reflective surface, such as a mirror, but instead to reflect the shape of the one it had been bound to since their birth.
It had been there since the very beginning of its master's life. All the way back since its master first emerged from his mother's womb. A naked, squealing, wrinkly thing that only quieted when placed against her chest and was soothed by the sound of her heartbeat. It master didn't really do much for a time and if it had been capable of feeling anything in the beginning, it would have been quite bored with how little its master moved about. But the stationary days didn't last forever and its master eventually began to move about on his own. From crawling, to toddling, to walking, it had been there to witness every moment. He feels a sense of pride when he looks back on this, but when he was still it, it felt nothing. It could not.
For a long, long, long time – or so it seemed to it – it was just it, its master, and its master's mother. And to it, the two of them seemed quite content with this arrangement. The two of them spent their days in relative peace and happiness with one another. True, there were days when things weren't so happy for the both of them, like when its master would get into altercations with others his age at the school. Its master's mother always looked at a loss at what to do whenever it happened. She had not many she could call friends, but one always came when she needed her to. Its master was fond of this other woman. Not as fond of her as he was his mother, but fond, nonetheless.
When he looks back on those days, he wishes that the problems his master faced could have always remained so simple. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, for there was another that made their way into its master's life after he had already grown quite a bit. "Father," the man demanded to be called when its master came home one day to find a strange man he'd never seen before taking up space in the living room, his mother off to the side in her own chair gripping a teacup so hard her knuckles were white. If it had been capable of thought at the time, it would have immediately been put on edge and hated the man for his intrusion into its master and its master's mother's lives.
Where the man had been up until that point in its master's life, it didn't know. It didn't care. It didn't have the capacity to do so. And when it became he, he still didn't care. But not because it lacked the ability to. The man was scum, truly. He took and took from its master's mother and seldom gave back. And when he did, it wasn't nearly enough. The man drank away what little money its master's mother was able to earn that he could get his hands on. He always returned to the house in a drunken stupor and those were the nights that its master and its master's mother dreaded the most.
The man had quite the unruly temper and a nasty habit of taking it out on its master and its master's mother. Sometimes it was just shouting, maybe a few thrown objects here and there. But mostly, the man took his anger out on them with his fists, screaming all sorts of abuse at them as he landed blow after blow on them. Even as drunk as he was whenever he allowed his temper to boil over, the man tried to land his hits where they could be easily covered up. A senseless attempt to save face. The looks of pity given to its master and its master's mother by their neighbors spoke of how they all knew of what was going on in that house.
Time passed and its master grew. He wasn't a boy any longer, but neither was he quite a man just yet. It would be just a few short years before he could be called as such. The abuse didn't lessen with time. The man never suddenly grew a conscience or felt any sense of guilt at what he had done – and continued to do – to its master and its master's mother. Its master had taken up diverting the man's attention away from his mother whenever he could, taking extra beating after extra beating, but it wasn't enough. The man would still turn his rage on her when its master was too weak to defend her.
The man wasn't always in a state of drunken rage. When he'd first arrived, he'd put up the façade of being a caring and doting father, if not just a bit on the firmer side. He had been the one to teach its master about the thrill of the hunt. The one who had taken its master out in the woods one cold October morning and assisted its master in killing his first deer. The one who had taught his master the proper way to hold, point and shoot a gun. The very gun held firmly in its master's hands as he shook with rage, unable to take the constant abuse at the hands of the man any longer.
Its master kicked the door to his mother's bedroom – only his mother's bedroom never hers and that man's – to the sight of his mother curled up on the floor with her hands held defensively over her face as the man kicked and screamed at her. Its master didn't give the man the chance to take in what was about to happen before he held the gun aloft and fired two shots into the man's head. A large hole was all that remained of the man's face as his lifeless body tilted over and hit the floor with a heavy thud. Its master was breathing heavily, a snarl etched across his face and angry tears dripping from his eyes.
Its master set the gun down and gently helped his mother to her feet. He very carefully made sure that she wouldn't turn her head to look at the mess its master had just made. Instead, its master hugged his mother close and she gripped him tight as she sobbed apologies into its master's shoulder. Its master made soothing shushing noises as he failed to keep his own sobbing in check. The bedroom was a mess and not fit for sleeping in, so its master directed his mother to sleep in his room for the night while he cleaned up. No one would look for the man, no one would care beyond a passing thought about what happened to him. He died as he lived, an unwanted, unloved wretch.
That night, as its master was burying the remains a ways away from the house in the woods, it felt something in the air shift. He didn't understand religion when he was it, and still didn't. But when its master prayed to the deities he and his mother worshipped, offering the man to them, it felt something about it change. Nothing major, not right away, but enough to know that it felt and the understanding that it had never done so before. But it didn't question the sensation, didn't even think to. Didn't realize that thinking was something it hadn't done before either.
Life after that was nearly as it was before the man came into its master and its master's mother's lives. The looks of pity and guilt still persisted on their neighbors' faces, and this time it felt a twinge of anger at them. How dare they look at them like that when they had done nothing to try and help the situation. Its master and its master's mother didn't need their misplaced feelings of remorse. They'd done just fine without their aid – for all that they had no choice but to go without – and the man being gone wouldn't change that.
Though it didn't notice the change occurring in it, it noticed the change going on in its master over the years after the incident. Its master had always been a cheerful looking boy despite the hardships he'd faced, but as a man it seemed as though the smile hardly ever left his face. Its master's mother had always said that one was never fully dressed without a smile, and with the man gone its master had all the more reason to proudly wear one. It certainly made him appear more approachable to others. Especially one in particular, though it didn't know how it felt about that.
Mimzy had always been the girl that everyone knew, personally or otherwise. It would wager that she was almost as much of a troublemaker as its master had been in his younger days. And something about her just drew its master in, more so than the other young ladies he deigned to give the time of day. A fact that it knew Mimzy loved to flaunt in their faces when its master wasn't looking. It could tell that she was just as infatuated with its master as any of the other young ladies but had the good sense to keep it to herself after its master lamented one too many times about how difficult some of the ladies had been in accepting his rejection of their affections. For all that its master was smart, he sure could be oblivious to the obvious.
Its master and Mimzy got along like a house on fire and the inferno only raged higher the first time she had come running to its master for help regarding a "gentleman" suitor who wasn't keen on taking no for an answer. Mimzy's face had been swollen with the beginnings of a bruise starting to form. Her mascara ran down her face in tracks from how much she'd been crying. Its master held her close and whispered soothing words before promising that he'd handle it with a dark gleam in his eye. Mimzy didn't question what he'd meant by that, content to allow a fresh set of tears to fall in gratitude.
And that was how the serial killer known as "The Bayou Butcher" made his debut in the fine city of New Orleans. It was nowhere near the quality that its master would later be known for, not by a long shot. But that was to be expected considering it had been the first time its master had ended another's life using nothing but his hands and his trusty hunting knife. Mimzy found out because its master had been terrible in hiding his bloodlust from her and though she wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer she could still put two and two together.
And instead of her being horrified by its master's actions and reporting him to the authorities, Mimzy had been grateful. Abundantly so. And incredibly insistent on helping its master continue this sort of work. It didn't have an opinion one way or the other on what its master chose to do. It would follow him faithfully regardless of his decision. And in between all the murdering, its master managed to pursue another passion of his and landed a job at a local radio station. Not as one of the hosts but working in the mailroom distributing packages and letters throughout the studio.
It should be noted that with every murder – every sacrifice – the change withing it grew larger and larger until one day it discovered that it could detach itself from its master entirely. It was not a welcome revelation, at first. It had experienced horror for the first time in its existence at the fact that it no longer had to be bound to its master as it had been from the day of his birth up until that point. It clung heavily to its master's form for weeks after that unwelcome discovery. It only calmed down and started to see how this new situation could benefit its master when it overheard the conversation between him and one of his many unpleasant coworkers.
The only way its master would ever make it into radio was if one of the current hosts could no longer perform, huh? And this is where it began to truly begin thinking for itself. And it thought, wouldn't it be a shame if something were to happen to the coworker who'd so rudely tried to stomp out its master's desire? Wouldn't it be deliciously ironic for the one to reveal that little tidbit be the host who could no longer perform? It was unused to having a sense of humor, so the rasping chuckle it let out startled it a bit.
It was with little difficulty that it was able to track the unpleasant coworker down. Easier still to shove his shadow harshly as he drunkenly made his way down a flight of stairs. Late as it was, no one would come across the man until well into the morning. His head had been cut open thanks to the fall and was bleeding severely, but it was impatient. So it grabbed the man's shadow by the head and twisted until the flesh matched the shadow and a sickening crack was heard, followed by the light leaving the man's eyes. Its master would get what he desired.
And the people loved its master. As they rightfully should. Its master was wonderful, kind, caring, dedicated to the safety of the good people of the city in ways that law enforcement claimed to be but wasn't. It couldn't help but find amusement in its master reporting on his own crimes and how the authorities were doing everything they could to track the madman down and bring him to justice. It was nothing short of hysterical how the culprit the bulls were losing their heads over trying to find was right under their noses, but they just couldn't figure it out!
And then Mimzy went away to pursue her dream of being a star on the silver screen. Its master had been a bit sad – not that he'd shown it – to see his one and only confidant leave, but he saw her off with a smile saying that Hollywood would surely recognize true talent when they saw it. But they didn't. Not for a long while until Mimzy took matters into her own hands. And then there wasn't an audition she attended where she didn't get the role she wanted. And life was good for the both of them, getting to live out their dreams with a bit of murder here and there.
And then life wasn't so good. Its master had taken to cutting out any mention of Mimzy in the papers, whether it be about her acting career or her less than savory activities. He scoured the paper each and every day for the barest mention of her to add to his growing pile of articles. But this one had been different from all the others, and much more final. It was an accident, one that wasn't really anyone's fault, save for perhaps the ones in charge of making sure everything was running smoothly on all ends. But that didn't change the fact that the only person in the world who understood its master's darker proclivities was dead and gone.
Its master fell into a kind of despair, one unseen by everyone save for it and his mother. She tried to do her best to console him, but over the years she'd grown frailer and frailer. She'd been ill for quite some time at that point and though its master did his best to care for her on top of everything else, she too passed away eventually. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. Its master called out of work for the first time ever to take care of the funeral preparations. When the last of the dirt had covered the hole and the last of the well wishers left, only then did its master allow himself to break down.
He smiled through his tears, but it was a pain filled expression. It had gotten very good at sensing its master's thoughts, seeing as how it was an extension of him, and thus could feel as the despair of losing the only two people in the world he truly cared about in some way beginning to overtake him. Could feel its master's desire to live wane. So, in a fit of desperation on its part, it may have done something one might call "drastic." Along with gaining sentience and sapience, it had also acquired a bit of power that allowed it to interact with the world through more than just shadows.
It was child's play to delve into the minds of others and… rewrite a certain memory. Mimzy's body hadn't come back to New Orleans, it was buried somewhere in California. So it made sense to rewrite the details of her death to be a career ending accident that she had only just managed to recover from. Everyone who knew Mimzy had been so happy to see that she was back in town, especially its master. The only tie he had left in the world had come back home after she'd finally healed from her accident to comfort him in his time of need. It had spent enough time around the woman to play its part perfectly.
And though life would no longer be as perfect as it once was, its master no longer longed for the release of death, whether it be by his own hands or one of his marks. It made sure that no one would notice its master's lack of a shadow when it was out and about as "Mimzy." That would draw unnecessary attention to him after all. It assisted its master in his hunts as she once had and things were beginning to return to some semblance of normal when suddenly they weren't. Suddenly its master had a new fixation on his hands.
Suddenly you were there.
It had dismissed you at first, seeing you as nothing more than a chance encounter in a city with hundreds of thousands of residents. Its master surely wouldn't run into you again and you would merely be an oddly entertaining but fleeting memory in his mind. Except you hadn't ended up being nothing more than a memory. No, instead you had to show up at the speakeasy where its master was having such a horrible time until sweet Kimberly managed to steal him away from his awful boss and coworkers. Its master was transfixed on you, as though you'd put him under some sort of spell.
And you couldn't be bothered to give him the time of day! It hated you right then and there as you slid from your seat and retreated up the stairs and out of sight. No amount of subtle mental prodding could persuade its master to leave the establishment. He stayed well into the early hours of the morning on the off chance that you'd return. Its master was fortunate that he didn't need much sleep to function properly. For whatever reason, its master had decided to visit the boarding house after so many years of not doing so. And you'd slammed the door in his face! Twice!
Its irritation with you only grew as you so casually brushed its master off to the side and ignored his presence. How dare you. Its master was deserving of the attention of all he sought it from and you were no exception to this! How dare you treat its master as if he were nothing worth noting! It was only the arrival of Mrs. Donahugh and your swift departure that kept it from trying anything with your shadow. It was relieved when Mrs. Donahugh attempted to persuade its master to back off and give you space. There was no point in hanging around someone who had no class after all. But it could feel its master's resolve to do just the opposite. And worry took root inside it.
That worry only grew as its master refused to give up his fixation on you. He insisted on following you around town and inviting you out to that pointless little dance whose only purpose was to make the upper class of the city feel more important than they truly were. And you spat on its master's goodwill by saying you'd already had a date! And to add insult to injury you'd flung the jacket its master had so graciously allowed you to borrow into his face! It had hoped that would be the end of this little flight of fancy for its master, but no. He'd been furious that you'd accepted the invitation of another, but not at you. It was sickened by how he'd taken comfort in the lingering scent you'd left on his jacket. Your hold on its master would only bring trouble, of that it was certain.
The party only solidified that thought when you'd displayed such violence against that deplorable leech. True, it was angry on your behalf that James Vaughn had felt it appropriate to speak to you in such a way, but that was more its master's influence on how he believed women ought to be treated. So long as they weren't making nuisances of themselves that it. Even its master had his limits when it came to his gentlemanly ways. But for whatever reason, you simply weren't hitting them. Not even the thrashing your poor attempts at dancing gave its master was enough to deter him.
And then you just had to go and make matters worse by throwing that body into the river in clear view of its master, didn't you? Okay, truthfully it knew that was simply a matter of poor timing on everyone's part and that no one was truly to blame for it, but it was going to blame you anyway. You'd all but ensured that its master would never lose interest in you with that little stunt and it hated you all the more for it. Only this time it could actually display its dislike of you openly as "Mimzy." Which you most certainly weren't a fan of.
And then it thought to itself, as its master convinced you to agree to accompany him on outings, that perhaps it could use that to its advantage. After all, Mimzy was its master's one and only confidant regarding his lust for killing, not even his own mother had been privy to it! If it could get you to lash out at "Mimzy," then perhaps it could use that to convince its master that you weren't worth his time. It would have to dispose of you after, of course. It wouldn't dare to leave such a long, loose end for its master to inadvertently hang himself with later.
It had taken some time, but it finally managed to weasel its way onto one of the lunch outings its master had invited you to. It had done its best to get under your skin, and it could tell that it worked, but you just weren't crumbling the way that it wanted you to. It repeated this only a handful of times in the following months, but no matter how unpleasant it acted, you still refused to crack. And then you went and reminded it that you weren't some fragile flower that would wilt at the barest touch. For all that it was incorporeal in its true form, it felt that you'd be able to do some serious damage to it as "Mimzy."
It saw its opportunity to corner you once and for all when you declined to watch the procedure unlike the last three times its master had so graciously allowed you into his space. Ungrateful little witch. It stayed and watched for a time as its master got lost in his craft before deciding enough time had passed to go put its plan into action. But it hadn't found you in the living room or the kitchen. No. It had found you it its master's room. With that drawer open. Holding that article. It'd been right. You were going to ruin everything. It didn't think of anything other than ripping your throat out as it lunged towards you and dropped its disguise. It'd gone incorporeal again, there was no way you'd be able to defend against it.
Except you were somehow able to grip it by the shoulders and keep it from biting your face off.
What?
Okay. Time to take note of your situation. Currently, you are flat on your back gripping a snarling shadow by the shoulders as it desperately gnashes at your face in an attempt to rip it off. It's no surprise that the shadow bears an eerie resemblance to the man currently downstairs methodically taking a man apart piece by piece. Or, maybe it is a surprise, seeing as how you hadn't been expecting Alastor's shadow to be sentient on Earth. But that's what you get for assuming, you suppose.
You hiss in pain as the little bastard rakes his claws down your sides and rends both fabric and flesh between them. You don't know why Alastor's shadow had been impersonating Mimzy and right now you don't give a shit. He's trying to kill you and you take great exception to that. You strengthen your grip and toss the shadow behind you as you scramble to your feet and out of the room. The shadow hisses as it hits the wall before melting into it. It slithers after you and claws at your ankles, causing you to fall down as it does its best to slice your tendons to ribbons.
It takes the opportunity to begin violently ripping at your back as you attempt to drag yourself away from its onslaught. You kick back and it might be due to your demonic traits, but the shadow flies back and hits the wall with a crack as you make your way out the door and into the woods. You don't know if Alastor managed to hear any of that and you weren't going to stick around to find out. Your more concerned with your safety right now and its currently at risk with a pissed off shadow hot on your heels.
You hear an indecipherable shriek of rage come from the cabin but you don't look back. It's definitely stupid to go out into the woods at night where shadows blanket everything, but what choice do you have? Besides, it isn't like you can't duck into them yourself, it just doesn't offer the safety and security it normally does in this particular situation. You should assume that he can hurt you just as easily in the shadows as he can out of them. Still, he's juts as susceptible to your touch as you are to his. And unlike him – or so you think, wouldn't he have done so if he could? – you're able to restrain from a distance if need be.
You hiss in pain as you move through the trees. Your sides and back have been craved open and all this moving is only agitating the wounds. You've no doubt that your clothes are becoming soaked in your own blood, but you can't spare any magic to use the restoration spell right now. You have a feeling you're going to need every last bit of it if you want to come out of this as unmauled as possible. It's fucking infuriating to you that you lack any true combat magic at your disposal. Technically, you suppose the one you were working on now could suffice, but it takes up nearly everything you have to cast it. It's a Hail Mary spell at this point, as ironic as you find it to say that.
A rattling hiss is the only warning you get before you duck into the shadows yourself, narrowly avoiding getting seen by Alastor's shadow. It sniffs around aggressively as it attempts to locate you and for a moment you think it manages to spot your hiding place before it snorts derisively and tears off further ahead into the woods. You slowly release the breath you'd been holding and slip back out of the darkness. That had been too close for comfort. You have no idea exactly how much danger you're in right now, but given that he can actually hurt you, can make you bleed, you figure it's a fair amount.
You don't think it's wise for you to try and go back to the cabin. For one, Alastor will definitely notice that you've been hurt and you have no good lie to cover up the truth. Secondly, you don't know if his shadow would be able to tell if you did so, you have no idea how their connection works. Though, you're pretty sure that Alastor is unaware of the fact that his shadow is sentient otherwise you feel like you'd have seen it in action before now. But then again, maybe you wouldn't have seen a thing. Either way, you've no time to spend wasting on speculation. Focus on getting out of this in relatively one piece.
There is no moon out tonight, making the shadows even darker and denser than they would be if the moon had been present. Not that a light source would stop Alastor's shadow from leaping out at you, but it would give him less places to lie in wait to ambush you.
And just as that thought crosses your mind, you're blindsided as Alastor's shadow tackles you to the ground. This time you're unable to grab him in time and he rakes a clawed hand down the left half of your face. Your eye suffers the most as his claws rip it to shreds. You scream in agony as your socket screws shut to prevent any further damage. Blood drips into your mouth, the tangy coppery flavor practically clogging your throat as you punch Alastor's shadow in the face in retaliation. The sad thing about this is, you're pretty sure that any damage you do to him is only temporary. He isn't made of flesh and blood after all. Sure, he may screech in pain but you wonder just how much is because you've actually managed to hurt him and how much is from him raging about the fact that you're daring to try.
He lunges for you again, but this time you're ready. Tendrils explode from your shadow and pin him in place as you take several large steps back before melting back into the darkness and making yet another hasty escape. As your focus isn't on them, it doesn't take long before you feel Alastor's shadow rip himself free of his restraints. The angry howl he lets out sends shudders of fear down your spine. He truly means to kill you and you think that he might be able to pull it off. You know you're already dead, but would you go back to Hell should you die on Earth? Or would Alastor have ownership of your soul should you fall to this extension of his will?
You aren't eager to find out one way or another, on the chance that it's the latter of the two options that winds up being the case. You've no intention of ever selling your soul to anyone. You're going to do everything you can to ensure that you don't lose it on some technicality either. You refuse to be chained down by anyone and you'd rather turn your angelic spear on yourself before you let that happen.
You aren't sure how long this little game of cat and mouse goes on for. It could be as little as a few minutes; it could be as much as several hours. Time doesn't mean much to you right now, what with all the blood loss and the pain you're in. You're feeling woozy, kind of like you do when your magic reserves start getting low and you wonder if you've been using them to keep yourself awake through all this. Or maybe you just haven't noticed how much you've been draining yourself with all the shadow hopping you've been doing. It doesn't take much magical power at all, but you've been using it a lot during this little scrape and in quick succession too in order to avoid Alastor's shadow catching up with you. Maybe you should've just cut your losses and used that new spell you've been practicing if you were just going to collapse from exhaustion and get caught by him anyway.
You've made your way to another section of the river that runs all the way through these woods. Unbeknownst to you, it's the same spot where you first landed here on Earth all those months ago. You're so tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally and magically. You'd like to rest, but you know you can't. But you don't think that you can go on any further. You hear that rattling hiss come from somewhere behind you, and you don't even have the energy to even make a paltry attempt to defend yourself. Well. If you're going down anyway, you should at least try and take him with you. It's only fair. Though, this will probably kill you. Oh well.
Alastor's shadow has ripped several chunks of flesh from your shoulders and has torn your stomach open with the hunting knife Alastor was so fond of as well. Where did it even get that? Your left arm is unresponsive from where he's nearly torn it off from the elbow. You raise your right hand weakly as he continues ripping away at the cavity he's made in your torso. This new spell was only referred to as "Banishment" in the grimoire. Nothing ever happened save for an immense drain of magic whenever you used it, but that could be because you'd never been directing it at a target before now. Well, you're about to find out how much of that theory holds water, or if it's all nothing but complete bullshit.
Purple light circles lazily around your hand as you begin to cast. The air is dense with humidity, but there's a sudden shift in the air that rids the surrounding area of it instantly, and the temperature begins to rapidly decrease. Fog quickly rolls in from the water and it's only after it's surrounded you and your assailant that Alastor's shadow senses that something's amiss. He looks around wildly before looking back down at you. You smile, a bloody, pitiful sight. You press your hand against his chest and release the spell. Nothing happens, and then something does.
Alastor's shadow is sent flying back much harder and much further than he had been when you'd thrown and kicked him. He's sent all the way back to the cabin and is firmly reattached to his master's feet. The sudden reunion causes Alastor to jerk slightly, ripping apart the man's cheek all the way to his ear before he can compose himself. His shadow falls dormant for the first time in years, it is as it had been before its master's first kill. Its influence has been cut off. Every last bit of it.
And like opening the floodgates, it comes crashing back to Alastor that Mimzy wasn't in fact alive and well. Every memory he'd made with "Mimzy" over the past few years is gone, rewritten to show that all the things he'd thought he'd been doing with her he'd done on his own, merely imagining her by his side. Alastor is quick to slit the man's throat as he covers his mouth to muffle the sob that wrenches itself out of his throat. This whole time he'd been deceiving himself into thinking his closest confidant had been alive and well. That the two of them had simply picked up from where they left off when she went away to Hollywood.
He tears at his hair in frustration, angry with himself for giving in to such delusions. If Mimzy had been a figment of his imagination this whole time, what else had he been lying to himself about? Were you real? You must be, right? Alastor tears his way upstairs to look for any sign of you. What he gets is a large bloodstain on the floor that starts from his bedroom and leads out the front door and into the woods. His heart pounds in his ears as he runs out the door after you.
What happened? Had the two of you been followed and your assailant took you being alone upstairs as the perfect time to strike? Were you lost somewhere in the woods desperately trying to shake them off? He shook his head violently as he followed streak after streak of your precious essence of life. He could worry about that later. Could rend the flesh from the bones of the vermin that dared to lay a hand on you later. He needed to know you were safe now. But dear God, the amount of blood that had been spilt would be enough to render anyone unconscious at best!
Alastor isn't sure just how much time passes, but the sun is barely beginning to peak over the horizon when he reaches the end of the blood trail. There's no sign of you, or anyone else for that matter. A struggle clearly took place here, the signs of it obvious in how the earth had been disturbed. The glint of something on the riverbank catching the light caught his attention and he hurriedly kneeled next to whatever it was. Hopefully it was a clue that would tell him something coherent. Something that could lead him to your assailant maybe. He picked it up, only to immediately drop it again as he hurled himself over to the side to empty the contents of his stomach.
It was his hunting knife, coated from tip to hilt in blood. Your blood.
Alastor heaved a few more times as his mind raced with questions. What was his knife doing out here? It never left the cabin unless he was out hunting, humans or animals. It should have been down in the basement waiting to remove his latest victim's organs, and yet here it was. Sitting on the riverbank with the evidence of a spilt life all over it. And there was only one explanation he could think of that would make any sense as to why it was there. But he wouldn't have-! He'd never have done such a thing! Not to you!
But then where were you?
Where were you, where were you, where were you?
W̵̳̦̯̖̗̙̺̆̍̎̿̈̇͝h̵͈͝ë̸̜̗̎̐̈́̍͌̊́͝ȓ̷̝̑͛̈́̕ȩ̶̥͎̱̬͎͛͝ ̷̺̩̭͎̫͠ẉ̵̦̗͓̱̃̏͂̓ẻ̵̥̲̄̇̽̎̚͠r̴̬̠̜̄̂ȩ̴̪̳̙̟̂ ̵̧̢̫͚̟̼̀͊̓̈̑̎̚y̶̘̣̭͓̭̺͕̬͗̔͐̀͂̏́͘͝ơ̴̝̻̻̹̭̺̗̗̰̈́̈́̿͒̚ủ̴̪̭̪͛̈͝?
You don't know where you are, you don't have the strength to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.
But what you do know is that you can occasionally hear the chime of a bell and a woman humming a song you don't recognize.
Chapter End Notes
And thus concludes this arc.
Next one is going to be fun.
The Soothsayer
Chapter Notes
I sure pulled some bullshit last chapter, didn't I?
Anyway, new arc!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In her earliest years of childhood – when she was capable of forming coherent thoughts and voicing them – her father would find endless amusement with how inquisitive she was. There was no limit to the questions she asked, no subject that she shied away from. She wanted to know anything and everything about anything and everything. And when she looked back on this in adulthood, she'd refer to those wants as providence for what path she would be set upon later in life. For whom better to know all there is about all there is than one who had been tasked with keeping track of all prophesies that ever were, ever are, and ever would be?
Even her name ended up foreshadowing what the future held for her. Her father would puff up his chest in pride at how well a fit it had ended up being for her. He'd boast endlessly about how he just had a gut feeling about what it was she'd been destined for. And she'd smile and nod in agreement, knowing her father was just blowing hot air this way and that. But she allowed him his little sense of triumph for it harmed no one and brought genuine enjoyment to him. He was funny that way, that father of hers.
She was his one and only child and he never intended to have any others. Her mother had long since passed away from illness and her father hadn't sought out another to share his marital bed with. And how could he? Her mother had been her father's one and only love and they were meant to be together for all of eternity, or at least until the universe up and decided to implode in on itself, resetting everything back to the beginning in a glorious explosion reminiscent of how it came to be in the first place. Only bigger.
However, she knew that her father's self-imposed celibacy would not last. Not because he willingly decided to go out and find a new bride, but solely out of necessity. As the keeper of prophecies – though, it'd be more accurate to say that she had Temporal Vision – she saw all that had yet to come to pass. There would be a plethora of younger siblings sired by her father and several mistresses in the future, each woman hoping to fill the void by his side that her mother had left behind in her final hours. Alas, her father would hold no love for either the women nor the children.
With the women, he'd keep them around long enough for the children to be born and then they'd be sent away with a generous amount of compensation for their time. Her siblings would be raised in grand, sprawling, oh-so cold palaces by imps and kept isolated from the outside world save for her father's incredibly sparse visits and those of the same social class. She witnessed their births and upbringings and saw as most of them grew up to be cruel and callous towards those below them in Hell's nonsensical hierarchy. She pitied her younger siblings that had yet to be, truly she did.
There was one, however, whose path she was pleased to see did not branch off into cruelty like the majority of her future little siblings. This younger brother of hers would be born kind and caring and he would stay that way despite life's remarkable attempts to break him down until nothing but misery and rot remained as a facsimile of him. That isn't to say he wouldn't have his lows, everyone did after all. But he wouldn't allow himself to wallow in them for too terribly long and would always seek to figure out a way to remedy the situation, even at the expense of himself.
This little brother of hers would share her love of learning from books, the stars, really just learning in general. He wouldn't be born for quite some time, but she already loved him so very dearly. She could just picture it now: her little brother bouncing excitedly in place as he learned kneeling beside her about whatever it was he wanted to know. And she would gladly tell him all about whatever subject had struck his fancy. She'd be the ideal older sister to him and they would never quarrel seriously because she would see any discord coming from a mile away and take the necessary steps to avoid it. His arrival wouldn't be for many more years, but she desperately wished he could be here now.
A shame that in order for him to be born, she had to die first.
What must it be like, she often wondered, to be able to go through life without knowing when your end would come? Or how? She'd seen the rise and fall of many a civilization that was, is, and will be. She could recite poetry in languages long dead and long yet to be born. She has seen the beginning and the end and everything in between of everything, but it does not matter. Her end was one of the very few things etched in unbreakable, unshakable stone. For her siblings to live, she would have to die. Her death was the very first prophecy she'd discovered and the only one she'd never told anyone about.
And today was the day that prophecy would come to pass. She supposed that she should be grateful that her end would not be painful, that she knew of what was to come after her death. It did very little to comfort her. After all, today was the day she would break her father's already cracked heart into little pieces that would never fit quite as perfectly together as they once had ever again. He would become detached, despondent and uncaring for others after this. But Fate was a cruel mistress and did not care who or what she trampled on to make way for her will.
She was sad about what must be done, but contradictorily at the same time she was eager to meet her demise. What awaited her on the other side of oblivion was the second prophecy she'd discovered and one she was carefully vague about describing to her father when he had pressed her on her progress to hone her abilities all those years ago. She clutched her grimoire tightly to her chest at the memory. It's blue sheen shimmering in the dim light. The crescent moon sat beside her sigil winked at her intermittently as she made her way through the corridors of the palace.
This was the final matter she had to attend to before she had to set out to greet Death like the old friend it'd been to her all her life. She'd written out incredibly detailed instructions for her father to follow regarding her future siblings years ago that would appear before him when the time was right and a letter regarding her fate would make its way to him long after she'd passed. Now all she needed to do was lock her beloved grimoire away until it was time for it to be used again and all would be settled. With a wave of her hand, the grimoire lost all color and markings, making it appear to be nothing more than a generic, black book. Black chains wrapped around it and locked themselves in place, though no actual padlock could be found anywhere. They would only release themselves when the right person asked it of them. It vanished from her hands moments later and in its place was a rather musty old tome that was falling apart at the lightest touch. A snap of her fingers and it was restored to its former glory and sent away to be lost among the sea of tomes in her personal library.
There was no apprehension in her gait, no second guessing herself or looking back at her home one final time only to lose her nerve at the last second. She'd known this day was coming for years and that there was nothing she nor anyone else could do to avert it. A sad smile was fixed in place on her face as she held her head high on the way to her final resting place. There would be no body left behind for anyone to discover for that was not the way of things. She would disappear from this plane of existence entirely, bones and all.
She brushed her hand across the trunk of the tree as she settled beneath it. Having known that this would be where she would die, it had become an important place to her, though she never told her father why despite all his poking and prodding on the matter. He assumed she just simply liked the tree and she was content to let him think that. It meant that he put his best effort forward into making sure nothing happened to it and that the tree would flourish as the years passed. Her little brother would have a wonderful conversation under this tree someday.
She allowed her breathing to slow as she gazed into the night sky. Such a shame that Hell had no true celestial bodies to admire, but she supposed that such divine symbols had no place being looked at by the likes of her and her ilk, if one were to ask angels that is. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each deep breath, one could be forgiven for merely thinking she was falling asleep if they could see her. She breathed her last breath and watched as her body began to deteriorate into stardust, swirling and dancing through the air until it dissipated into nothing.
Neviah Goetia was no longer among the living in Hell.
But that didn't mean she'd left it entirely. She opened her eyes to a world of blacks, white, and grays. The ground upon which she lay was firm but had a bit of give so as not to be uncomfortable. Sitting up, Neviah observed her surroundings. It was one thing to see where she'd be, another entirely to be there in person. Visions don't carry over the sounds, smells, or textures of a place after all. Though, there weren't any of those things present. If she merely tapped a claw to the ground, she would be the loudest thing here.
The place she found herself in was a veritable wasteland. Absolutely nothing was here. Nothing but her and the lights flitting and flickering across the pitch-black sky. If she didn't know better, Neviah would say that she was witnessing the oddest meteor shower in existence. But those weren't stars dancing above her head. No, they were far more beautiful, far more fleeting than that.
Here's a funny misconception. Purgatory isn't somewhere souls go to repent for their sins. It's where they go to fade from existence completely. Fallen demons, people who'd been bound for neither Heaven nor Hell, their immortal souls came to this desolate place to at last shed themselves from the existential coil.
And it was here that she would meet with her true purpose. For only in death could Neviah live up to her true potential. She was an acolyte of her Lady, had been from the day of her birth. Her one true purpose in existence was to pave the way for her Lady's arrival and to assist her Lady however she could. It was the prophecy she'd held nearest and dearest to her heart, for how could anything else ever compare to the honor it would be to serve such a being?
No one would have understood her zealousness to be of service to someone who did not yet exist – and yet at the same time had always existed in some fashion – and she would not have expected them to. But their inability to understand would have only hindered her and thus she never spoke about her Lady to anyone. Ever. Every Hellborn demon had a deity they prayed to. The imps of Wrath prayed to Satan, the fish folk of Envy hailed Leviathan, the hellhounds of Gluttony revered Beelzebub and so on and so forth.
Neviah worshipped her Lady Vestige. And if she had to be the only dedicated acolyte of her Lady? Then so be it. Far be it for her to think she understood all the little machinations a mind such as her Lady's held, but one doesn't look into the future without gaining some form of insight. Her Lady was a secretive sort, one who liked to keep her cards close to her chest as the saying went. Revealing nothing but what she wanted to when she wanted to and not a moment sooner. Or she would be, in time. For now, her Lady was nothing more than a distant thought and would remain as such until she got to work preparing her Lady's domain for her arrival.
And all grand rulers such as her Lady required a palace from which to rule. But it would not sit upon the ground as one might expect. No. The palace she foresaw in her visions floated high in the skies of Purgatory, Lost Souls weaving around it in a beautifully haunting light display. It was no great ordeal for her to will it into existence bit by bit. As behind her peers in magical prowess as she had been, Neviah had surpassed them all by leaps and bounds before too long. And in death it seemed her magical reserves had become limitless. Though, when one no longer had a corporeal form, she supposed it would be quite difficult to accidentally die from magical drain.
It was as glorious as it had been in her visions, her Lady's palace. Vestige's Vigil as she'd taken to calling it whenever she perused the visions it'd been present in. Neviah hoped that her Lady was receptive to the name, though if she wasn't that was fine too! This was her Lady's home after all and she had the final say in everything. As she gazed at the palace from where she floated above it in the sky, Neviah couldn't help but wonder what kind of person her Lady truly was. For all that she could boast about having seen, her Lady was Neviah's one blind spot. She could view events around her Lady to get the general gist of things, but her Lady herself was untraceable to her.
Conversation with her Lady was the one thing Neviah couldn't flawlessly predict her way through and it both excited and terrified her. Excited because it'd been an age since she was able to just be in the moment instead of far ahead of it and terrified because what if she did or said the wrong thing and offended her Lady? But that was future Neviah's problem to deal with, present Neviah still had to get everything ready for her Lady's arrival. And it had to be as close to perfect as she could get it to be, anything less just wouldn't suffice for her Lady.
Of everything she'd foreseen of Vestige's Vigil, it was the belltower that stood out to Neviah the most. When rung, the bell did not let out a deep reverberance as one might expect from its size, but rather a gentle chime that was pleasant to the ear. Neviah was adamant about ringing it at least once a day for when the chime sounded out, a great deal of Lost Souls came down from their positions in the sky and were absorbed by the bell. This by no means trapped the souls in the bell, but rather it took their essence and released the bits of them that still retained who they had been in life and death.
Like Neviah, her Lady Vestige would be behind her peers in regard to her magical prowess and would need every advantage she could get in order to catch up to them. Surpass them even. Neviah really wanted her Lady to surpass them, but that could just be her bias talking. Scratch that, it was absolutely her bias talking. And she didn't feel any particular shame about it either. She'd known from a very young age that she would be devoted to her Lady, why wouldn't she want her to stand above all others? Though that decision is ultimately up to her Lady, Neviah would still regard her above the rest no matter what.
Time passes in Purgatory, the same as anywhere else, but it doesn't feel as though it does. Unlike the Seven Rings of Hell, Purgatory is sorely lacking in a dense population of aware residents. The only one here that knows where they are is her. The Lost Souls are poor conversation partners as they can no longer speak. Neviah wiles away the years waiting for her Lady looking through prophecies old and new. Though no longer her responsibility, years of drilling how to discover prophecies will never leave her mind. And she's thankful for that. She'd probably have gone mad with boredom otherwise, but this way her mind stays stimulated enough to ignore how cripplingly lonely it is in Purgatory. She can only wander those empty halls so many times.
But when one has eternity to do so, one can wait for as long as they need to. And that's exactly what she does. Neviah's patience pays off at long last when she feels a shift in the stagnant air of Purgatory and her eyes are drawing to a waning soul that shines so much brighter than all the rest combined. She flies up to it and cups it gently in her hands. It's warm and fluttering but fading fast. But this bright light wouldn't burn out, she wouldn't let her Lady meet such an unfortunate end. With how weak her Lady currently was, she couldn't handle receiving the well of power Neviah had been storing for her all these years. However, just a pinch of power would be enough for her Lady to take in.
Her Lady's soul stabilized almost immediately after taking in the bit of power offered to her. Neviah would love to give her everything she'd gathered for her, but now was not the time. Her Lady needed to gather her strength naturally before Neviah would feel comfortable feeding more power into her. It wouldn't do to overwhelm her Lady and cause her soul to destabilize and wink out of existence after all. As blasphemous a saying it is, patience truly is a virtue. One that Neviah needed to constantly remind herself that she needed to have in the days following her Lady's stabilization.
But at last, her Lady's soul had fully acclimated to its new environment and she was ready to take on her new physical form. It was truly marvelous to witness the birth of a being such as her Lady. It started with her Lady's soul expanding until it took the form of a featureless mannequin. And then her Lady sprouted ears on the top of her head, hooves in place of her feet and the rest filled in thusly. Her Lady was truly a sight to behold when she'd finished crafting her vessel. Weak though it was, Neviah was certain it would only be a matter of time until her Lady was ready to bring out her full potential.
Neviah rang the bell and sent her Lady off with a laugh. Yes. Everything would be just fine.
Alright. Neviah could admit that maybe – maybe – she'd overestimated how well her Lady would be able to handle herself in her new environment. She was surviving, certainly, but only just barely. A simple Sinner had nearly been enough to grant her Lady temporary death and it had only been through sheer luck that her Lady had managed to overtake him. Though the exact method was unknown to Neviah as she had only been able to witness her Lady's triumph by viewing the Sinner's existence. What she saw of her Lady was a mere blur. It irked Neviah to no end that she could not witness her Lady's glory withing her visions. It would make keeping an eye on her progress so much simpler!
She lost sight of her Lady for a good while until she managed to catch sight of a Hellborn that interacted with her Lady in a significant way. Neviah approved of this Conroy fellow. He was polite, civil and above all grateful to her Lady for the favor she'd unknowingly done for him and all too willing to pay her back for it. And pay it back he did. Her Lady no longer was forced to traipse about in nothing more than that flimsy outfit and had proper protection for her feet, though honestly her Lady's hooves probably would have been fine without it.
And then Conroy had gone and offered her Lady a costume to cover her features. Neviah was momentarily outraged by the audacity, but soon calmed herself. It only made sense that her Lady might not be comfortable with her new form just yet. For as powerful a being as Lady Vestige was destined to be, having power didn't necessarily make one confident in other aspects of themselves. If it was a disguise that her Lady required, then Neviah was more than happy to provide it, seeing as how her Lady didn't seem to be finding anything that was to her liking.
With a snap of her fingers, a costume Neviah hoped would please her Lady popped into existence into the very back of Conroy's closet. And to her utter elation, her Lady was most pleased with the offering Neviah had provided. Her Lady was adamant that Neviah's gift be worn always and it filled her with a sense of pride and accomplishment that she had been able to serve her Lady so well.
And then that Exorcist had to go and nearly snuff her Lady's soul out of existence. The rage and contempt Neviah had felt towards the Heavenly soldier wriggled and writhed across her very being, but she couldn't allow herself to be lost to her anger. Her Lady floated prone in the dark skies of Purgatory, far above where any of the Lost Souls dared to tread. Her Lady's back had been sliced and pierced by the holy weaponry and her essence spilled from her wounds ceaselessly. Her Lady could barely struggle against Neviah's hold as she removed the spear, a fresh wave of blood gushing out of her Lady as she did so.
But see, the thing about her Lady's blood was that though it still ran red – for now – the magic in it was potent enough to allow a bit of magic to seep into whatever it touched. And her Lady's costume was dipped in enough of her blood that made what she was about to do to it possible. Life rushed into the fabric, once dull eyes gained clarity and settled on where Neviah was closing her Lady's wounds. The newly born being growled at the sight of its beloved master so weakened.
"I know," Neviah soothed the beast as she pet along its head. "This cannot be allowed to happen again. Pride is clearly too chaotic for our Lady in as delicate a state as she is right now. I'll open a portal to one of the lower Rings. They may not be any less horrid, but our Lady most certainly will not run afoul of those Heavenly cretins down below. Watch over her, Wraith. As of now, you are our Lady's closest companion."
The beast huffed and delicately took her Lady's prone form between its newly formed jaws. It lacked teeth for now, but Neviah didn't doubt that as her Lady grew in strength, so too would her pet.
And suddenly Neviah had a way to keep an even closer eye on her Lady directly. While she still couldn't see her when she removed Wraith from her person, so long as she was wearing her pet Neviah could watch each move her Lady made with perfect Clarity.
Neviah had mixed feelings about the little Family her Lady had helped to form. On the one hand, many of them were too afraid to approach her Lady unless they had no other choice. With enemies that was more than fine, but these demons were meant to be her Lady's allies, however temporary the arrangement. But on the other hand, it was wise of her Lady not to want to get too close – and thus too attached – to this band of strangers. Young Avary was the exception to this. The imp would never be able to truly repay her Lady for what she'd given her. The future was a prosperous one for the Avidity Family and it was all thanks to her Lady's interference.
The sight of her grimoire after so many years of it being gone from her grasp made Neviah smile sadly. It was a reminder of happier and bittersweet times. And now it belonged to her Lady. For now. Give it about seventy-something years and it would be passed down to Neviah's little brother. After she'd removed all the notes left behind by her father. She wouldn't subject her brother to the false hope that their father cared for him beyond continuing the Goetia line.
Life might be eager to hurl cruelty after cruelty at her brother, but Neviah was not.
The blank note had been a bit of a precaution on Neviah's part. Again, she can't see her Lady's path directly, but what she can see are the various ways that it branches off. Many of them remained firmly rooted in Hell, but a few diverted her Lady to Earth. With how she peripherally viewed her Lady's struggles, Neviah figured it would wise for her Lady to have an easier way of getting to Earth, a place where it was pathetically easy to gain power due to humans not being superstitious or cautious enough about keeping their immortal souls in their possession.
Neviah did not care for the way this human male, this Alastor, had taken such a keen interest in her Lady. His existence was one wrought with pain, strife, backstabbing and so much more. She should clarify that he was the one inflicting the above onto others, not the other way around. Such an individual had no business being anywhere near her Lady, and Neviah had been relieved that her Lady had been of the same mind in this regard.
But he just kept coming back!
Neviah groaned and pulled her hands down her face in exasperation whenever the human managed to weasel his way back to her Lady's side. He seriously had a major issue with respecting the boundaries of others, but quietly puffed up like an angry feline whenever his own were crossed. Hypocrite.
And what's worse was that her Lady had eventually decided to give in to the human's whims, with stipulations. It had Neviah taking one of the very plush pillows from one of the many comfortable couches in the palace, holding it flush to her face, and screaming into it for an extended period of time. It was very good that she no longer needed to breathe.
The human's companion was somehow even worse than he was. She held such immediate contempt for her Lady that it threw Neviah for a loop temporarily until she decided to look closer. It made her chitter in irritation that this human would have powers that were so similar to the ones her Lady had started out with. Though truthfully, she'd have been annoyed with whatever powers this human would have developed in death. Her Lady's potential was limitless, as expected of a being such as her, and thus there was no feat she would not be able to perform should she wish it.
And then the little shadow decided to try and kill her Lady. If her Lady hadn't been as weak as she was, Neviah would have laughed at the attempt. But her Lady was nowhere near being able to shrug off the shadow's attacks. Neviah could only watch in horror as she followed the shadow's existence and witnessed her Lady shred her soul in order to banish it back to the feet of its master. A snap of her fingers and her Lady was pulled through a portal back to Purgatory and the shadow was forced to go dormant. It would remain that way until its master's death.
Her Lady was gravely wounded when Neviah pulled her through, her form fizzing in and out of sight as she struggled to keep herself held together. Neviah stared at her Lady in sorrowful horror before apprehensively turning her gaze to the belltower. If she did nothing, her Lady would die. If her Lady couldn't handle the full amount of power Neviah had been storing, she would die. Either way her Lady would die, but by infusing her with all the power Neviah had been collecting for her, there was a chance that she would pull through. With a wave of her hand, Neviah conjured a white slab into existence and placed her Lady onto it gently as two cords of yellow light sprung out from the bell and into her awaiting hands.
She grasped a tendril of light in each hand and bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Lady Vestige. This will be excruciatingly painful."
She plunged the tendrils into her Lady's chest and power surged from the bell and into the vessel. Unconscious as she was, her Lady was still able to scream in absolute agony as her weak vessel was forced to take on more power than it was ever meant to contain. Cracks formed all over her body, blinding light spilling out from them before her physical form exploded, leaving nothing but her Lady's soul behind.
The soul writhed in pain, its form melting into one object of light after another, but always her Lady. From her weakened vessel to an amalgamation of faces screaming in pain. From the form of a crying longhaired woman whose eyes were covered and yet many eyes of light hovered around her to a screaming deer whose edges were far too sharp to be anything but the stuff of nightmares.
From all these forms of power to as she had been before death. Her Lady's human visage was curled in on herself, eyes covered by her hands. She looked up briefly, pure white standing out amongst all the yellow before she closed her eyes and her soul shrunk back until it was nothing but a sphere of light once more. Power still flowed from the bell to her Lady's soul. It would take more than a few minutes for the bell to be drained of the accumulation of years' worth of energy.
She'd waited this long for her Lady; Neviah could wait a bit longer.
Chapter End Notes
Here's Neviah Goetia. She's based off of a snowy owl.
The Dreaming and The Dead
Chapter Notes
Here is some lovely fanart done by Naptime02.
Once again, thank you so much!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It felt… floaty, wherever it was you were. Like how one knows they're asleep but are too comfortable to fully wake up and so they cusp along the line between wakefulness and rest. Not fully awake, but not fully asleep either, just somewhere comfortably in the middle of waking and dreaming.
Except you were fully aware that you were asleep but didn't feel the pull of the waking world tugging at your consciousness to come and join it for yet another day. You were sleeping, but you were fully aware. You'd never been much of a lucid dreamer; you'd seldom had dreams where you were fully in control of what happened; so it struck you as odd just how aware you were of everything. Usually in your rare instances of lucidity in your sleeping state you could hardly affect the narrative, relegated to being a simple bystander who could only occasionally influence things very minorly.
Though, there wasn't anything for you to influence it looked like. Typical. The one time you could do whatever you wanted in whatever dream you were having and it was during a dream about absolutely nothing.
Everything about this dream was hazy, quite literally. Thick clouds of fog wafted lazily through the area, in no particular hurry to shed their weight and lift so that you might see things a bit more clearly. And no amount of attempting to will them away did you any good either. Hm. Maybe this wasn't a dream then? Or maybe you weren't as aware as you thought you were? Either way, nothing happened.
Well, if you couldn't think the fog away, you could at least wander aimlessly through it. Kind of stupid if this turned out to not be a dream, but standing in one place for however long didn't exactly appeal to you.
Your hands glided through the fog as you made your way through it. Or at least you think they did. You certainly felt like you had your arms spread out to feel the fog slip between your fingers, but you couldn't actually see them. You couldn't see any part of your body for that matter. And yet you weren't at all perturbed by that fact. Another point towards this being a really bizarre dream then.
For a sea of nothing but fog, this dream was quite beautiful. It was ethereal and a welcome change of pace to the chaos that your life – afterlife? – had become over the past year.
Had it truly been a year since you first woke up in Hell? Huh. It sure didn't feel like it. Thinking about it only made the amount of time that had passed feel like it'd passed much too quickly for that to be the case. That would mean that the next Extermination would be happening in about a month. What a way to celebrate the coming of a new year. Congratulations! The year's almost over! Let's see if you can make it to tomorrow to celebrate it!
Speaking of the Extermination, why was it called that? Okay, you know why it's called that objectively. The Exorcists come down from Heaven and exterminate any demon they come across like some twisted version of pest control. Your question was more pertaining to if those carrying out the slaughter are called Exorcists, then why isn't it referred to as the Exorcism? Total missed opportunity there to make a hilarious reference to a movie franchise that wouldn't exist for decades to come. If it existed at all on this universe's version of Earth.
Your thoughts always get a bit nonsensical when you become vaguely aware that you're asleep. Your mind tends to go off on tangents at the slightest thing and it can take a bit for your focus to get back to the fact that you're dreaming and to start paying attention to that instead. So you feel like you can't really be faulted for not noticing that you'd gradually made your way out of the fog until just now.
Misty gray shifts to shimmering gold as the last of the fog drifts off of your body – you think – and suddenly you're looking at a long, golden hallway that sparkles and shines but not in a way that's blinding to the eye.
Paintings hang along both sides of the hallway, though you can't quite make out what the subjects actually look like. You can tell that the paintings are of people, but that's it. You know that dreams will try and supplement the faces of people one knows onto the people in one's dreams, but that's not the case here. Not a single detail is clear to you and all the paintings just give the vaguest sense of a person being their subject matter.
But for some inexplicable reason, you know that the people in these paintings are important. You don't know how you know that or why they're important, you just do.
As you wander to the end of the hallway, you feel a profound sense of sorrow wafting from behind you. You turn back around, but nothing is there. The paintings are gone.
Just more nonsensical dream bullshit is what you think as you feel yourself get a little misty eyed. How odd.
You turn left as you exit the hallway only to be stopped by an immediate dead end. You turn back around to go right but are met with another immediate dead end and the hallway you'd just exited is no longer there. That makes three and when you look to see if the path that went straight ahead is still there, surprise, surprise, it's a fourth dead end.
A way out does not immediately make itself clear to you. Normally this is where you'd wake up because you've always been able to get out of a dream slowly shifting into a nightmare, but you stay firmly asleep and still aware that you are.
The walls begin closing in on you and you begin to rapidly grow concerned that you're about to experience yet another nightmare in which you die painfully when the floor beneath you gains a crack in it that grows deeper and deeper as the walls move closer and close to you.
You hear the sound of glass shattering as the floor finally breaks apart and you fall through the broken mirror.
Your eyes snap open and you inhale sharply as your mind is ever so rudely brought back to the waking world. You hate it when your dreams get like that. You'd much rather have a long night of awareness than you would having to navigate the weirdness that is your subconscious. You don't think about certain shit for a reason and it needs to stay in the mind vault where it belongs rather than haunting you in your sleep.
Not that you understood what it was that dream had been trying to tell you.
You pull yourself up into a sitting position and the sheets that had been snuggled up against you fall away from your body. Your very naked body. Which… what? Since when did you take all your clothes off? Actually, put a pin in that. Since when did you get back to the boarding house? The last thing you remembered was headed to Alastor's Murder Hut and not being interested in watching him take a man apart piece by piece. So you went upstairs to snoop and…
You snarl. Mimzy. Or not Mimzy, but rather Alastor's shadow. What the fuck?! You though that was something he'd get when he got to Hell, not that he had it while he was still alive! Did he know about it? You didn't think so, but then again maybe it was something he wanted to keep under wraps? Regardless of if he knew about it, his shadow had tried to kill you and… succeeded? Or nearly succeeded and you were the one to finish both it and you off?
You rub at your arms and notice immediately that your disguise has worn off. You nearly panic before you realize that the bed you're sitting in is far too nice to be the one at the boarding house. And much too large as well.
You hear the rattling of a doorknob and you only have the chance to snap your attention over to it and wrap the sheet over your chest before the door is opened and a tall, regal looking owl demon comes sauntering in as if she owns the place. And maybe she did.
"Oh! You're awake!" The tray she'd been carrying nearly slipped out of her suddenly shaky grip before she placed it on the table next to the bed. You expect her to launch into a spiel about how she'd found you barely alive and how she'd so graciously taken you into her care.
What you don't expect is for her to drop to one knee in a display of subservience.
"Forgive my impertinence, my Lady. Had I known you were awake I would have announced my presence and waited before entering. Please accept my most humble of apologies for intruding upon your space."
You're taken aback by just how different her reaction to you being awake was to what you'd been thinking. You don't feel bad about it though. You never know what you're going to get when you deal with people and your luck with meeting truly kind souls thus far can't last forever. This is Hell after all and it stands to reason that you'd run into more assholes than you would pleasant individuals. Really, it's a bit odd that you've met three demons now who weren't complete jackasses right off the bat.
"It's… fine," you say confused. Because what's with the "my Lady" business. You aren't the one wearing a crown here.
She raises her head and looks elated. "Your kindness is greatly appreciated! Allow me to introduce myself." She stands and bows deeply to you. "I am Neviah Goetia of the Goetia family." What. "I am proud to say that from the day of my birth I was destined to stand behind you as your loyal servant." What. "Please, use me however you see fit. I shall do whatever it is that you ask of me."
You blink. Then you blink again. Then again in rapid succession before you rub your eyes with the hand not currently preserving your decency. "I'm sorry, I don't think I follow."
Neviah straightens. You notice that her eyes are pure white and that the second set nearly blend in with her feathers. The black spots dotting them makes you think she's supposed to be a snowy owl.
"I would be more than happy to explain anything to you, my Lady! What is it that troubles you?"
"That," you say with a point. "What's with this "my Lady" business?"
"Ah! It's quite simple. You are my Lady because fate deemed that it was my purpose to serve you. I have known from a very young age that this was what I was destined for and eagerly awaited the day of your arrival."
"You make it sound like you can see the future," you respond dryly.
Neviah chuckles and it sounds like a bunch of "hoos." "In a sense. I can the path of fate as it stretches and branches off as it reaches for every possibility that every action can result in. My father told me that my job would be to discover the prophecies that would lead to the best future. "Prophecies" and "the best future" in this case refers to the results of certain actions that would result in the best outcome for a select group of people."
"The wants of the few outweighing the needs of the many."
She nods sadly. "Unfortunately. It always disheartened me when my father would ask me about what prophecies I'd discovered. He'd either be elated by what I'd told him and would unsubtly try and make sure I did everything to make it happen, or he'd be displeased and instruct me to make sure the outcome never occurred. And that was only regarding the irrelevant ones I told him about. Ones whose outcomes didn't actually matter in the grand scheme of things. He loved me, truly, but my father loves the status quo even more. In any case, it's no longer my responsibility to keep the prophecies in check."
Neviah sighs and gets a wistful look on her face. "But that's neither here nor there. It was thanks to me discovering the prophecy regarding my own fate that led me to learn of my true purpose in serving you for all of eternity. It was moving to see that even a being such as yourself could come from such humble beginnings."
You feel cold. "So…" You swallow thickly, your throat feeling a bit too tight suddenly. "You've seen everything there is to know about me?"
"Not at all! I was only granted insight to your past and it was only in the moment I discovered that prophecy. Your present and future are hidden away from me, more so your future. I can gaze at your present, but only peripherally. If I try and view you through my Temporal Vision directly, you're either impossible to make out or I receive a nasty migraine as backlash for trying and am out of it anywhere from several hours to several days depending on what I was trying to look at. The migraines are more from trying to look at your future, though some present events fate deems important enough for me to not be allowed even peripheral viewing of."
"What does that mean, "peripheral viewing?""
Neviah lifts the lid off the tray she'd brought you and a delicious smell immediately invades your nostrils. You don't know what it is, but just getting a whiff makes your stomach demand that you put whatever it is inside of it. You blush profusely, embarrassed at your involuntary reaction. Neviah laughs good-naturedly but doesn't react beyond that.
"In order for me to look at you through my Temporal Vision at all, I need to be actively viewing someone else. For example, when you met that Conroy fellow. I followed his fate and was able to get a glimpse of you. The best result I've gotten from doing that is whenever you wear Wraith. It's most likely the closest I'll ever get to being able to view you directly ever again."
"Wraith?"
"Your costume. It's a lovely companion for you and so inconspicuous. I didn't think that my gifting it to you would result in it gaining a bit of sentience, but you are just full of surprises my Lady."
"My costume's alive?"
Neviah places the tray in front of you. You have absolutely no idea what's on it. It certainly doesn't look like anything you've ever eaten before. You figure it must be some sort of Hell beast that's been prepared. Meat normally isn't purple. You would begin tucking into it immediately like your ravenous stomach is demanding, but you're still attempting to preserve your decency.
"Not quite. It's more of a sentient puppet that you can wear like a second skin. It would follow any order you gave it but has little agency of its own and even that is dedicated to ensuring your wellbeing."
Okay, cool. You haven't been subjecting some poor creature to having to accommodate you shoving yourself into its body. Awesome.
"Alright. You can sort of see the future and I haven't been abusing some poor creature. Good. Onto my next question: why am I naked?"
Neviah blinks, a blank smile on her face. Her expression quickly morphs into mortification before she snaps her fingers and you're suddenly dressed in very comfortable black and gold pajamas.
Neviah clears her throat embarrassedly. "The, erm… The reason for that would be that until just a bit ago, you didn't have a body to be clothed!"
You looked up from where you were cutting into the meat. "What?"
Neviah sighs and runs a hand through her feathers. "My Lady, when you banished that horrid little shadow, you shredded your soul in the process. I managed to pull you back here with barely enough time to "resuscitate" your soul so it could begin the healing process. It was a rather nasty ordeal and your previous vessel was far too fragile to handle the amount of power I had to pour into it. Essentially, your body exploded and all that was left behind was your soul. I've spent every day since that dreadful moment pouring power into your soul in the hope that you would eventually reform. And here you are!"
Now that she'd said something, you could feel a difference in how you'd felt before being attacked by Alastor's shadow. A whole Hell of a big difference. The amount of power you'd managed to accumulate may as well have been a drop of water in the sea compared to the galaxy you could feel swirling about inside you. You aren't kidding you feel like you could perform some serious cosmic level shit now.
Neviah smiles. "I'm glad you're so pleased with the development of your magical prowess, my Lady." Oops. Must've been letting your feeling show. "However, it would be quite irresponsible for you to attempt to perform any spells right now, especially inside. What I did to your soul was essentially give a baby a loaded gun."
Disappointment floods your entire being. "Does that mean I've lost any fine control I had over the spells I actually practiced?" You aren't whining. You aren't.
…maybe just a little.
Neviah gives you a wincing smile and nods. "Though, on the positive side of things, you've so much more magic to work with that getting your control back and better than it was before shouldn't take very long if you dedicate yourself to practicing."
You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Well. It's not like that wasn't what I was planning on doing anyway. It's just frustrating that I don't get to keep what little progress I'd managed to make, you know?"
Neviah nods in painful understanding. "Quite well in fact. I remember when I'd finally begun going through puberty and the fine control I'd prided myself on achieving was lost as my magic grew along with me. I was inconsolable about it for weeks until I bucked up and threw myself back into my training."
It's good to know that you have someone who can understand what you're going through right now. You're still uneasy about the whole "my Lady" thing, but maybe you could convince Neviah that it isn't necessary to call you that. You doubt you could convince her that she doesn't have to serve you though. From the way she worded it, serving you has been something she's looked forward to ever since she was a little girl.
It also gives you a lot of existential anxiety that you were apparently always destined to die and somehow make your way to a fictional reality. You're just going to put that in the box and think about it never.
Fortunately for your stomach, you aren't interested in getting started on your training right then and there. You practically inhale what's on the tray and at least try to remember your manners.
"If you didn't know I was awake, what were you bringing me food for," you ask Neviah as the tray disappears with a wave of her hand.
"I figured it would do me some good to getting used to preparing and serving food! Actually doing it and not just knowing how to do it. And your soul was just as happy to absorb what I made as it was with the energy supplied to it."
"Speaking of, how exactly were you "supply my soul with power" as you put it? I thought that strengthening one's soul had to be done by the individual in question."
"Normally, yes. But a being such as yourself can be gifted power by others in many ways. How I did it was through the bell at the top of your palace."
Pause. Rewind a bit. "What do you mean by "my" palace? Isn't this your home?"
Neviah giggles behind her hand delicately. "Oh my, no! The entirety of this structure is yours to rule from, my Lady. Vestige's Vigil would answer to no other!"
Okay. So you have a fucking palace now. Many, many, many steps up from the boarding house.
You put aside flipping the fuck out for now. Now's not the time for flipping the fuck out. "Why's it called that?"
Neviah looks at you softly. "It's named after you, of course. What very little I'm able to glean from peripherally looking at your future before the debilitating migraines set in always has other referring to you as "Vestige." I know not if you chose to go by that name on your own, or if you chose to go by it because of what I've told you, but Vestige is always the name I've known you by."
You aren't sure how to respond to that. You'd been meaning to choose a different name to go by eventually and you still can't believe it's been a year and you still haven't done so. So, what the Hell? Why not go by Vestige? Regardless of if you were always going to pick it or if you only picked it because of Neviah doesn't matter. It feels right.
"Vestige it is then. I like it."
Neviah claps her hands excitedly together. "Oh, I'm thrilled to hear you say so! Now that you're awake and have eaten, would you care to see what your palace has to offer, my Lady?"
You stretch as you get up from the bed. "Sure, but I'm going to need you to cut out the whole "my Lady" thing." At Neviah's hurt and confused look, you scramble to explain. "It's just that I'm not comfortable with being referred to so highly. I've never been of any sort of social status that would have required me to be called that and I honestly don't want to try and start. Just call me Vestige. I need to get used to hearing my new name anyway."
Neviah blushes and fiddles her fingers together. "To be able to refer to you so casually would be wonderful, my- Vestige. Vestige. Oh! It feels so different to refer to you by that directly!"
She's thrilled. You get the feeling that Neviah finds entertainment in the smallest of things. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Sometimes it's the simple things in life that make it all worth it. You're also thrilled to not have to feel like you're being socially isolated due to being… some form of nobility now? You think?
"Cool. Glad we got that taken care of. Let's get that tour underway then, shall we?"
Neviah perks up and holds the door open for you. "Yes, let's! It'll be so wonderful to finally get to show you everything there is to see after all these years waiting!"
The two of you fall in step with one another, side by side. "You've really been looking forward to this all your life, haven't you?"
"Indeed! But I wasn't referring to the entirety of my wait. I meant that it'll be nice to show you everything about the palace since it's been many years since I built it!"
"You built it?"
"Yes! It was one of the things that absolutely had to be done before you would arrive! And it isn't as though I had anything else to do with my time, being dead and all."
What.
Neviah continues. "I really wanted to show you it the first time you came here, but it wasn't to be. You had to get started on building your power right away, so I had to send you to Hell as soon as possible. But now you're here and I can tell you all there is to know about Purgatory!"
What.
"Which isn't a lot, but that just means the lesson will be over with quick! And then after the tour you can begin your training to further strengthen your power. Of course, there's no rush but it's something you'd want to have done sooner rather than later, especially since you've been asleep for several years now-"
What.
You falter in your step and attempt to catch yourself on the nearest wall, only for the entire thing to come crumbling down when your palm slams into it.
Chapter End Notes
Oh shit it's a time skip!
Dear Friends
Chapter Notes
The lovely Dingledangle made some very nice artwork of Vestige!!!
Thank you so much!
3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
This is a very nice couch you've decided to assume the fetal position on.
It's soft, cushy and oh so plush that screaming into the cushion you have your face mushed up against makes no noise whatsoever.
Really, you couldn't have asked for a better piece of furniture to have a mini breakdown on.
The breakdown you're currently having could have been much, much worse if Neviah hadn't informed you that by "several years" she really just meant three. If your heart still needed to beat, you're pretty sure it would have stopped and you'd be in the throes of cardiac arrest.
"It's been quite some time since I first arrived here," Neviah nervously laughed as she fixed the destroyed wall with a gesture. "My sense of time is all out of sorts! I know that it flows the same here as it does anywhere else, but when you're the only being stuck in one place for years and years, things like the passage of time lose what little meaning they already had. Especially considering that if I hadn't been destined to die I would have been conditionally immortal, only a very select few things would have been able to end me."
And that. The whole "being dead" thing. Neviah was apparently a ghost. Because why not? Angels and demons were certainly a thing, so why wouldn't ghosts exist too? Admittedly you're a lot less put out by the ghost thing than you are the fact that you'd been "asleep" for three years. But given the context of what you'd done to your soul – shredding it to the point that it had nearly fallen apart before Neviah could get ahold of it – it made sense that you wouldn't just bounce back from an injury like that in a short amount of time.
It didn't make you any less miffed at Neviah for giving you a scare like that, but you could admit that it wasn't entirely her fault. The mind would do anything to preserve itself and you supposed that losing one's sense of time was a small price to pay for maintaining one's sanity. You certainly would have been glad to give it up if it meant that you weren't at risk of descending into madness.
But that's not why you were screaming into this couch cushion. No, you were screaming because your plan for when you got back to Hell was to – somehow – inform Avary that you were alright and not a smear on the pavement somewhere and to also finally check back in with Conroy. You'd never made any verbal agreement with him that you would go back to Cannibal Town to visit, but you'd made one to yourself. And now it turns out that instead of it being six months you'd left the guy hanging, it's actually been three years.
Poor guy probably thinks you got offed in the Extermination if he gave your existence another thought after you left.
It's mostly out of a sense of guilt that you haven't fulfilled the promise to yourself that you're breaking down over this. Selfish? Maybe a little. But you'd enjoyed both Conroy and Avary's company for all that you barely knew the former and the shitshow you had to endure with the latter. If not to them, then you owe it to yourself to let them know that you were still kicking around. For closure if nothing else.
But that wasn't going to happen until you got ahold of your newfound power. The you from before wouldn't have come close to nicking the wall, let alone completely demolishing it by simply falling against it. Neviah had made an excellent point that you should do any and all training outside where you wouldn't accidentally destroy the entire palace. Unless you horribly misfired a spell. Which was completely likely with the lack of control you had now.
Your groan of frustration – much like your screaming had been – is completely muffled by the cushion. Neviah sits in an equally plush armchair off to the side as she watches you worriedly.
"I am so, terribly sorry for the trouble my words have caused you, my- Vestige. I haven't interacted with another person in so long that I was excited to finally do so again. My social skills have undoubtedly degraded over my time spent alone in Purgatory."
You roll over to face her, still in the fetal position. "I want to say that it's fine, but at the same time it's not. It's fine in that I know you didn't mean any harm by wording it the way that you did. I get it. But it's not fine because now I'm all twisted up inside about the two people who're most likely to be worried about me disappearing on them."
Avary for sure is probably pissed with worry over what happened to you. She was right there when you got spirited away to Earth after all. If you had to hazard a guess, she probably had all of the city combed over for any trace of you before spreading out to the rest of Greed, and then the other Rings. A great way to spread her Family's influence to be sure, but a horrible reason for her to be doing it given that they'd been relatively small when you'd unwillingly left.
Conroy though… You have absolutely no idea how he'd react to you suddenly coming back after being gone for so long. Your initial meeting with him had been very welcoming, but that could have been simply because he felt he owed you and that you hadn't reacted – outwardly – negatively to him being a cannibal and assumed that he was going to try and eat you. He could be angry pissed and lash out to moment he sees you for all you know. It's not like you can see the future or-
You can't, you realize as you sit up abruptly, startling the only other occupant in the room. But Neviah can.
"You could check in on them though, couldn't you?"
"That is absolutely within my capabilities," she cheerfully reassures, relieved to see you come out of your funk, however momentarily. "What is it you would like me to look into?"
You bite your lip apprehensively. "I'd… I'd like to know how they took me disappearing. What exactly will I be coming back to once I've gotten myself under control?"
"One moment," Neviah says as her eyes begin to faintly glow a golden hue. "Miss Avidity was absolutely beside herself with guilt and rage. She's made great strides in the past few years building up her Family and has an entire branch of it dedicated to looking for any sign of you all across the Rings. Several members who were present when you were have attempted to dissuade her from this endeavor after the first year had passed, with no luck. She grows more and more infuriated with each day that passes with no news about you, as well as more and more guilty. She blames herself for presenting you with my grimoire, as though it was her fault it whisked you away to – what was supposed to be – a safer location to build your power."
That's about what you expected, but…
"Your grimoire?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. Before I died, I ensured that my grimoire would be found either by you or by someone close to you to give it to you. It's a wonderful starting point for a being such as yourself to have begun building your magical reserves, but ultimately you won't need it for spells in the long run. You'll be able to perform whatever you wish with a mere thought or gesture once you get it under control. When the time comes, it will be passed down to my little brother and he will take over my previous duties. That reminds me, I'll need to remove all the notes in it that father left me. It wouldn't do to give my brother false hope that father cares about him or my other siblings beyond them continuing the family line. Life will be cruel enough to him."
That sounds vaguely familiar. "And who exactly is this brother you're talking about?"
"His name will be Stolas. Stolas Goetia." Yep. Your hunch was right. "If there's anything I regret about my fate, it would be that I couldn't have met him before I died. He'll be so much like me, and that will only serve to make father all the colder towards him. And yet that coldness will be what makes sweet Stolas strive to be kind to others. It's conflicting, how I feel about it all."
Oof. Looks like both of you have reasons to be boarding the pity train all the way to Bummer Town. And there's still at least one more thing to get through, so it was time to get back on track.
"And Conroy? How'd he handle me not coming back around for a visit?"
Neviah blinks away the melancholy thoughts of her family. "Right. Him. He… He didn't take it well. It was only after the Extermination began that he realized you might not have known about it, given how new to Hell you were. He had to wait until it ended before he started looking and listening for any sign of a Sinner bearing your description, costumed or otherwise. When he couldn't find anything, he assumed the worst. That you'd gotten killed during the Extermination. He's been good at hiding it, but he's been blaming himself for your supposed death and it's begun to take its toll on him. One Miss Rosie has begun to take notice that one of the residents of her fine town isn't doing well, and that he won't come to her to seek advice. The demons of Cannibal Town are all Hellborn demons. They're a particularly long-lived species, but if one were to say begin slowly starving themselves, it's only a matter of time before they die."
Neviah rises from her seat and places her hands on your shoulders gently at your alarmed expression.
"He hasn't begun to do so yet and won't for some time. But it will happen. I can see that you want to rush and show him that his forgetfulness didn't get you killed, but it isn't safe. You're powers are in a very delicate, very volatile state right now. To try and go anywhere other than down below the palace to hone them would be placing not only you, but the people you're worried about at risk. He is in no danger of self-starvation at this moment and Miss Rosie has a knack for getting others to do as she says. She'll be able to keep him afloat until you've gotten yourself under control. For now, you need to focus on doing just that."
You sigh distraughtly. "I understand. But you've just told me that two people I would like to consider my friends blame themselves for me disappearing and that one of them is going to start trying to starve himself to death out of guilt. I'm not exactly in the right headspace to do what I need to so I can go let them know I'm alright!"
You look up sadly at Neviah. "Isn't there some way I could let them know I'm alright, but that it'll be a while before I can see them again?"
She returns your sorrowful expression and sighs softly as her eyes begin to glow again. "Let me see. There are several branching paths where you inform Miss Avary and Mister Conroy of your survival, but a lot of them lead to less than favorable outcomes for their fates. I'm not certain that doing so would be bene- Hold on now."
"What is it," you ask, trying not to get your hopes up too high.
"A very tiny path just formed. It's a very inconsequential thing, going through with it doesn't appear to have any negative impacts for them… Yes! I think this will work out just fine." The glow fades and Neviah beams down at you. "Tell me, Vestige, how good is your penmanship?"
If you asked one Avary Avidity where she thought she'd be three and a half years ago, the honest answer would be "mauled to death in a ditch somewhere." Because really, that's what her little hairbrained plan to make Rabel lose interest in her would have resulted in if she'd actually run into a dangerous Hell beast like she'd been hoping. And maybe a small part of her – the part that had believed that Killian had cared for her but was unable to do anything to help – had been looking for death. The her from before had been blind to the truth and couldn't stand to fathom a reality where she couldn't be near the one she'd loved the way she'd wanted to be.
But that Avary had died along with her love for Killian when he'd shown what an absolute bastard he really was. She's been slowly getting used to falling asleep without the worry that someone was going to break into her room and assault her, but it's been a lengthy process, and the nightmares haven't stopped. She wasn't sure if they ever would.
Apparently she was a big sister now, not that she'd be sending the cowards that had dared to call themselves her parents and form of congratulations. They'd made their choice long before they decided to cut their losses and flee from the Rout Family. Avary had washed her hands of them. She doubted they'd ever own up to her little sibling the fact that they'd had a child before them. If they did, she'd truly be surprised. But again, she doubted it. She could care less what happened with her donors, but she'd be keeping a close eye on her sibling to ensure that they had as good a life as possible.
Maybe she wouldn't fail at that. Great. Now she's just made herself sad again. Avary sighs dejectedly as she overlooks Robbery City's skyline. Toxic green as it ever was during the day. You surely would have had something witty in response to that, but for the life of her Avary couldn't think of what.
Thinking about you hurt and the pain hadn't lessened over the past three years. There still hadn't been any sign of you in any of the Rings and Avary was starting to suspect that there never would be. She held out flimsy hope that maybe that damned piece of paper had taken you away from Hell entirely. Maybe you were living it up on Earth somewhere. She wouldn't blame you for not wanting to come back, it seemed that Hell was getting more and more, well, hellish with each passing year. As more Sinners fell, each Ring was influenced by how things on Earth had progressed, which led to more and more chaos in the streets.
Not as much as the Pride Ring, never as much as in the Pride Ring. But the Hellborn who visited it frequently always brought back news about the changes happening, and a little bit of that chaos continued to trickle down until it infected every Ring, no matter how minorly.
Like how Greed was right now. Apparently up on Earth, something the humans referred to as "The Great Depression" was in full swing and it was anyone's guess when it would end. It all started, oddly enough, a little over three years ago. There was a jump in the influx of Sinners that first year, or so she'd been told.
At first, no one really gave a shit because, hey. That was an Earth problem. Until someone finally managed to weasel it out of a chatty Sinner that it had all started because of something called the "Stock Market" crashing which led to humans spending less and less and eventually taking everything they'd put into their banks out and it only continued to spiral from there.
Again, that was an Earth problem. But when something has to do with money, you can bet that Mammon can be found sniffing around it to figure out how he could profit off of it. She'd never met the Embodiment of Greed before and Avary was perfectly fine with keeping it that way. She had no idea what Mammon was scheming about this time, but she'd heard whispers that he'd taken a liking to that "Stock Market" idea the humans came up with. So it was probably something to do with that.
She'd find out the same time as everyone else when the clown made one of his garish, self-important announcements. Sweet Satan did she hate clowns. Jesters were so much better. They got to insult people as a joke and those they insulted had one of two choices to make: laugh along and give the sense that what was being joked about was untrue or puff up in rage and let everyone think there was some truth to the joke, whether there actually was or not. Either way, the jester wins.
She's trying to distract herself from thinking about you and it isn't working. It's never going to work until she manages to find something – anything – that could give her even a hint of just what happened to you.
Avary hears a strange noise come from behind her and she's as quick as the pistol she whips out in turning around to face whoever was stupid enough to try and ambush her in her office. Only… no one's there. An envelope bearing her name sits in the middle of her desk and Avary knows damn well it hadn't been there earlier.
Some chucklefuck appears to be trying her. Avary's lip curls into a snarl as she tears the letter open to see what this audacious piece of shit wants with her.
Dear Avary,
I'm not good at this whole letter writing thing, so I'll try to keep this brief.
I'm fine, the paper didn't kill me or anything like that, but let me tell you I have been through some shit.
Avary can feel her eyes getting hot for some strange reason.
But that's not the point.
I'm fine, so whatever guilt you might have been feeling about me disappearing you don't need to hold onto it anymore.
It wasn't your fault.
I'd love to catch up in person, but unfortunately that shit I mentioned going through has made it very dangerous for me to leave where I am right now.
I don't know how long I'll be here, but as soon as I'm able I'd like to catch up.
I hear you've been making waves in the crime world while looking for me.
There's also someone I'd like you to meet.
That is, if he isn't super pissed after getting the letter I sent him and decided that he wants nothing to do with me.
And also, if you haven't decided that you want nothing to do with me, too.
There's a blank piece of paper included in the envelope for you to send a response if you aren't royally pissed off at me.
Don't worry about sending it, I've got someone who'll make sure it finds its way to me.
One more thing, I finally have something for you to call me.
Hope to hear from you soon, but I'll understand if I don't.
- Vestige
Avary's legs feel so weak and wobbly that she has to take a seat. She rubs at her eyes and takes s deep, shuddering breath before picking up a pen.
If a few drops of water land on the paper, they dry well before the letter gets sent.
Conroy would argue that he was very much not a shut-in, thank you very much. He'd have to never leave his house in order to be considered a shut-in and he left it plenty to go to his job to get paid and then to the butcher to purchase what he'd be eating for dinner.
So, once again, Conroy was not a shut-in. He just hadn't left Cannibal Town for roughly three and a half years.
And it wasn't like that was anything to be concerned about! Plenty of cannibals never left town! And no one had certainly ever tried to get on their cases about it! Really, Rosie was worrying over nothing, he was fine.
It certainly wasn't as if he lied awake at night every night since he'd ended his fruitless searching for any sign of what might have happened to you after the Extermination all those years ago! He certainly didn't berate himself daily over the fact that he'd been so stupid to let that sort of information slip his mind when he knew you'd only been in Hell for less that a month! His appearance definitely hadn't taken a hit! He was most assuredly not sporting patchy stubble along his jaw that he couldn't be arsed with completely shaving off!
…Conroy might not be doing fine at all, actually. And their town's beloved leader and Overlord had begun taking notice of that fact.
Rosie was a problem solver. He knew it, she knew it, everyone in town knew it. It's why so many of them went to her for advice regarding their day-to-day problems. Rosie was delightful, charming and a very patient listener. She offered no form of judgement, simply waited for the situation to be explained to her before offering up her sagely and well sought after advice on what to do about the matter.
And for all Conroy knew that Rosie would know exactly what to say to help him, he didn't want to be helped. What Conroy wanted was to be punished for his failings. He wanted retribution to be sought after him. And he knew that he was never going to get it. Not from anyone but himself. So he'd confined himself to Cannibal Town as a sort of self-inflicted punishment. Maybe if he'd never crossed paths with you, you'd have been found by some other kind-hearted demon who would have remembered to tell you about the impending Extermination and then you wouldn't be dead because stupid, no good, useless Conroy wouldn't have tainted your afterlife with his presence.
He didn't notice as Rosie held up a hand in greeting as he shuffled on past her. If he had, he would have thought about how she shouldn't bother with a waste of space like him and should instead focus her attention on the poor sod who'd crashed through her and Franklin's emporium's roof the other day and had yet to wake up. Wasn't the first time a Sinner had manifested in Cannibal Town, but it was definitely the most violent of arrivals. Like he'd told you, cannibals they may be, but that doesn't mean they go after any and everyone. Fresh Sinner may have been tempting, but Rosie's rules were strictly upheld and followed, unless someone wanted to feel the full wrath of an Overlord. Which no one did.
Conroy slumps against his house's front door after he's shut it. He looks down at the packaged meat he'd just purchased and feels his stomach churn at the sight of it. He's been losing his appetite more and more with each passing day. He still eats, but the food tastes like ashes in his mouth and every bite is a struggle to swallow.
How long before he refuses to swallow? Let alone put it in his mouth? Or stops buying food at all?
Not today, but he stores the meat away in the icebox for now. His appetite still escapes him for now.
He hears the quiet thumb of something hitting the counter behind him and turns around slowly. An envelope sits on his kitchen counter innocently and he knows that it wasn't there before. He hadn't gotten any mail today.
He runs a claw through the top of the envelope and pulls out the letter.
Dear Conroy,
Wow, I am not used to writing letters, that felt weird.
Anyway.
It's me, that demon you gave an outfit and a costume to three and a half years ago.
Conroy's hands start trembling and he has to settle himself and the letter at his kitchen table before he accidentally rips it.
Sorry that I never managed to visit, or even contact you before now.
A lot happened during that Extermination.
If you feel guilty about not telling me about it, don't. The best of us have things that slip our minds all the time.
I don't blame you.
I'd very much like to visit you, but circumstances following that Extermination have made it so that leaving where I currently am is incredibly dangerous for me.
I don't know how long it'll be before it'll be safe for me to leave this place.
If you aren't understandably pissed beyond all reason that I haven't been able to reach out before now, I hope that we can meet up when that time comes.
If you're up for it, there's also someone I'd like you to meet.
Assuming she isn't also understandably pissed off about me disappearing.
There's a blank piece of paper included in the envelope for you to write your response, assuming you even want to speak to me.
Don't worry about sending it, I have someone who'll make sure I get it.
One more thing, I finally have a name I go by now.
- Vestige
Conroy buries his face into his hands and his shoulders shake violently as his entire body is wracked with relieved sobs. You're alive. You're alive! Well, alive as any Sinner can be, but still alive!
He didn't send you off unwittingly marching to your death.
Conroy feels his stomach rumble, demanding sustenance for the first time in a while.
He picks up a pen to write out his response, eating can wait just a bit longer.
Chapter End Notes
I really scared some of you with that "being asleep for years" thing last chapter, huh?
I sincerely debated on whether I wanted the timeskip to be much more significant, but I didn't want to leave our two favorite side characters hanging for too long.
So, Vestige will be communicating with the through letters until she can get her shit together. I'm not going to go crazy with them though; they'll only show up when I feel they're absolutely necessary. I just wanted to let you all know that multiple letters will be exchanged offscreen.
Also, Vestige destroyed so many pens and letters because she kept gripping to hard. She ended up having to dictate while Neviah wrote what she was saying.
Am I Going Crazy, Would I Even Know?
Chapter Notes
Sort of an interlude before we get back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.
Also, the lovely Saltyfryz made some wonderful fanart of Conroy and Avary over on Tumblr!
Thank you so much! 3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Alastor is known as a man of great composure. Ask anyone who's spent a significant amount of time with him over the years, or better yet, ask Mrs. Donahugh who's watched him blossom from a scrappy little hellion into the man he is today. The difference between the two versions of himself – that he's allowed the public to see – would be stark indeed. Not once throughout his adulthood has he ever lost his calm, cool collectedness. Yes, Alastor was a man who always managed to keep a level head regardless of whatever circumstance he found himself in.
Normally.
As he stumbles and staggers his way into the cabin, Alastor can admit to himself that he is far from being well put together like he usually is. His head feels foggy and heavy and he's barely aware of his surrounding, only making it back to the cabin through instinct alone. The floorboards have absorbed the blood trail left behind on them at this point, the liquid having soaked its way into them. That's a stain that's going to be difficult to remove, he thinks idly to himself as he stumbles his way to the bedroom where the trail begins.
It's a mess in here as well, seemingly more so than the den given that the bedroom is a much more enclosed space. His belongings have been strewn about, as though there had been some great struggle going on up here while he'd been down in the basement none the wiser to it entirely. Right next to where the blood trail begins is a faded and yellowed news article. The hand that didn't have his favorite hunting knife in a death grip trembled as he stooped down to pick it up.
As Alastor had suspected, it's that article. That horrible, world-shattering article. He recalls how he'd felt the first time he'd seen it. He'd been in a state of disbelief. He was so sure that the papers had gotten it wrong, that in the days that followed there would be a follow-up article apologizing for such an egregious printing mistake. But no such article ever came, and Mimzy remained cold and dead to the world.
He barely recalls the time after that, the only parts of it clear in his mind when he was at his mother's side. She'd done her best to calm and console him as she always had throughout his life, but as ill as she'd been his mother was only able to devote so much energy to trying to upkeep his wellbeing before she physically couldn't anymore. And then suddenly Alastor was having to deal with the grief of losing the most important person in his life on top of losing his only confidant.
He'd put on a brave face throughout his mother's funeral procession. It was only after the last of the dirt had filled her grave and the last of the well-wishers had gone that Alastor had allowed himself to breakdown. Away from the prying eyes of anyone and everyone that might look to exploit him in his moment of weakness. He can't recall having felt so raw and open before in all his life. There were times when some of his sobs sounded more like screams.
He recalled that he wanted nothing more than to die in that moment. He had nothing tying him to the world anymore, so he'd seen no point in clinging to life any longer than he already had.
That must have been when it had all started, he assures himself as he begins sawing away at the lifeless carcass still bound to the chair in his basement. Because in the moment when Alastor was ready to give up completely, Mimzy had appeared before him like a savior, if he were so inclined to make such comparisons. His mind, weak and broken as it was at the loss of his beloved mother, had decided to do something to kick Alastor's will to live back into action.
She'd looked like Mimzy. Walked like Mimzy, talked like Mimzy, acted so much like Mimzy that Alastor had convinced himself that this figment of his shattered psyche must have been Mimzy. And in doing so he'd put that damning article in a hefty lockbox and buried it deep within the recesses of his broken mind.
"Mimzy" had consoled him through his grief about losing his mother. She'd been there for him always when he needed her. And never when he didn't. Perhaps that should have been his fist clue that something wasn't quite right about "Mimzy." But the human body will do all it can to protect itself and so Alastor had never thought to question how oddly coincidental it was that "Mimzy" was only ever at her old juice joint when he was ready to strike down his next victim.
Alastor laughs manically to himself as he puts a bit more effort behind his movements as the saw hits bone. Perhaps his mind had concluded that he needed to be coddled in a way that would help him get through disposing of his victims all by his lonesome. Because he's certainly thought that "Mimzy" had been with him helping to carry the bodies to dump them when he was done with them, but clearly he'd been doing it all by himself this whole time!
But that didn't seem quite right to him. Because he distinctly recalls that you reacted to "Mimzy" as though she'd really been there. Or, Alastor thinks to himself with cold dread creeping down his spine, had he just been imagining you responding to "Mimzy?" Or worse yet, had you just been humoring his delusions? Did you simply stand back and watch as he talked to thin air and just decide to go along with it?
Alastor looks back at his favorite hunting knife, coated with your blood. And it could only be your blood.
He knows that you weren't the one to take the knife out of the basement, you'd never gotten anywhere close enough to any of his tools to do so. The only logical conclusion he could come up with was that he had been the one to take it out of the basement. Which would mean that he was the one to coat the knife with your blood. The only thing Alastor can't think of is why. Twisted though they may be, Alastor has his own set of morals that he follows meticulously. He never attacks women aside from two exceptions. One: if his eavesdropping reveals that it's a woman who's been doing the abusing of her children. There have been a few times where Alastor has had to take both the husband and wife out of the picture. Did it orphan the child? Obviously. But in the time since the Bayou Butcher had become the name everyone feared to let slip past their lips too loudly, the amount of abuse rumors he'd overheard had dwindles significantly.
Alastor was no fool, he highly doubted that others were toning down their abuse, merely getting better at hiding it. It made uncovering the truth behind the rumors he heard all the more satisfying. The better kept the secret the more delicious it was when finally exposed.
Two: he only attacked women if they posed some sort of threat to him. In the early days of his career, Alastor could reluctantly admit that he wasn't as careful as he was today and had the misfortune of being caught in the act by a third party. One he quickly silenced and disposed of. Sometimes they tried to attack him, most times they tried to flee. Most of those who'd tried to escape him had been women, though there were a few who'd tried their hand at subduing him. Either way, threats to his person or to expose him weren't permitted to exist.
But you'd been neither an abuser nor a threat to him. So Alastor just couldn't fathom why he would attack you. Until he looks back over at the knife and notices that he'd also brought the article down with him. The article that should have been shoved at the very bottom of the pile in his bedside table yet had been outside of it on the floor.
You'd clearly been snooping about, you naughty, curious thing. And you'd found something that he wouldn't have ever wanted to be dug up again. Perhaps he'd taken a break from tending to his guest to check on you. Perhaps he'd found you where you weren't supposed to be. Perhaps he'd been about to playfully scold you when he noticed the article you'd held in your hand. Perhaps he'd been about to start using his favorite hunting knife on his guest and forgot to put it back down.
The human body will do whatever it can to protect itself. Especially the mind.
Perhaps he'd had a delayed reaction to seeing the article again, the truth of Mimzy's fate rushing back while he was in the middle of tending to his guest once again. And perhaps he had no recollection of hunting you down through the woods and ending your life by the riverbank before sending your body off to feed the gators.
At least, that's what Alastor assumes happened. He can't recall attacking you at all. But what other explanation is there? He was far too careful these days to have been followed back to the cabin. There was no secret third party involved with your demise.
His broken, twisted mind had tried to ensure he stayed intact, but all it did was rob him of the most intriguing person he'd ever met and was reminded that Mimzy had been dead this whole time anyway.
Alastor shoves all his tools off of the table in a fit of rage fueled sorrow. His favorite hunting knife mocks him from its place on the floor.
But, as they say, life goes on. Only now Alastor's life is just a little bit duller than it was.
It takes a week of no one being able to find you before all local stations are instructed by the bulls to put out a notice for you after the ladies at the boarding house reported you missing. Alastor hadn't been the one they'd assigned to report your disappearance and a part of him was relieved about that. It was one thing to report about those he'd meant to kill, his stomach churned at the thought of having to discuss your disappearance with the public.
He's not sure if he'd be able to handle discussing you as one of the Bayou Butcher's victims should your body resurface somehow intact enough to identify you.
He still visits the boarding house and is always bombarded with questions about if they'd found anything regarding you before either Louise or Mrs. Donahugh shoos the other ladies away. These visits are usually spent in silence, neither Alastor nor Mrs. Donahugh knowing what to say to one another due to the circumstances. He can see how your disappearance eats away at her. She's always thought of each and every woman who passed through these doors as a daughter, no matter how long they ended up staying. To not know what happened to you must be tearing her up inside.
Louise attempts to put up a caring façade, but it's obvious to everyone – save perhaps Mrs. Donahugh – that her concern for your wellbeing is fake. In fact, he often overhears the other ladies discussing how thrilled Louise is about you no longer being there. Their tines are always laced with red hot rage and Alastor figures it's only a matter of time before that particular fight finally boils over.
He doesn't intend to be around for it, and he's sure that Mrs. Donahugh can tell. She always sees him off with a sad smile, like she's saying goodbye to him for the very last time.
Alastor doesn't know how many more visits he has left in him before that's true.
After three months of you missing, Alastor is given what little possessions you'd had. Worry aside, the boarding house is Mrs. Donahugh's source of income and though Alastor knows she'd like to hold your room for you indefinitely until you come back, he also knows that she's a realist. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears as she passes the bundle of clothes to him.
"Thank you for coming around despite her… Thank you. I do hope to still see you, but I think we both know you won't be coming back after today. The girls think I don't know, but they've all been scrimping and saving every little penny they can to get a wireless for the house. They'll miss you just like I will, but we'll be listening to you."
If it had been one of the ladies saying this, Alastor would have brushed them off with polite platitudes. But this woman had helped raise him, so Alastor found that he didn't mind the feeling of her arms wrapped around him when he surprised himself by going in for a hug.
"Thank you, Mrs. Donahugh. I truly appreciate all you did for her."
When he arrives back home, Alastor meticulously hangs each article of your clothing in his wardrobe opposite his. Save for one shirt. Despite the months they'd gone without being worn, your scent still stubbornly clung to the fabric, much stronger than what little you'd left behind on his jacket the one time he was able to wrap it around your shoulders.
This shirt was the only splash of color your wardrobe had. It was a pale blue. As nice as it had looked on you, Alastor can't help but feel like the more muted tones the rest of your wardrobe sported suited you so much better.
Alastor rubs the fabric between his fingers, marveling at the care you must have given each and every piece for them to remain so soft and sturdy. He couldn't find even a hint of any wear or tear in any of the clothes. He vaguely recalls that the girls had said you were a very talented seamstress. Sometimes they would give you some of their older clothes that had massive tears that made them unwearable, but they couldn't bear to part with especially given the times right now where every little bit needed to be saved and repurposed if need be.
And yet the very next day you would return the articles as good as – or rather, better than – new if the ladies were to be believed. And they had no reason to lie. Alastor had never quite managed to get the hang of anything more complicated that fixing a hole here and there, despite his mother's best efforts to teach him. His talents lay in the kitchen, something none of the ladies could comment on you being particularly good or bad at because Louise refused to let you near any of the food. Probably out of fear that you would poison her or some other nonsense like that.
If you'd wanted her dead, Alastor is quite certain that you wouldn't have needed to resort to poison to make it so. Though, Louise certainly didn't know that.
He laughs at the thought of her one-sided rivalry with you, but it comes out much wetter and sob sounding than he meant for it to. It's little things like that you'll be remembered for by them. Kimberly had told him once that they all considered you to be the second big sister right after Polly. He wonders if you ever knew that and mourns the fact that he'll never get the chance to ask you.
Alastor places his shoes in their proper place before curling up on the bed with your shirt clutched in his hand. Mussing up the bed in his day clothes, what would his mother say? She'd probably tell him that it wasn't any good to keep his emotions all bottled up and that while smiling was the best way to go through life, sometimes a good cry was what was needed.
So Alastor allowed himself to cry, surrounded by the bittersweet aroma of your scent.
How long before that was gone too?
Alastor liked to pride himself on not being a sloppy drunk. Liked that he could hold his liquor better than most and not appear tipsy in the slightest.
This was a rare moment where Alastor would like nothing more than to be able to drink all his problems away until he couldn't remember them. Alas, his tolerance was nigh legendary thanks to Mimzy. He raises a glass in a silent toast to his old confidant and apologizes for not doing so at her place.
He hadn't been back at Mimzy's in about a year and a half now. Too ashamed to find out if the other regulars had been sober enough to recall him talking to nothing but thin air whenever he hallucinated Mimzy being there. He wouldn't have been able to handle it if it turned out to be the case. Couldn't handle knowing that his reputation was that of a sad, lonely drunk who saw his dead friend whenever he was at her place.
Despite his best efforts at avoiding spending any more time with them than absolutely necessary, Alastor had once again found himself dragged out by his coworkers for a bit of "fun."
Their idea of fun was to try and set Alastor up with any and every single woman they could find that they didn't feel like trying to woo for the evening. The thought set his teeth on edge as, again, most of these men were either married or had sweethearts. But adultery wasn't something Alastor killed for, though if they kept pushing him to find someone to bed, he was going to seriously start considering it.
Perhaps he ought to stop his imbibement for the evening actually. It wouldn't do for him to give into his baser urges surrounded by so many witnesses. Alastor doubted he'd be able to get to them all, some would slip away and then he'd be on a one-way ticket to Death Row if the boys in blue didn't decide to "help" get him there a bit quicker.
If he were being honest – and he so seldom was these days – drinking had lost much of its appeal. The few times he'd been able to convince you to put your nightly commitment to the side were some of the best experiences he'd ever had. Though for the life of him, Alastor can't quite figure out why. It wasn't as though the two of you had done anything particularly special. After your little dancing fiasco at Mimzy's, you'd stanchly refused to dance in public if anyone other than him was going to be present.
Alastor chuckled sadly at the memory. He never was able to convince you that your dancing was up to snuff to try again at Mimzy's. Still, while the few nights spent drinking together had been fun beyond measure for reasons he can't explain, Alastor vastly preferred when it was just the two of you swaying to the nonexistent tune of an invisible band. Sure he ended those outings feeling like every bone in his feet had been trampled to dust until you'd started showing improvement, but it was a price well worth paying.
It seemed that no matter how much time had passed, you remained at the forefront of his thoughts, Alastor caught himself thinking a year and a half later in the middle of the woods. He'd just finished disposing of his latest victim and this one had been a gusher of a bleeder. He wasn't completely soaked, but enough of the bodily fluid had seeped into his clothing that Alastor was going to have to seriously put some elbow grease into removing it this time if he wanted any chance of salvaging them.
If you'd been here, he felt that you would have a very dry response if he'd chosen to voice that thought out loud. He could picture it now.
"Why would you look at that! Looks like the rest of the evening will be spent yet again getting every last trace of red out of these clothes!"
"Wouldn't be a problem if you'd worn red to begin with. Much easier to hide."
And then he'd concede the point you had and would secretly take it to heart. The tailor he frequented had a bit of colorful fabric that he could afford to splurge on, and his mother had always told him that red looked quite dashing on him in his youth.
A shame that it was only a daydream that would never come to pass. You'd been gone for three years now and no amount of wishful thinking was ever going to change that. Alastor had done his damnedest to put you out of his mind over the years, but you still lingered even now. He was sure that he wouldn't ever be able to fully forget about you and the thought both comforted and irked him to no end.
Even in death you continued to taunt him as an enigma he'd never solve. As the years passed, he'd often wondered to himself just what it was that had drawn him into your presence so quickly and he never could discern the answer. So of course this pissed him off like nobody's business. Alastor hated not knowing or understanding something and you would always be the one thing he would never figure out.
And he had no one to blame but himself for that.
Alastor was brought out of his melancholic thoughts by the sound of baying hounds in the distance followed soon after by the sound of gunshots. There shouldn't be anyone out here this late at night – Alastor himself notwithstanding – much less hunting this late at night. Alastor picked up the pace to get back to the cabin as quickly as possible. Dark as it was, he doubted the hunter would be able to see the blood on his clothes, but they could very well smell it if they got close enough. And Alastor didn't need some nosy hunter sticking themselves into his business where they most assuredly were not wanted.
The moon was full tonight and it made it all the easier for Alastor to see the way he needed to go. He doubted that he'd run into the hunter with how far away the hounds and gunshots had sounded, but he hadn't made it this far without learning to be extremely cautious, especially when unforeseen circumstances popped up. He would be returning to the cabin, changing out of these bloodstained clothes, and refusing to come out until long after the sun had risen the next day to ensure he would not run afoul of the hunter.
But it seemed that fate had other plans for him tonight.
The sound of paws kicking up dirt and snarling were all the warning signs Alastor got before searing pain made itself known on his arms and legs as the hounds' teeth bit and ripped into his skin. Mangy things probably smelled the blood on him and couldn't differentiate between and deer and a man! He punched and kicked at the dogs and managed to shake a few of them off when the sound of a gunshot exploded from somewhere in front of him and Alastor felt the briefest pinch of pain in his forehead before it all ceased entirely, and everything went dark.
The darkness didn't last long though and Alastor's eyes snapped open at the feeling of wind rapidly blowing against his face in time to see the roof of a building getting closer and closer before plunging headfirst through it.
He felt dazed and disoriented as the debris fell about him and could do nothing to fight against the feeling of hands wrapping around his forearms before he was dragged away somewhere.
"Oh, you poor thing! Quite the nasty spill you just had there! Don't you worry dear, Rosie's going to make sure you're able to pull through this!"
And that was the last thing Alastor heard before his body had decided he'd endured enough physical trauma and shut down for the foreseeable future.
Chapter End Notes
It's bad but sad boi hours babes.
Deranged isn't the only thing Alastor is.
Don't Put Too Much Stock Into Fate
Chapter Notes
We now return to our regularly scheduled bullshit.
The lovely Dingledangle has made some more fanart!
Thank you! 3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dear Miss Vestige,
You've no idea how relieved I was to hear that you were alright.
Regardless of your assurance that I should feel no guilt for failing to inform you about the Extermination three and a half years ago, I can't help but feel right and proper remorseful that it slipped my mind.
You're a real class act to let my indiscretion slide like that.
I would be delighted to meet with you again once it's safe for you to do so. And I'd be more than pleased to meet this woman you'd like to introduce me to. Assuming of course she responds favorably to the letter you sent her.
Can't think of a reason why she wouldn't want to see you, I'm sure you'll get an eager response from her soon enough, don't you worry now.
Once again, I cannot express my relief at hearing that you're alive and relatively well since we parted ways.
Looking forward to the day we can meet again.
- Conroy
You let out a sigh of relief as Neviah finishes reading Conroy's letter to you. You would have done it yourself but is the pile of pens you'd accidentally destroyed from gripping too hard was anything to go by, it was for the best that you don't handle anything that required a very delicate touch for a while. You're surprised you somehow keep managing to not slice clean through your tray with each day that passes. Though, you do wish that the utensils could make it through your meals without becoming dented from where you gripped them.
You'd thrown yourself into your training to get your fine control back immediately after Neviah had sent those letters off to their respective recipients. Well, almost immediately. You hadn't been too eager to get started that you began training in your pajamas.
While there was rather spacious bathroom connected to your bedroom, Neviah had led you to an enormous open-air bath when you'd asked for a bit of time to freshen up and get properly dressed before you threw yourself completely into your training.
The bath was enchanted so that it always ran at the perfect temperature. Not so hot you'd burn yourself, but not so cold you'd consider it lukewarm. Steam rolled off the water lazily and while the air was humid, it wasn't unpleasantly so. Just enough that your skin felt a bit dewy, but nothing more than that.
Neviah was eager to get started on even more of what she considered her "servantly duties." Apparently she had servants who bathed her all her childhood and the only reason they'd stopped was because she herself had demanded it. Unsurprisingly, she considered properly bathing herself a way to train herself so that she could bathe you.
…you know that serving you is something Neviah's looked forward to for pretty much her entire life. But… yeah, no. A line has to be drawn. You feel like she's deluded herself just a bit into believing that you're so far above her in terms of importance and that's just not true. Not to you at least. Before all this, you'd just been like any other person trying to go about life as best they could. Getting transported to what was once a fictional reality after your untimely death was bad enough, but you knew you wouldn't be able to live up to the you Neviah had cooked up in her head and placed on a pedestal.
You'd thanked her for the offer but washed yourself thoroughly before you stepped into the bath to relax. You did allow Neviah to massage your scalp, but only because the lost puppy look she'd adopted made you feel just a little bit bad for denying her something she'd felt you were above doing yourself. Perhaps you could use this as a sort of positive reinforcement to – if not dissuade her from it entirely – at least get her to ease up on the whole wanting to wait on you hand and foot thing.
You hadn't ever wanted a servant before and you certainly didn't want one now. You just needed to figure out a way to relay that to Neviah without her catastrophizing about how she must have done something to greatly displease you if you were attempting to dismiss her right away. And that would take time and effort on your part and you would have to work your way up to it gradually so that the blow would be significantly lessened.
After the best damn soak you'd ever had in your entire existence, you'd asked Neviah if there were any clothes that would be suitable for you to train in somewhere in the closet you'd briefly taken notice of before your short-lived jaunt through the hallways. She'd snapped her fingers right as you'd finished asking and presented you with a tight fitted yellow tank top and black workout shorts. A pair of black sneakers were also present.
The outfit certainly hadn't been made out of material one could find in the 1930s and you'd raised an eyebrow at Neviah as your eyes darted between her and the clothes. She'd merely chuckled and said that she thought you'd be more comfortable with clothing made from material you were familiar with.
So her Temporal Vision could be used for more than just looking at the fates of others. That was good to know, you'd thought to yourself as you eagerly pulled in the undergarments that had been snapped along with the outfit. You'd never really worn a sports bra before, but it was leagues more comfortable than the girdle you'd been stuffing yourself into for the past year. It felt good to be slipping into something you were more familiar with after so long.
And though you didn't ask for one, Neviah then snapped a full-length mirror in front of you and you got to see how your new body looked since your old one exploded. And that was still such a weird statement to make.
You were still very much a deer demon which you were actually quite relieved about. Much as you still loathed how cutesy you looked, it would have been a pain to have to get used to a completely new body that had extra appendages like more arms, legs, a tail, wings, Hell all of the above. Your skin was still a very light gray but the dark gray of your forearms had darkened completely to black and had moved up all the way to your shoulders before fading into gray. The same could be said for your legs; the black trailed all the way up to just below your hips. Your fingers and hooves remained that eerie shade of yellow, as did your eyes and the insides of your ears. White freckles still littered the area under your eyes and across the bridge of your nose. Your lips had turned pitch black. Your hair and sclera were still that inky black, though you could swear that your hair was flowing a bit even though there was no breeze going. But a closer second look showed that it must have been your eyes playing tricks on you. It was the same length and there was no invisible breeze pushing it about.
But what wasn't a trick was the fact that you were now sporting a brank new, oh so fluffy black tail with an eerie yellow underside. Great. Just what you needed. More ways to be viewed as cute. That's it. Regardless of how powerful you were now, you were sticking with keeping your costume – Wraith, it was called Wraith now – on if you had serious business to attend to. The cutesy look could be for wandering around the city during your free time.
You ignored the shoes. You were quite certain that the training you were about to undergo was going to be brutal. Not because you thought that Neviah would have you starting out on a particular grueling difficulty – though being an Ars Goetia and what you know of her grimoire, her perception of difficulty may very well be as skewed as that book's – but because you had this sinking feeling in your gut that trying to perform with the weakest of your powers was going to result in massive amounts of destruction and you doubted your clothing would be spared. The outfit was necessary for modesty's sake, but you were fine with foregoing shoes for the time being.
And you'd been right. Far, far below the palace on the land of Purgatory – and you snort briefly as you recall a year ago you'd thought that was where you'd woken up, how silly you were – you'd taken a stance with Neviah floating a good distance away from you. She'd wanted you to start out by trying to summon your tendrils to try and grab her. And oh boy did you. Only they'd been different from the writhing tentacles you'd been used to seeing. Now they resembled hands and they were much larger and much more numerous than they'd been before.
They'd torn up the surrounding area in their mad dash to follow your simply mental command of: Grab Neviah. They didn't even come close to doing so, by the way. And Neviah had remained a stationary target! A few of them managed to grab you, however, when you'd lost your concentration – and therefore what little control you had – and those few had briefly become free agents who'd further simplified your command of: Grab Neviah to the command of: Grab.
You'd successfully dismissed them, but not before those wayward few managed to rip at your clothing a bit. Nothing Neviah couldn't effortlessly fix, but you were coming to the realization that while you'd known that this was going to be hard, it looked like gaining back your fine control and honing it to be better than it was before was going to be far more difficult than you'd thought.
Which brings us back to now. You'd been at this nonstop for two months now, and you were frustrated that you weren't showing any signs of progress. Starting from being powerless and getting to see your power grow in real time had really spoiled you. Of course when you were just starting out you could see the strides you'd been making. Because you were starting from absolutely nothing!
But now you were some kind of overpowered powerhouse and you had none of the fine control you'd been building alongside your power when you first started your quest to become stronger. It was like you were trying to water a delicate potted plant with a firehose.
But receiving a response from Coroy two weeks after having sent the letter assuring him of your continued survival calmed you down and reminded you of why you were committed to such a Herculean task. You needed to be able to control yourself so that you could safely be around others again.
And Conroy wasn't the only one who'd responded.
Dear Vestige,
First, let me say that I'm thrilled to hear that you've finally found a name you think fits you. It was really hard bringing you up in conversations without something to call you by.
Now that the pleasantries are out of the way…
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?!
Do you have any idea how worried sick I've been since you up and vanished on me?
I thought I'd accidentally killed you by giving you that grimoire!
Where the Hell have you been because I've scoured every last Ring looking for you and nobody could find even a hint of you having been there!
No, you know what. You can tell me yourself when it's safe for you to leave wherever the fuck it is you are.
Look at this. Your letter got me so worked up that some of these lines are coming out all shaky.
I hope you realize that I'll be socking you in the arm good and hard when next we meet. That's the least you can do after all the worry you've put me through.
I had to step away from this letter for a bit because I was getting too worked up about it.
I'm still going to sock you in the arm.
But I'm so happy to hear that you're doing okay, despite not being able to leave wherever it is you are.
It'll take some doing, but when you're ready to meet up, I'll be sure to give my people the slip. Gotta feeling what you'll have to say is something you don't want too many ears overhearing.
And I'd be happy to meet whoever this guy is you want to introduce me to, assuming he isn't too pissed to write you back.
All my love, going directly into your arm via my fist.
- Avary Avidity
Neviah looks up from where she'd been dictating the contents of the letter to you, a worriedly nervous expression on her face. "Miss Avary seems awfully inclined to inflict violence upon your person when next you meet."
You shrug nonchalantly. "Well, I did just up and vanish on her, not that it was my fault. If she decided to respond at all, that's the sort of response I was expecting from her. But do you honestly think she'll be able to do any lasting damage to me?"
Neviah shakes her head. "Not at all! I'm more concerned with her breaking her hand attempting to punch you."
You set the glass of water you'd been chugging down. "Well then, I'll just make it so that she can't do that. The fine control I'm trying to achieve would let me adjust my body's density enough to where there's give to anyone trying to touch me. And honestly, I wouldn't want to walk around like I'm an impenetrable fortress unless absolutely necessary because that would just attract too much attention and I'd like to be able to hug my friends without it feeling like a marble statue is trying to strangle them."
Honestly, the amount of batshit crazy things you'll be able to do once you've regained your control boils down to anything you can imagine. And if you want to walk around and pretend that you're as squishy as anyone else then you're going to do so damn it! You just have to work your way up to it and standing around thinking about it isn't going to get you any closer.
You'd decided that having Neviah be the target while your power is still so unstable was a bad idea. Just because she was a ghost didn't necessarily mean she couldn't be harmed anymore, and you'd rather not find out that she can by squishing her to double death. She'd agreed without complaint once you'd explained that to her and now your targets were actual wooden targets.
You've crushed several into splinters over the past two months but hadn't done so intentionally. Your tendrils were still too numerous and unwieldy. And since you weren't making any progress in getting them to do as you say this way, you'd decided to change tactics for now.
Honestly you should have started off with trying to reduce their numbers and size before giving them commands, but Neviah had been so excited for you to try out her idea and you've always been weak to puppy eyes coming from people who were only genuinely trying to help.
…mental note to yourself, avoid one Miss Charlie Morningstar before canon. If she were a more cunning demon, she could absolutely weaponize that look to get others to do whatever she wanted.
You turn away from the targets and focus solely on your shadow as you try and will less and smaller tendrils out from it. You can feel the strain you're putting on yourself as you try to do this. You're not even trying to cut their numbers or size by half because you know you don't have near enough control for that. You're just trying to reduce them by even one tendril or just a little bit in size.
Your grin feels more like a grimace when you finally manage to do so after several more weeks with no results. Oh, you're looking forward to the destination, but not the journey it's going to take for you to get there.
Months pass before you're able to reduce your tendril count and size by nearly half. You've slowly started applying commands to individual tendrils to further help your control and concentration grow with mixed results. Somethings you can do with minimal effort, others are just beyond your current skill level for the time being. It's as you're practicing your multitasking that you're interrupted by the most horrific noise you'd ever heard. It's like the combination of nails down a chalkboard, the kind of strangled scream one tries to muffle after a particularly terrifying nightmare but can't quite cover in time, and the anguished sounds of someone being torn to shreds over and over again with no end in sight. In chorus.
Well, at least this happened at around the time you normally stopped training for the day. Your concentration was totally ruined now as you watched the tendrils dissipate from sight as your ears pinned themselves against your head to try and block out the noise. With little success. Neviah brings you both back into the palace where the noise just gets worse. It's louder now and continues to get louder as you follow Neviah to the source of it.
Which turns out to be a cathedral radio.
Oh. You think you know exactly what this is.
Neviah attempts to lower the volume or just switch the radio off with no success. Nothing is stopping this broadcast from coming through. Not even smashing the radio stops the noise and she reluctantly puts it back together. The most she can do is strap a pillow in front of the speakers which actually muffles the noise enough to where your ears are no longer trying to meld themselves completely to your head. Neviah throws a sheet over the radio for good measure.
The two of you share a look before you speak up. "Since when did we have a radio?"
Neviah sighs irritably. "It was meant to be a surprise. I've seen how this medium progresses on Earth and I know you were sometimes fond of it when songs you liked were played. It can tune in to Earth broadcast stations. I meant for it to be a gift to reward you for all the progress you've made so far. I forgot that it could pick up Hell's one broadcast station as well." She glares at the still screeching radio. "I'll get rid of it properly once this wretched thing shuts up."
"Don't," you say surprising both Neviah and yourself.
You'd never bothered tuning into Alastor's time slot back on Earth. For one, the boarding house didn't have a radio. And two, you didn't want to puff up his ego any more than he himself already did.
"How long has this been here," you continue.
Neviah pauses to think. "Well, I've had it since before you woke up. I knew that you would have to retrain yourself to gain back your control over your powers and thought it'd be a nice little reward to help motivate you."
"And did it ever scream like that before now?"
Neviah firmly shakes her head, scowling at the radio. "No. Never. This is the first time it's ever done so."
"So, this is his very first broadcast then…" you mutter to yourself.
"My L- Vestige? Might I inquire as to why you want to keep this horrible little box?"
You look up at Neviah. "Neviah. Have we ever discussed what my life was like before I died and came here?"
"No, we haven't." She gasps and perks up immediately. "Does this mean you wish to divulge the details of your life with me?!"
You nod. "Some of them anyway. Ones pertaining to a particular piece of media that I could use your insight on."
Neviah leads you to a parlor far away from the radio. With its speakers muffled now, you can't make it out at all. Neviah vibrates in place where she's sitting with anticipation. She's summoned a tray with a teapot full of tea for herself and a teapot full of hot chocolate for you.
"I'm eager to know all about whatever it is you wish to discuss with me my-! Vestige!"
One day she'll be able to say your name without almost defaulting to "my Lady." One day. Hopefully.
"Okay. So. You're aware that I was human before this. I wouldn't normally clarify this because all Sinners were human once, but remarks that you've made have made me suspect that there might be a bit more to it when it comes to me. So, I'm just covering the basics before we get to the meat of the conversation."
Neviah nods in confirmation. "Yes. I'm well aware that you were human once."
"Good. Like I said, just getting the basics out of the way. Now, from what you've seen looking through the various fates of humans to sate your boredom while you were waiting for me, I'm sure you've noticed how creative they can be."
"Quite! Some of the things that humans have come up with and will come up with are simply astonishing! To think it never would have been possible if his Majesty hadn't decided to grant them free will."
"Right, well, anyway. I'm sure that in your watching you noticed how the invention known as the television grew in popularity and how what was shown on it grew and evolved with it. Things like reality shows, game shows, telenovelas… cartoons. All that jazz."
"I did notice that particular invention's rise to becoming a household product, yes. It'll soon be on its way to there being at least one in most homes before too long I believe. But what does this have to do with your life before?"
You huff a small laugh. "Don't worry, I'm getting to that. I just need to lay down a bit of groundwork is all. I know you like to look at many things, but I had to be sure you understood what television was. Anyway, back to the conversation at hand. When I was alive, I was a fan of television, but I wouldn't say it was a huge part of my life; especially when certain companies changed what channels they carried on a whim and- Well, that part's unimportant. What I liked to watch most were cartoons. And when I was well into being an adult, there were two cartoons in particular that I loved the most. Both were created by the same person and one of them was actually a spinoff of the other. They were called Habin Hotel and Helluva Boss respectively."
You make sure that Neviah is still following along and she is paying rapt attention to every word you're saying.
"Unfortunately for me, neither show was finished when I met my untimely demise. I watched everything officially related to them and they're both still relatively fresh in my mind. I don't doubt that'll change as the years go by, but for now I can recall enough details about both shows. Now, I'm sure you can imagine that a person's shock when after they die they wake up in Hell. What I'm sure you can't imagine was my shock and horror to discover that the Hell I'd found myself in was the setting of both shows I just mentioned."
Neviah starts with a jolt, tea nearly splashing from her cup. "I beg your pardon? Surely you don't mean- That's- You know that sounds-"
"Impossible? Crazy? I thought so too. I thought that I might've been dreaming or in a coma. But I definitely remember dying and this all feels just a little too real. Now here's the issue. As far as I'm aware, there was never a character named "Vestige" in either show. True, I did just say that neither had finished before I died, but this world was nothing more than fiction to me until I woke up here."
Neviah's at a loss for words. She keeps opening and closing her mouth, but no sound comes out.
"Now, between the two shows, one character in particular was my absolute favorite. Not much was revealed about him, and he was by no means a good person, but then you'd be hard pressed to find one of those in Hell. I know not everyone has to be a murderer or a rapist or what have you to land themselves here, but just because their sins may not have been that severe doesn't mean that a lot of people aren't assholes down here. And my favorite character is no exception. Though information about when he was alive was never revealed in the show there was a place fans of it could go to find bits of that information. In life he was a radio host in the light of day and a serial killer in the dark of night."
A dawning of horrified realization makes its way slowly across Neviah's face. "No."
"His name is Alastor, and he didn't have a canonical last name when I last checked."
Neviah sets her tea down and buries her face in her hands. "No."
"And what little of his backstory regarding when he first manifested in Hell was revealed said that he began his rise to power by toppling Overlords who had been in power for centuries one by one. They'd go missing and then these bizarre radio broadcasts would play nothing but screaming and each time they did a new voice would be added to the broadcast. Demons referred to whoever was behind them as "The Radio Demon" and not long after Alastor revealed himself to be the one behind the Overlords going missing and established himself at their table."
Neviah runs her hands down her face and pulls slightly at the skin below her second set of eyes. "Nooooooo."
You can't help but laugh at her melodramatics. She gives you a pinched look of frustration.
"I can accept that you came from a world where this one was nothing more than fiction. I've seen a handful of fates where the subject I was viewing was whisked away to a world they had previously believed to be fantasy and let me tell you the branches that resulted from them doing so. So many possibilities, so many ways for things to go. But really? He was your favorite. Him."
Bewildered amusement peppers your tone. "I didn't realize that you held such a low opinion of him."
She scoffs in disgust. "It's less him and more his fate I don't care for. His is an existence wrought with pain, strife, misery, backstabbing, the works! And I feel I should clarify that he's the one inflicting that onto others, not the other way around! Mostly. I don't trust him around you because I can't see how his treacherous nature might affect you or how to avoid it being detrimental to you!"
That gives you momentary pause as you digest her words. "But you can see that I interact with him sometime in the future?"
Neviah makes a so-so motion. "Sometimes. Other times it's barely a glimpse before something shuts me out and either gives me one of those debilitating headaches or knocks me out completely for several days. What little I do manage to see regarding you and he is muddled at best and practically incomprehensible at worst. He's a wildcard and it makes me nervous. So, yes, I don't have a very favorable opinion of him."
You nod in understanding. "I can understand why you wouldn't like him. And I'm not going to try and force you to. However," you trail off and gesture out the door in the direction the two of you had come from. "The reason why I want to keep that radio is because Alastor's broadcasts won't stay as simple horrific screaming. A certain someone in the show revealed that at that point he hadn't done a broadcast like that in quite some time. I'm going to guess that while he may not have stopped doing them entirely once he established himself as an Overlord, Alastor at least toned it down and started doing more broadcasts like he'd done in life until gradually he stopped broadcasting him tormenting souls over the airwaves. But I don't know that for sure. Like I said, much of his backstory was shrouded in mystery when I died, and I don't know how anything before the show is supposed to begin is supposed to go."
Neviah ceased rubbing the crease in between her eyes to stave off the forming headache and sits up straight. "And you're worried about how your presence here might affect events so badly that everything you know will become null and void and you won't have any direction as to what to do when the time comes?"
"Exactly," you confirm. "I wrote down everything I remember about both shows. That journal is currently sitting in my shadow and until I can get control of myself I can't get to it. But nothing I've written down will matter if I somehow fuck up royally enough that it affects canon majorly and I won't know until it's too late. That's where I was hoping you'd be able to help. I could tell you how I've seen things go and you could compare it to how you see things going and maybe you could help me avoid messing everything up irreparably."
Neviah sighs and looks at you apologetically. "I'm afraid that's not quite how it works my- Vestige. You say that the version of events you've seen were nothing more than moments in a show. Something that couldn't be changed no matter how often you rewatched them." You nod and she continues. "But that's just it. What you saw was something that couldn't be changed regardless of any outside forces wishing otherwise. But here? Here it's reality now. Your reality now. And just by existing here, you've already changed things. I couldn't very well say how much things have deviated from what you know, if they even have. The universe has a way of making sure that certain events always play out when and how it wants them too, allowing for minor changes here and there, but the overall result stays the same. I'll gladly read over your notes and attempt to compare them with the future yet to pass, but you must understand that there may be nothing at all you can do to keep things as you knew them to be. You said as far as you knew there was never a "Vestige" in what you saw, but there is one now. And a being such as yourself need not actively do anything to affect the world around them."
You hang your head and hold a fist against it. "So you're saying that it doesn't really matter what I do, things are still going to change whether I like it or not."
"I'm afraid so. But as I just stated, the universe has a way of keeping everything in check. Certain events such as my death are ones that are permanently set in stone and cannot be changed no matter who tries to do so. I have a feeling that although your actions will most assuredly affect what you know in some way, everything will turn out fine, more or less. And in any case, why should you concern yourself over these changes? Why let the fear of what might happen keep you from living the way you want to? You've already died, can you say with absolute confidence that you wouldn't have done some things in life differently if you could go back and do it all over again with the knowledge of when your end was coming?"
You pause to think seriously about that question. "No. No I can't say that I wouldn't have done some things differently. There's a lot that I would have said or done differently than what I chose to do."
Neviah smiles. "You see? The end result would stay the same, but the path taken to get there would have been slightly different than the one you'd taken previously." She places a hand gently over yours. "Don't let "what ifs" hold you back, Vestige. No one down here does, so why should you be the exception? It isn't a crime to want to try and keep things on track, but if it keeps you from enjoying existence, is it really worth it in the end? It isn't your responsibility to hold everything together, leave that to the Master of Fate."
She's right. You know she's right. And it's a relief to hear it from someone who knows what they're talking about that you don't have to shoulder everything. Hell, you don't have to shoulder anything if you don't want to. You can just choose to exist the way you want to instead of feeling like you have to exist a certain way. How could you have forgotten that?
You smile, relieved. "I think I will. Who is that anyway?"
Neviah chuckles. "I think it'd cause a shiver to run down my father's spine if I were to say Their name. That's just what I've referred to Them as all my life, but you'd seldom hear any Hellborn demons talking about Them. Not a lot of love or belief felt for Them among us after all."
Ah. She's talking about God. Logically you know God had to exist here – as well as Jesus – but it's still a little weird thinking about how both definitely existed now.
Would they have shown up eventually, or would they only be referred to in passing to avoid pissing off any zealots?
Doesn't really matter you suppose. It wasn't like you'd be meeting either of them after all. Heaven had been a nice idea while you were alive, but this world's version of it needed some major overhaul before you'd ever consider wanting to step foot past the pearly gates.
But that does make you wonder… "Hey, since your Temporal Vision essentially makes you all-seeing, have you ever felt the urge to peek in on Heaven just to see what all goes on up there?"
"Once," Neviah admits before her face takes on a serious aura. "And for only a very brief moment. I wasn't even looking for anything in particular, just following the path of a random Winner – they call those who ascend to Heaven "Winners," isn't that adorable? – when I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of pressure and the sensation of countless eyes on me. I cut off the connection, but the feeling of being watched lingered for days until it suddenly went away. This was before I'd discovered the prophecy that informed me I would be serving you. It was incredibly unnerving, that feeling of being watched, and I vowed to never look at any part os a fate or prophecy regarding Heaven again."
"Do you think it was… Them who was watching you?"
"I sincerely doubt it could have been anyone else. There's been no other time where I felt that sensation ever again. It was only when I was looking in at Heaven and the feeling certainly hadn't come from the Winner I was viewing. If it wasn't Them, I don't know who it could have been. But I never felt it again after it went away the first time, and I'd very much like it if I never did again. I'm sorry to displease you."
You wave your hands in front of you. "Not at all! I wasn't asking you to look in on Heaven, I was just curious to know if you ever had! So, you could view fates before you started finding prophecies then? What's the difference?"
"Not much actually. Prophecies are simply fates that affect more than one person is all. Take me for example. I was always fated to die, but I prophesized the births of my siblings only being possible through my death."
"Huh. Interesting to know."
"Isn't it though!"
The radio had stopped screaming some time ago, but the two of you had been too wrapped up in your conversation to go and check on it.
Chapter End Notes
But that's a legitimate question I have. I know that "God" is said all the time and Husk has said "Christ" once (and I think he's the only one to do so aside from Blitz who said it in the now noncanonical Helluva Boss pilot).
But ARE they actually characters? They don't have to appear on screen to be considered canon to the shows, but are they is the question. Because obviously the show isn't shooting for Biblical accuracy.
I'm not asking this too seriously, it's just something that's crossed my mind here and there. What do you all think?
A Montage Of Sorts
Chapter Notes
Wasn't sure if I'd be able to post this today due to laying siege to the Fire Nation.
The lovely SundriedSunflowers made this wonderful fanart of Avary!
And Poppywine on Tumblr made this lovely piece of fanart for the fic itself! (I didn't know what your username here on Ao3 was if you have one and I named the blog you shared the post from. I assume you run both but let me know if I'm mistaken.)
Thank you so much!!! 3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
So, the radio stays, gag and all. Whatever dark magic Alastor uses to broadcast his carnage still won't let the volume on the radio be turned down or shut off while he's in the middle of his "show." Neviah didn't like it but had conceded to your point of you being able to figure out when about Alastor would rise to the status of Overlord. Not that she wouldn't have been able to tell you exactly when it happened, it acted as more of a way to mark the passage of time since it was easy to lose track of it as Purgatory was in a state of perpetual twilight. No false sun or moon to be found here and its stars were the countless Lost Souls swirling about the skies until they completely faded from existence.
Neviah had filled you in on exactly how she'd been able to acquire so much power for your soul to absorb in the years she'd waited for your arrival, and you had to say that you'd been more than a little disturbed by it. Sure, these souls were on their way out of existence permanently, but that didn't mean you couldn't feel weird about the utter demise of a person's essence being what had granted you power. The fact that what little was left of the person was let go once every last ounce of energy had been taken from the waning soul was a small comfort. You don't think you would have been able to stomach it if you had to absorb what little was left of the individual and it turned out that you could feel that being purged from your soul. Like, sorry buddy, only room for one consciousness in here!
You're creeping yourself out just thinking about it and you're very glad that isn't the case.
More time passed and you got better and better at reducing the number and size of your tendrils until finally you were able to get it down to just one and at the size they used to be when you'd first manifested this power. And then you began the process of working your way back up until you could control multiple tendrils at once all while keeping them at the minimum size and having them do completely different tasks from one another.
The tasks you assigned to them varied from making shapes to having a few of them start back on stationary target practice. It was still a bit chaotic and challenging at first, but nowhere near how it'd been the first time you attempted it. You even managed to actually hit some of the targets on purpose now!
You can feel your control growing bit by bit the more you multitask with your tendrils. Having your mind pulled in so many different directions was a bit disorienting at first, but you've slowly grown used to it and it's nearly effortless to juggle multiple tasks at once now. You have a feeling that multitasking had been the best possible way you could've built your control back up and you're glad you stuck with it instead of becoming so frustrated that you gave up on it and chose a much slower route to take.
And with the amount of control you'd managed to gain back, you finally felt comfortable with attempting to retrieve your journal from your shadow so Neviah could look over the information and see if she could lock onto the show's fate with it. You also brought out your costume for the first time in several months.
It certainly didn't look like it had come to life. It remained as floppy and glassy eyed as it had ever been when you didn't have it draped over your body.
"Are you sure you didn't imagine this thing coming to life," you question Neviah as she flips through the pages of the journal.
"Quite sure," she responds confidently. "I brought it to life myself and watched it take you away through the portal to Greed. How to put this… It is the puppet and you are the puppeteer. While there are no strings for you to move about whichever way you want, the puppet will still follow whatever instructions that you give it. Otherwise, it either remains in its default state, lifeless and limp like it'd been before being given life. Or, with what little agency it possesses, it will prioritize your safety and attempt to get you away from any dangerous situation like it did after I healed the wounds you'd sustained from that Exorcist."
"So, I just have to tell it to do something, and it will?"
"To the best of its ability," Neviah clarifies. "It isn't capable of speech and wouldn't be able to relay messages that way, just as an example. It may have been given life, but it's still a costume and thus still empty on the inside until you put it back on. Though, I am curious to see how your newfound power might affect it when you wear it."
"Explain that last part."
Neviah scribbles something down in a journal she conjured. "Well, I was only able to give the costume life because it had been doused in enough of your blood for the spell to work. It's essentially a part of your powers now, even when separated from you. I was just wondering what changes might occur now that your power has grown is all."
Interesting to know and something you'll definitely have to check out here in a bit. Absolutely before your control is good enough for you to leave Purgatory and meet with Conroy and Avary. If your new increase in power has indeed affected your costume in some way, you'd prefer it to not be a surprise. If it ends up being something else you have to learn how to control, it'd be wise not to leave it until the very last minute.
But for now, what you're interested in is seeing exactly how this thing will react to you giving it commands. Neviah said its name was Wraith; you should get used to referring to it as such from time to time.
"Wraith," you say and you nearly drop it when its head snaps at attention to look directly at you. Its eyes are still glassy, but they don't feel as unseeing as they had just a few seconds ago.
Okay. So it definitely reacts to its name. But how well can it take commands? Hmm… Best not to try and get it to do anything too complicated. You aren't trying to train a guard dog here or anything like that. Wraith's role is as it's always been, and that's for it to cover your body to keep other demons from viewing your prey animal form as an easy target.
"Stand," you command.
Wraith wriggles and writhes in your grip before you let it go. It flops to the ground for a moment before it jolts and twists in directions only fabric should be able to as it rises to a standing position. It's still as tall as you, though if it hadn't been it's not like you would have been able to resize it once you'd accumulated enough control to start performing more difficult magic.
It stands perfectly still as you walk around it in circles to look at it from every angle. It doesn't react at all when you reach your fingers under the hood to pull it back so you can peer inside. As Neviah said, Wraith is completely empty inside. You feel around just to be sure, but all you touch is the fabric of the costume.
You wouldn't say that you're disappointed by the lack of anything new making itself known immediately. It just means you'll have to put Wraith back on again to see if Neviah's little hypothesis holds any water. But… you don't want to do that while it's at attention waiting for further instruction.
"That's all for now, Wraith," you state firmly and it crumples to the ground in a floppy heap, eyes completely unseeing once more.
You pick it back up and shake it a bit for no reason in particular. Certainly not because you're worried that you missed any unwelcome surprises lurking about inside it. When nothing makes itself known, you pull Wraith on over your head and close the hood before retracting your arms back into it.
And you can immediately feel a difference from the last time you wore it.
You'd never had an issue with seeing through the eyes before, but your vision had always been tinted a bit yellow due to the lenses. Now, it was like you hadn't pulled the hood over your head at all and you had to briefly feel around to make sure that you actually remembered to. Another thing was that you could actually breath a lot easier. It hadn't necessarily been difficult before, but the costume tended to get a bit hot as you breathed in it. Again, it was like you hadn't put the hood on at all.
You turn around to see Neviah watching you with ill-concealed curiosity. "So? Does anything feel different?"
"A bit," you answer and the both of you flinch because that was not your voice. Or it was but it certainly didn't sound like you. And you have the strangest feeling… "Did the hood flap just move when I spoke?"
Neviah nods, mouth slightly agape and a dumbfounded look on her face.
You're tempted to feel where you know the flap of the hood should be but before you can you feel something slither up the sides of the costume before they elongate and suddenly your shadow limbs have taken up residence where your real limbs would protrude from the costume.
It's a good thing you've been practicing with them nonstop for months because otherwise you're pretty sure you would have accidentally hit yourself in the face with how they immediately begin feeling around the area where you know the flap of the hood should be, but when they attempt to open it, they instead open a massive maw filled with razor sharp teeth and a serpentine tongue. And you can feel all of it.
"Well," you say cautiously. "This is certainly new. I'm pretty sure I just merged with the costume."
Neviah stands up quickly and rushes over to you alarmed. "Do you feel alright?!"
Her hands are hovering over you and making aborted attempts at touching you. You shut the costume's – your? – mouth and try to feel around for the hood flap again. This time you're actually concentrating on doing so and when you lift up where you feel a bit of give, the hood is what opens up instead of a mouth. And suddenly you're just wearing the costume again.
"Huh," you say plainly. "Good to know that wasn't permanent."
Neviah gives a full body sigh of relief as she staggers off back to where she'd been taking notes and slumps to the ground in a heap before placing her journal over her eyes.
"If my heart still beat, I'm sure you would have just given it reason to attack me."
"Sorry," you say sincerely. It wasn't like you did it on purpose though.
But this could be a very good thing. The costume itself was already a more than decent disguise. But now it was so much more than that. Now you might as well be putting on a second skin and becoming another creature entirely. Sort of like a fucked up selkie situation. Or something along those lines.
You can use this to forge a second identity for yourself. You'd already planned to conduct your serious business while in costume and enjoy your off time out of it, but this changes the game completely. With this, you should have no issue keeping anyone from figuring out that the hulking mass of fur and the easy looking mark of a deer demon are one and the same.
And you won't even have to waste time trying to come up with a name for this new identity.
The discovery of the changes your costume had undergone thanks to it technically being considered one of your powers made you incredibly eager to perfect the control you were gaining back.
Neviah was all too happy to assist in any way that she could and offered to begin by teaching you how to properly fight.
"If you weren't insistent on hiding your wonderful form, I wouldn't bother with this. Your power is already leaps and bounds above any of the Overlords currently in power – though a certain clinically deranged somebody seems determined to keep chipping away at their numbers – but being able to best anyone who challenges you with barely a gesture would draw far too much attention to you as a complete unknown. If you're determined to use Wraith as a second identity, then it would be best to try and make your rise in power as natural looking as possible. That isn't to say that you can't start out appear as stronger than the average Sinner, but you wouldn't want to start out appearing too powerful, yes?"
You nod. "You've summarized it perfectly. And this way, I can make it so that Conroy and Avary can't be tied back to a new rising power in Pride. Though, I would have to reveal to Avary that the face she knew was fake this entire time…"
"True, but as you said, the less evidence people have that can tie them to Wraith the better. And Miss Avary's already done quite a bit of the work for you regarding those working for her. She's made every new member that's joined since you left swear that oath of silence deal, though none of them are aware of what or who it's really for. Miss Avary really took it to heart that you didn't want anyone to talk about your involvement with her Family. You're lucky that the oath was so vague about it. If you decided to show all of them what you really looked like, none of them could discuss it with anyone other than members of the Family."
Huh. Well how about that? Your penchant for keeping the few deals you'd made vague enough so that they fell mostly in your favor pays off again years later.
"…Avary's going to punch me multiple times for this."
Neviah laughs sympathetically. "I'm sure you can handle it! But if she somehow manages to actually make it hurt, even with you intentionally making yourself vulnerable enough to where she doesn't hurt herself, I'll gladly heal your injuries."
"You're a real friend, Neviah."
She blushes and sputters into the journal she'd been steadily filling up with notes. "I-I'm only doing what any servant worth their salt would! I'm flattered that you would choose to call me as such, but you must be careful whom you choose to bestow the title of friend on my- Vestige!"
Her laugh's turned nervous and she won't look you in the eye. You sigh tiredly. "Neviah. Listen. I appreciate all that you do and offer to do for me. Truly. And it's important to me that I let you know how much I appreciate you. But I know you know that I'm not at all comfortable with calling you a servant."
Neviah's laughter dies off. "Yes. Despite my feigned ignorance to the contrary, I know very well that you haven't taken to me being your servant. If there's something I'm doing wrong-!"
You hold up a hand. "I've been trying to take the baby steps approach to this to make this conversation a little easier for the both of us, but I can tell it isn't working. Neviah. I've said many times how I don't need a servant; this time I'm saying that I don't want a servant."
Tears well up in Neviah's eyes and she prostrates before you immediately. "Please, my Lady! Whatever it is I've done to displease you, tell me so that I may rectify my behavior immediately! Is it because I've spoken with you with too much familiarity? It must be! Stupid Neviah, of course you'd take offence to a being as lowly as I speaking to you so brazenly casual! I'll cease at once, my Lady! I'll only speak when spoken to with the utmost respect! I'll-!"
You drop to your knees and grip Neviah gently by the shoulders. "Neviah! Neviah," you scold softly but firmly. "This is what I'm talking about. I don't want someone putting me on a pedestal and treating me like my existence is worth so much more than their own. Because it isn't. I'm no more special than you are, Neviah."
Her head snaps up and her face is twisted in distress. "Of course you are!"
"No," you deny quietly. "I'm just a woman whose gone through some very weird circumstances. And you've been helping me the entire time, even when I didn't know it. You've been kind and caring and attentive to my needs and I truly appreciate that."
You can tell Neviah's trying to smile, but she can only manage a wobbly wince. "Because that's what any good servant would do."
You shake your head. "But I don't want or need a servant, Neviah. I feel like you've got this image of me in your head that I'm never going to live up to, but I can't entirely blame you for that. It isn't your fault that at a very young age you were shown what you would do later in your life, or afterlife, or that it was so different from what it was that others expected of you. I don't blame you for getting excited to know what the universe had planned for you and wanting to be the best you could be at it. But Neviah, didn't you say that what you saw was you by my side?"
"Yes?"
"So maybe – and stay with me now – just maybe, is it possible that you might have misinterpreted what our relationship with each other was? You did say that you couldn't view it beyond the initial incident."
Neviah is silent, but tears still stream down her face.
"I don't want or need you to be my servant Neviah. But," you say as you cup her face in your hands gently. "I'd like it if you would be my friend instead."
Neviah grips your hands in hers, they're trembling. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to be a good friend. I've never had any before."
You press your forehead to hers. "That's alright. I don't expect perfection. We'll both simply do our best. We'll make mistakes, but as long as we talk things out like we're doing now and don't allow harsh feeling to boil and fester into something ugly, we'll do just fine. Alright Neviah?"
Neviah closes her eyes and leans into your touch. "Alright. I'll try… Vestige."
Of course, it wasn't immediately smooth sailing after the fact and you hadn't expected it to be. You don't know how old Neviah was when she died, but you do know that the Ars Goetia were conditionally immortal, and she spent pretty much her whole life and however many years of her afterlife waiting around for you. A lifetime of self-enforced behavior wasn't going to be unlearned overnight.
She still slipped from time to time, but Neviah got better at referring to you as just "Vestige."
"Of course, if you were to – somehow – ever receive guests on official business at the palace, propriety would demand that I refer to you by some sort of noble title," she'd said.
You didn't have a problem with letting her have that one. After all, whatever it was you were now – and you were too scared of what the answer could be to ask – it also included you now being nobility, something you knew nothing about. But Neviah was well versed with the world of the elite and you were more than happy to follow her lead when it came to matters regarding it.
Less so about the lessons she'd begun adding to your training as more months passed and your control only continued to grow.
"I won't always be there to help you with navigating the world of noble politics, much as I'd like to. I've no idea what would happen to me if I attempted to leave Purgatory. Really, my essence should have melded with Hell itself as it does when all Hellborn die. I only persist as a specter due to my fate of being by your side. But I've no idea if trying to leave would cause me to disappear for good, and I'm not eager to find out if that is indeed the case."
And you couldn't blame her for that. Neviah didn't have to worry about life's problems anymore due to being dead, but you hadn't considered that as a ghost she could still be in danger of experiencing double death like Sinners could. You weren't eager to find out if she could die again or not either.
"That's a shame though. I was kind of hoping I could introduce you to Conroy and Avary when it's finally safe enough for me to leave Purgatory. Although, I suppose I could always just have the meeting here…" You shake your head after voicing that thought. "On second thought, it's best that I don't tell them about this. It's going to be enough of a nightmare to explain to them that I'm a Sinner who somehow made her way to a different Ring and can do so freely now – or I will once my control is as close to perfect as I can get it – adding all… this to the mix will only complicate things further."
Neviah hums in agreement. "Yes. Anyone else finding out about this place would be… let's just say it would be less than ideal and leave it at that. All these unclaimed souls floating around would just be too terribly tempting for anyone that somehow managed to stumble their way into Purgatory and were power hungry enough. Assuming they realized what they were and figured out how to harvest their energy."
You pause from where you'd been messing around with your disguise spell. You hadn't noticed any change due to your increase in power with it whatsoever. According to Neviah, the disguise spell was a basic among basic spells. That meant that it was uncomplicated as they come and that there was very little room for improvement if any. But it was good to know that you could safely use it again should you ever return to Earth for whatever reason, and that you could still mold it to look like whoever you wanted to.
"Is that something you've seen happen?"
"No," she denies firmly. "It's just something I've been able to infer. Can you honestly say that you can't see weak, down on their luck demons being tempted by the sight of – presumed – easy power just withing their grasp?"
You remain silent. You can only speak for yourself and you can say that if you hadn't been desperate enough to try and gain power as fast as you could when you first arrived to ensure your survival, you would have been content with not being a very powerful individual. Though, you still would have wanted to be strong enough to defend yourself against the average, everyday demon. But that's you. And with the demons you'd seen portrayed as the antagonists – namely the Vees – you can say that you wouldn't be surprised by those three in particular making a mad grab for all the easy pickings Purgatory has to offer daily.
Neviah lightly jabs her pen in your direction. "See? While I can't speak for every Hellborn, I know that amongst the elite there are many who are constantly striving to climb up the social ladder and accumulating power is certainly one way to do it. And it'd be all too easy if they found this place and discovered the method. Although, I can't say for certain if they would survive the process of having pure concentrated energy plugged directly into their souls. You almost didn't and your soul was meant to be able to absorb it."
You don't have any recollection of when Neviah "resuscitated" your soul and you're fine with that. From how she'd described it, it sounded like something you would rather forget anyway.
"Okay," you clap your hands as you attempt to get the conversation back on track. "So that's a firm "no" from the both of us to the idea of bringing Conroy and Avary to Purgatory. And it will remain as such unless there's a situation where I feel like it'd be the one place they'd be kept safe from it."
"I find those terms acceptable. Kind people such as them are hard to come by in Hell. It has a way of either beating it out of you until you become as twisted as someone who was ever worse than you from the start, or having you wind up dead for your compassion. The two of them are quite fortunate that the environments they belong to were conducive in making them as kind as they could be towards other, but not curbing their necessary ruthlessness either."
Yeah. Those two could be as cruel as they could be kind. Conroy with his honeypot trap and cannibalism and Avary with an entire lifetime of being brought up alongside a mafia Family and going off to make her own when the old one was looking to prey on her kind nature.
You could hardly wait to see the both of them again.
Chapter End Notes
Like I said in the comments, wasn't going to spend too long or get too detailed with the training. Plus, I feel like it'd be more fun to pull something completely unexpected out in a future chapter and it'd spoil the surprise if I talked about Vestige training that power.
It was too cloudy to enjoy the eclipse for more than a minute where I was and yet I'm still a little sunburnt. It itches.
Answers
Chapter Notes
Hey, hey! It's the reunion we've all been waiting for!
Dollsgate made some lovely fanart of Conroy!
Thank you!!! 3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
At long last, after a little over two years of nonstop training where you learned how to perform every spell in that blasted grimoire along with whatever your mind could imagine, your control was back and better than it had been before. Neviah's lessons on fighting had been a big help in pushing you to further heights once you'd inevitably begun to plateau in your progress. Having to focus on what you were doing while moving around trying to avoid getting hit was a wonderful way to quickly learn how to not almost accidentally blast your own face off.
Neviah had wanted to call off combat training indefinitely after that, but you'd managed to bring her back around to it after promising several times that the two of you would only fling the most innocuous of spells at each other until your mastery over them could have had you performing them in your sleep.
She'd actually had you perform combat training in your sleep on a few occasions, not that either of you had been made aware of that fact until after you woke up and had no idea what she was talking about. That'd been its own concern, but the both of you agreed it was good you could defend yourself at what was arguably your most vulnerable, for all that hardly anything would be able to pose an actual threat to you.
If you were to ever run afoul of something that could do some serious damage to you, your priority would be to get as far away from it as possible, if possible. And if not, well, that's what the combat lessons were really for in the end, but the performance you were going to put on as Wraith was certainly going to benefit from your efforts.
And that performance was going to begin very soon. The letters had been sent a week ago and the responses received not even a day after your invitation had been delivered. You had no choice but to approach Avary in costume, it was the only face of yours she'd ever known. Conroy could be approached either way, but it would be best to reveal everything at the same time, so you would be going to him in costume as well.
You stood in the throne room of the palace. You could envision grand and lavish parties being held here in your mind. But they would sadly only ever be idle daydreams. Neviah had a point about the Lost Souls being far too tempting if anyone figured out what they were and how to absorb their power. No more need be said about it. Aside from an emergency situation, you would never bring anyone to Purgatory and anyone who somehow managed to find their way here – unlikely as that scenario was – would be dealt with by Neviah unless they were there on some sort of official business. How and why anyone would be was beyond you, but it had been one of Neviah's concerns, so you'd reluctantly agreed.
You say reluctantly because on the incredibly unlikely to happen chance it did, it meant that you would have to play nobility for however long they'd be here.
Neviah stood a bit behind you, looking excited but nervous. She clutched her grimoire – now free of all loving notes from her father – to her chest. She'd made an exact replica of it word for word – excluding previously mentioned notes – for you to keep as the one now safely resting in her claws would one day find its way to Stolas.
"Ready to head out then?"
You nod and pull the hood on over your head. You'd gotten accustomed to being able to shift between being Wraith and simply wearing Wraith over time. "It'd be rude to keep them waiting any longer than I already have. Though, I might have to make a quick detour before I go greet Conroy. I doubt any of the other residents of Cannibal Town remember me and a gift might placate them long enough to let me go get Conroy or give him enough time to come to me. Assuming he isn't waiting for me at the entrance."
Neviah give an amused smile and quirks a brow. "And what of Miss Avary?"
You snort softly. "You know damn well that I'm bringing her one of the bet bottles of wine we had in the cellar. Also, she's going to punch me. Possibly several times depending on how pissed the mews makes her. I almost considered that to be gift enough."
Neviah just laughs at you, the traitor.
"You will be fine. As I've said before, if Miss Avary does somehow manage to actually hurt you, I will heal it. And…?"
"…and if I don't make myself sufficiently squishy enough so she doesn't hurt herself, I'll discreetly heal her. Actually, that brings up a question I've had for a while. Why can't I just heal myself if Avary manages to hurt me?"
Neviah quickly averts her gaze from you.
"…this is a "serving me" thing, isn't it."
"…it can be viewed as a "concerned friend looking after you" thing instead."
"Neviah-"
"Oh look," she exclaims, staring at her blatantly bare wrist for a moment. "It's time for you to be off now! Remember: have fun, stay safe, and I'll heal you should you need it! Ta ta!"
And then you're gently pushed unceremoniously out of a portal that quickly shuts itself behind you. You roll your eyes fondly. She's improved a lot from the "blindly devoted" stage you'd met her in, but Neviah still has a ways to go before she stops trying to act like a servant towards you completely. And you'll be there to help her where she falters like just now.
Greed is just as depressingly oppressive as you remember it being. The stupid coin sun/moon in the sky taunts you with its constant spinning. Of all the Sins you'd gotten to see in the show, Mammon was your least favorite. Not the character you hated the most – not even Mimzy was, Valentino can go find a ditch to die in – and his general shittiness actual endeared him to you as an antagonist. But someone that self-absorbed, petty and greedy being real? Yeah, you'd rather not be anywhere near people who are actually like that. And all of Greed is his domain, so you're already way closer to Mammon than you care to be, regardless of the fact that he's not actually anywhere physically near you.
But you don't plan to be here for more than a few minutes in total today. You'd specified in the letter you'd sent to Avary that it would be easier for the both of you to slip away if you met up at the place where it all started. The outskirts of Robbery City. You take a moment to think about how fucked up it is that the most destitute of Greed's many cities were named after crimes. You're pretty sure Mammon himself designed his Ring to be this way though. The poor stay poor as they work tirelessly to line his coffers and the rich aren't much better off in that regard. Here, it doesn't matter what your social class is, not really. In fact, you'd argue that being better well off monetarily in Greed just makes one a bigger target for Mammon to squeeze for all their worth. But rich or poor, he'll squeeze every last penny from them and then make the impossible demand of "more." And they'll do it because they don't want to deal with an angry Sin breathing down their necks.
You're brought out of your musings about what a sack of shit Mammon is by the sight of movement out of the corner of your eye. Only one person in all of Greed has any reason to be running towards you like that guy running towards the guards in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
You're about to get socked in the arm. But you'd been expecting this for a little over two years now and had your actual arms at your sides instead of the shadow limbs.
Avary's getting closer and you can hear now that she's screaming at the top of her lungs. Not very conducive to the whole "sneaking away" thing, but you highly doubt she'd left the mansion screaming. It would have just alerted literally everybody that their boss was trying to head out without any guards at her side. It gets louder the closer she gets.
Avary delivers a haymaker directly to your arm and holy shit it actually hurts. You're not joking you actually have to bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from crying out in pain. Well, that just goes to show that one should never underestimate anyone when they're pissed off. You know that most of Hell likes to shit on imps because they're second lowest on the hierarchy, but that only means that most of Hell underestimates imps because of it. If Avary had delivered that punch to anyone's face they'd quickly realize just how much physical prowess was stored in that tiny body. Somebody's certainly been keeping up with her physical conditioning.
You'd believe it if it turned out that was the punch felt 'round the Rings. You're pretty sure even the Sins would have been hurt by it.
Unbeknownst to you, that was indeed the case. For one, brief moment, the entirety of Hell came to a standstill as literally everybody paused what they were doing as a chill ran down their spines and the briefest of phantom pains in their arms came and went before they all shrugged it off and continued about their days, albeit more nervous than they had been just a moment ago. Even the Sins. But that's not important.
"Hello to you too, Avary," you greet as you retract both your arms back into the costume.
She squeezes you tightly in an embrace. "Shut up! I'm so mad at you I could spit!"
But she doesn't let go. The way her shoulders were shaking, you could tell that she was silently crying. An arm materializes out of the shadows and pets Avary repetitively until you feel her grip begin to loosen.
Avary looks up at you and sniffles. "Where have you been? I looked everywhere for any sign of you and nobody could find anything!"
Another arm materializes and you embrace her back loosely. "I'll tell you all about it once we go pick up the other person privy to that conversation and get to where we'll have it. Quick question, have you still not been to any of the other Rings?"
She scowls at you. "Of course not. I've got a business to run and until recently orders to give out to look for someone's elusive ass!"
You huff in amusement. So touchy. "Then this trip will be your first to the Pride Ring."
Avary lets you go completely. "Why Pride?"
"Because that's where he lives. And there are a lot more abandoned building that are actually abandoned and aren't under the control of a crime Family. The one I've picked for our meeting has been empty for years and there've been no signs of that changing last I checked. Which was very recently. So we're highly unlikely to be overheard or interrupted."
A tiny smile graced Avary's face. "Heh. Putting those espionage skills you picked up when you were with us to good use I see. Good. Alright then, lead the way."
You nod and wave your hands out to the sides in front of you and a portal opens up. You offer a hand to Avary and she takes it. The two of you step through and it shuts behind you immediately.
"I'd ask how much better that was compared to the other methods of travelling to other Rings, but…"
"Yeah, yeah. I already said I still haven't been to any of the other Rings."
You chuckle and make a grand, sweeping gesture to the area around you. "Then allow me to welcome you to the Pride Ring, Avary. It's… something."
"Something" is putting it mildly. On the trek to Cannibal Town the two of you passed six fires, three explosions, way too many shootouts to count, and one weird fruit vendor. Who tried to get you to peruse and buy his wares and when you both refused, attempted to attack you. So now you had that little "distraction" you might end up needing if Conroy wasn't there to greet you at the town's entrance.
Avary had given you a look of befuddlement when you stored the corpse into your shadow – which had only grown in carrying capacity along with its reach – but had otherwise stayed silent about you keeping it. She'd know a thing or two about how beneficial it could be to keep a body around after it'd been killed after all. Not that she knew what you were potentially going to use it for.
And as it turned out, you would be gifting it directly to Conroy instead because he was waiting for you to arrive at the entrance like you'd asked him to. Other cannibals were milling about the area as well and looked at you and Avary with curiosity and hunger. But the latter faded when Conroy latched onto you like a barnacle and swung you around in a circle a few times all while laughing. You hugged him back once he'd set you down.
"It's good ta' see you it is, Miss Vestige!"
You fix his cap which had gotten a little crooked from the spinning. "You can drop the "Miss," Conroy. Just Vestige is fine. It's good to see you too."
"If you insist! I can't say just 'ow chuffed I was ta' get your letter sayin' you were finally ready ta' meet! Maybe a little too chuffed, because let me tell you, Miss Rosie can smell anythin' gossip worthy a mile away. I've 'ad ta' spend the whole week dodgin' 'er attempts ta' crack me open just like an egg I have."
You look around casually, but on alert. "She isn't around, is she?"
Conroy shakes his head. "No. She's out on official Overlord business at the moment. Somethin' about 'ow a bloke done went an' threw down the gauntlet 'e did. No idea who the poor sod is, but 'e's a dead man 'e is."
Avary nods. "Makes sense that she went out to lay down the law. Can't keep the respect of the people you're leading if you don't show you're not afraid to get your hands dirty every now and then."
Conroy blinks and leans his body over to look behind you where Avary had been blocked from his view. "An' who's this now?"
Avary holds out her hand in greeting. "Avary Avidity, pleasure to meet you. You must be the guy Vestige here wanted me to meet."
You step out of the way so Conroy can step up and grasp Avary's hand firmly in his. "A right pleasure ta' know you it is! I'm Conroy an' you must be the dame Vestige 'ere wanted me ta' meet!"
So far so good. You trusted that they would at least be civil when introducing themselves to each other.
"So," Conroy continues. "Just 'ow did the two a' you meet?"
"Actually," you interrupt before Avary can get into it. "Why don't we save that for when we get to the meeting place? It'd be best if the only eyes and ears on us were ours and we're out in the open right now."
There aren't too many cannibals milling about, but you'd rather the only people hearing the conversation you're about to have be the three of you.
"That's fine by me," Avary agrees. "You know me, I like a secure location to talk."
"I figured whatever it is you've got ta' say is pretty important, so I'm fine wit' waitin' a little bit longer ta' 'ear the 'ole story. Lead the way!"
You do lead the way. You lead it until the three of you are well out of sight of the entrance to Cannibal Town and you make sure no one else in around before you open up another portal, this time to an abandoned warehouse in the more rundown area of the Pentagram. Neviah had scoped this place out for you and assured you that nothing was going to happen to it before or during your meeting with Conroy and Avary.
Conroy whistles as he exits the portal and it shuts behind him. "Quite the 'andy trick you picked up there you did. Can imagine it's bloody useful ta' get yourself all around the city now. An' ta' think you were so worried about getting' around unnoticed when we first met!"
You chuckle sheepishly. "Yeah, well. With hindsight I can say it was silly of me to be worried about it, but at the time I had no idea I'd be able to do something like that."
Conroy hum. "There's truth ta' that there is. An' while I'd love ta' get down ta' the nitty gritty a' all this, I think it's best that you start things from the beginnin' an' work your way up ta' why your voice sounds different and why that costume's suddenly sportin' a mouth."
Ah, so he had noticed. You thought he might with the way he'd slightly paused earlier when he'd pulled back from the hug and you'd started speaking to him.
"Hey, yeah! Now that he's said it, your voice does sound different. But what does he mean by "costume,"" Avary chime in.
Oh boy. Here it comes. The part of the conversation you'd been dreading the most. Better to just rip the bandage off. Or hood in this instance.
"So," you begin as you lift the hood off your head. "I may not have been entirely honest with you, Avary."
She stares at you at you can see in real time as her pupils constrict with angry disbelief. You feel your ears flit back.
"I'm a Sinner demon, let's just get that out of the way," you continue. You snap and a table and chairs appear along with a tea set and snacks.
She and Conroy sit down, though he's a bit more graceful. Avary doesn't take her eyes off of you as you shed and store Wraith.
"So how does a Sinner wind up in Greed," she asks flatly as Conroy pours her a cup of tea. He looks up startled at that statement. "I thought you all were confined to Pride."
"That is an excellent question." And it was time to lie your ass off while also sprinkling bits of the truth in here and there. "The answer to which is absurd as they come, but no less the truth." No less than the truth you'll tell in any case.
Avary narrows her eyes and sips her tea and you just know you're not getting out of this with both your arms remaining unpunched.
"Get explaining then," she responds coldly.
"Okay!" You clap your hands together as you take your seat. "To start with, I fell into Greed after taking an Exorcist's spear to the back." They both choke a little on their tea at that. "Obviously I came out of it fine, as well as with a little souvenir from my first Extermination Day. The spear I mean. However, before I fell into Greed, I fell somewhere else. Through a portal that appeared just as the spear was piercing my skin. Someone was on the other side waiting for me."
"Who," Conroy asks, enraptured.
"I can't say." At Avary's withering scowl you doble down. "Really! I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't. Just like you promised and made your Family promise not to talk about my involvement with your Family."
A complete and utter lie, but a necessary one. You don't think either of them would recognize Neviah's name, but you weren't willing to risk it. You certainly didn't want Paimon turning his attention towards you. He was a complete unknown to you and Neviah had stated that her death had changed him to the point he was willing to perform great acts of violence towards anyone who dared breathe her name in his presence. Out of grief or hatred, she couldn't say.
By telling them you can't tell them Neviah's name, they're more likely to accept that they won't be able to meet with her either.
"Who- No, wait. You wouldn't be able to tell me. Still, can't help but wonder who you made a deal with. Can you say why? Or is that out, too," Avary asks.
"Eh… Some things I can talk about, like why. The person waiting for me on the other side of the portal had been waiting for me for a long time." Truth. "They said that they'd seen my future and their involvement in me getting to it and had been preparing for my arrival." Mostly true, except Neviah can't see your future. "They wanted me to build up my power in Pride because of the power that making soul deals could give me. But they decided that after the Exorcist attack that Pride was just a little too dangerous for me and sent me off to Greed after healing my injuries to try increasing my magical reserves instead and would bring me back to Pride after they'd deemed my growth sufficient enough." All true.
"Blimey! What sort a' future did this bloke see ta' figure sendin' a Sinner off ta' another Ring ta' be a wise idea," Conroy interjected.
"Great question!" You snap a finger gun at him. "I have no idea. They wouldn't tell me. Just that I was destined to do great things and that they were the one to help me down that path to greatness." You guess all that's true. Neviah is trying to help you down the path you believe is greatest.
Avary slams her teacup down onto its saucer so hard you're surprised it doesn't break. "What a load of bullshit!" For a moment you think you've been made until she continues. "You of all people have a right to know whatever it was this asshole saw to do something as dangerous as send you to another Ring! Sinners are confined to Pride for a reason. Though… I don't actually know what the reason is. But! The King himself decreed it all those thousands of years ago so it must be for a very good reason. If you'd been caught…"
"No tellin' what might've 'appened ta' you, Vestige," Conroy finishes with a worried look. "Far be it from me ta' try an' tell you what ta' do wit' yourself, but I wouldn't trust this bloke for nothin' if I was you. Miss Avary 'ere is right, Sinners are confined ta' Pride for a reason. Though, I've 'eard tell of a rumor that some Sinners, at least in the past, were given special permission ta' travel ta' other Rings. No idea 'ow true that rumor is though."
"Just Avary is fine. But really? That's certainly news if it's true. But that's not important right now. Obviously I know what happened next. You fell to Greed, we met and then you helped me build up my crime Family over the next six months until we took down the Rout Family. And then I found that stupid grimoire and gave it to you and you vanished. So what happened after that?"
"You remember that piece of paper that fluttered out of the grimoire after I opened it?"
"Yeah, it sent you away somewhere the moment you opened it."
"Well, I went to Earth."
They both choke a little again. You wait for them to get their breathing under control before you continue.
"Thankfully, the grimoire had some useful spells in it. Namely, a disguise spell so I blended in with the humans with none of them catching on to the fact I wasn't one of them. I was stuck on Earth for six months before… well…"
Avary places a hand on yours and Conroy does the same to the other.
"Come on now, Vestige. You can tell us," Conroy coaxes.
"I'm not really sure what happened. One moment I'm minding my own business taking a stroll through the woods at night, the next someone is stabbing me repeatedly in the chest. I managed to blast them away, but the spell took everything I had and I passed out. When I woke back up, I was back with my mysterious benefactor. They said that what I did to defend myself shredded my soul and that I'd been asleep for three years. Any control over my magic I'd gained while in Greed and on Earth was shot and I had to do it all over again, along with growing my magical reserves even bigger than they were before. And of course, that required me to have even better control than I did. But I didn't want to leave either of you hanging for however long it took, which we all know now was a little over two years, so I pleaded with my benefactor to at least let me send you two letters explaining the situation as much as they would let me. While building up my power I may have accidentally sort of given life to the costume you gave me, Conroy. It isn't completely alive, think of it more like living fabric or a puppet."
"Okay, but why does it have a mouth that moves when you talk now? And why does it change your voice," Avary asks.
"My benefactor said that enough of my blood had been absorbed by the costume that it slowly gained a bit of sentience over the years. It's part of my powers now and if I want to, I can sort of merge with it. That's why my voice was different and it had a mouth. I essentially became one with the costume. Here, watch this!"
You stand up and back from the table and shadows engulf your body before pulling away to show you've donned the costume once again.
"Pretty cool, right? And it's not limited to the costume! I can change clothes with just a thought!"
Avary looks thoughtful and Conroy claps excitedly. You're sure that he's appreciate being able to change into his disguises on a whim in an instant. You dismiss the costume and sit back down.
"I'm truly sorry that I left the both of you in the dark for so long. It was due to circumstances out of my control, but all the same I'm sorry to have put you both through all that."
"None of that now!" Conroy's scooted his seat up against yours and has pulled you flush against him. Your face is nestled in his chest. "You didn't blame me for forgettin' ta' tell you about the Extermination. Don't try an' argue that it wasn't me fault, because it was me fault it slipped me mind. I've accepted that even if I 'ad told you about it, you still very well might've run afoul a' one a' those Exorcists, but not tellin' you because I forgot is on me. But you still forgave me for that! 'ow could I possibly blame you for somthin' that wasn't your fault?"
You hear the scraping of metal against concrete and another set of arms wrapped around you. Avary punches you in the arm again, but significantly lighter this time. "And if I hadn't given you that grimoire, you wouldn't have been sent to Earth only to get attacked by some psycho and fall into a coma! But you didn't blame me for that. I'm still mad that you went missing, but it's always been directed towards me. I missed you and I'm glad that you're here and you're okay now."
You allow yourself to relax in their embrace. You missed them too.
Chapter End Notes
Wasn't that sweet?
You know, aside from all the - necessary - lying.
Écarté
Chapter Notes
The reunion isn't quite over yet! We've still got a bit more exposition for Conroy and Avary to hear.
On a different note, I've been consumed by A Divine (Romantic) Comedy by Dystopian_God.
It's a crossover between Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, and The Owl House and I love it.
I also finally made a reference for Vestige.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The three of you just sit there holding onto each other. Well, it's more Conroy and Avary holding onto you, but there's contact between the two of them so you're going to count it. Still, you're smushed between two of your favorite people and they don't seem to be willing to let go of you anytime soon. You missed them, but that doesn't mean you want to be crushed between them either.
"Now that we've gotten the mushy part out of the way, I have presents for you both!"
They both pull away enough to give you amused looks with a brow raised. You smile pleadingly at them and they both sigh and roll their eyes before letting go and scooching their chairs back to where they were.
"For Avary," you hold up the bottle so they can both view it before handing it to her. "I have a hundred-year-old bottle of Ogre's Tear wine."
Avary gasps as she holds in firmly but delicately in her claws. "They only make ten bottles of this a year and it always, always goes to some fancy, elite snobs! How'd you manage to get ahold of a bottle this old!?"
You just tap a finger to your lips before turning to Conroy. "And for Conroy I actually have two gifts now. One of them I picked up along the way to get you, feel free to partake now or we can wait until we get you back to Cannibal Town and you can prepare it there."
You pull out the corpse of the fruit vendor and allow Conroy to inspect it. "Good lean ta' fat ratio on this one. I think I'll wait until I'm back 'ome before I do anythin' wit' this. Thank you, Vestige."
You put the corpse back in your shadow. "We're not done yet! I also got you some wine that I think you'll find pairs well with most anything you'll eat. Ta-da!" You hold this bottle aloft as well. "This bottle is also one hundred years old, but this wine is Vampire's Blood."
As the name suggests, Vampire's Blood is actually the blood of a vampire that's been mixed with alcohol. Or was it the blood of an incredibly drunk vampire that'd been extracted and bottled? Neviah had been very vague when explaining this particular wine. The thought of consuming the flesh and blood of others made her squeamish and she liked to avoid discussing it for longer than necessary. The only reason this wine was even in the cellar was because she wanted the palace to be stocked with literally everything she could think of that would scream "someone rich and important runs this place." It was why you didn't mention that you'd picked up this bottle as well.
Conroy clutches his bottle as Avary had hers. "This is so incredibly thoughtful a' you, Vestige." He sets it down and wraps his arms around you again, nearly causing his chair to fall to the ground from where he'd kept it in its place this time. "You really know your way ta' a man's 'eart you do!"
You just huff a small laugh and hug him back.
The three of you spend the next few hours talking about anything and everything going on in Conroy and Avary's lives. You would have liked to contribute what had really been going on with you, but you'd already committed yourself to upholding the lie that you'd told them. But that didn't mean you couldn't talk about other things. Like your plans for the future.
"Since you asked us to meet up, I'm assuming that means this mysterious benefactor of yours feels like you're strong enough to handle yourself now. What exactly are you planning to do going forward," Avary inquires while nibling on a cookie.
"That's a good question. My plans for now are to conduct any serious business as Wraith and to spend the rest of my time as Vestige just doing whatever I want to. Other than that, I don't really have any definitive goals."
"That's perfectly fine," Conroy reassures. "You don't 'ave ta' 'ave everythin' all written an' planned out! Sounds ta' me like you're just waitin' and seein' 'ow things go for now an' decidin' what ta' do from there!"
"If nothing's set in stone, you could always come back to Greed with me and stick with the Family until you decide on something. Hank and Boris miss you."
You snort. "Hank and Boris miss trying to sniff me out of the shadows for tracking training. Thanks for the offer Avary, but I'm just going to do my own thing in Pride for now. I'd love to visit often, but you and Conroy made an excellent point when you said I was lucky no one ever discovered that a Sinner had made their way to another Ring. It might be best that neither of you be seen around me as Wraith from now on. When I say "serious business" – and I know I'm being vague about it, I just don't want to worry either of you – you can take that to mean "dangerous business." I know that nowhere in Hell can really be considered safe – except for Morningstar Palace and by extension I suppose every other Sin's palace – but the danger I'm talking about is a little bit above the average amount of danger for the average Sinner. I wouldn't want either of you getting pulled into it because some shmuck remembered seeing you with me in costume."
"You worry us anyway by saying things like that," Avary deadpans. "Just tell us what you're planning on doing that would make us being seen with you in costume a bad idea."
You sigh but acquiesce. It would be safer for them if they knew what exactly you were up to instead of sticking their noses into your business – however well-meaning their intentions would be – and getting hurt or killed in the process. "I'm planning on Wraith becoming a mysterious well-known player in Pride. As in, the name "Wraith" will be well-known, but other than that I want the majority of the residents of this Ring to know next to nothing about them."
"Sounds ta' me like you're aiming to become an Overlord," Conroy comments.
You nod. "That's exactly what I'm planning."
"Why not do so as yourself? The way you talked, I assumed this benefactor made sure you were strong enough to handle anyone that came your way in Pride, save the royal family," Avary interjects.
"Well, as we've stated before, it's a bad idea to let people know that I can travel to other Rings on my own. But as Wraith, I can pretend that I'm Hellborn. And that's why I don't want either of you to be seen with them."
"Because there'd absolutely be people in this Ring and others barmy enough ta' target the supposed friends of an Overlord if they thought it'd give them leverage, but no one would bat an eye at those same demons being friends with your average Sinner," Conroy concludes.
"Yes. While I – Vestige – want nothing to do with the spotlight, I do want to know what's going on in Pride. And the best place to get that sort of information is during those meetings the Overlords like to hold."
"Why not just spy on the from the shadows like you did when you were with me?"
"Because the demons you had me spying on were nowhere near the level these guys are on. I don't doubt that one of them would be bound to notice me eventually, no matter how careful I am. And as strong as I am now, I don't think I'd be able to handle getting ganged up on by multiple Overlords all at once."
That last part was a lie. You trusted Neviah and when she'd compared your strength to every Overlord currently in power, she'd assured you that yours was greater than all theirs combined by leaps and bounds and would have no issue with taking them all on at once. You had no desire to do so, but it was nice to know that if you ever needed to for whatever reason, you could do so easily.
But Conroy and Avary couldn't know that, so you had to sell them on this.
Avary nods at your explanation. "Makes sense. I keep forgetting that Overlords aren't your run of the mill mob boss like I'm used to dealing with. I've never seen one in action and news of them doesn't really make its way down the Rings, so I've got no frame of reference to how dangerous they really are. Only rumors and what little gets passed on. I know they're stronger than most Hellborn, but I assumed that just one against many could eventually be overwhelmed by sheer numbers."
"Mmm," Conroy hums. "Depends on who you're talkin' about. Even amongst the Overlords there's an 'ierarchy of power. Take the leader a' Cannibal Town for example. Miss Rosie's been an Overlord for a little while now, but even when she wasn't one, she still had plenty of power to spare. It's only grown since assumin' the title of Overlord. But she isn't the strongest. She's been asked about it before and she 'erself said she'd place 'erself at around a two or three on a scale a' one ta' ten in terms a' power. A' course, power isn't the only thing an Overlord has, there's also territory, 'ow many people live in that territory, and 'ow many souls they 'ave under contract. Not 'ow many soul contracts they 'ave, but 'ow many souls they 'ave under contract."
"Huh," you say. "I would've figured that Overlords would want as many soul contracts as they could forge."
"The 'eavy 'itters, sure," Conroy agrees. "But Miss Rosie is content with 'er little corner of 'ell and what she chooses ta' do wit' it. Don't know if you 'eard yet, but a little over two years ago this Sinner crashed through 'er and Franklin's emporium. Poor bloke must've 'it 'is 'ead on the way down because 'e stayed asleep for a while before 'e finally woke up."
"Oh? You never mentioned this in any of your letters," you comment.
Conroy rubs the back of his neck. "Ta' be 'onest wit' you, the man makes me a might bit nervous. 'e's charming, funny and can act personable when 'e feels like it. But you can't ever tell what 'e's thinkin' wit' the way 'e's always smilin'. 'e's the sort a' man who'd share a meal wit' you, but not secrets. Though, I'm pretty sure 'e an' Miss Rosie gossip regularly wit' one another. 'e's frequently seen at the emporium 'e is."
Alastor. He's gotta be talking about Alastor.
"Sounds like he's shifty as fuck," Avary replies dryly. "Definitely not someone I'd want darkening my doorway, that's for sure."
Conroy takes another sip of tea in lieu of a response to that statement.
"But see? That just helps further my point," you say, desperate to get this conversation away from the topic of Alastor. "I don't know how strong the current Overlords are or what they can do. Sure, you just said that Rosie would rate herself as a two or three out of ten, but what are the descriptors for those rankings? Trying to spy on the Overlords without knowing any of this would only prove detrimental to me. It's best if I make my way into their ranks as publicly as I'm willing to be as Wraith to get the information that I want."
Avary holds her hand up in surrender. "Alright, alright! You've made your point. Sweet Satan Pride politics are so much more involved than I thought they'd be. It's so much simpler in Greed."
""Politics" in Greed boil down to where a good place to dump the body is."
Avary holds her cup up towards you. "See? So much simpler."
Avary bids you goodbye as the portal you opened into her office closes. It'd been so good to while away the hours with you and Conroy. She held the bottle of Ogre's Tear up to the light and admired the way the liquid glistened before setting it down on her desk with a satisfying thunk. As eager as she was to taste it, a rarity such as this ought to be saved for very special occasions. But Avary had no doubt that there would be plenty of those in the coming future, all she had to do was wait for them to arrive. In the meantime, the wine would keep and it would keep well in her personal collection.
A knock on the door brings her out of her musings. Avary hides the wine in one of the desk's drawers for the time being and she settles herself into her chair.
"Enter," she replies gruffly.
Marlene opens and shuts the door swiftly as she enters the room. "Ma'am, I apologize for disturbing you."
Avary holds up a hand to stave off any lengthy groveling. "It's fine, I've wrapped up all important business for the day. Now, what brings you to my office Marlene?"
"Reports on Gregor Marcella and his Family. The rat's finally coming out of his little hidey hole."
Marlene hands over the short stack of papers she'd had clutched in her hands and Avary skims over them, not liking the story that the brief overview tells her. "I'll go over this in depth later, for now, just give me the rundown of the situation."
"Ma'am. As you're well aware, Gregor didn't stop at wiping out the Putrid and Hedonia Families five years ago. He bided his time and let the heat die down before he began expanding into unoccupied parts of the city as well as crushing any minor Families that just so happened to be occupying bits of territory he wanted. He then proceeded to first branch out to the neighboring cities and crushed all Families that dared stand in his way. Those who swore loyalty to him in the aftermath were put through rigorous torture to break their minds and ensure they wouldn't turn tail and run."
Avary grit her teeth at that last part. She was no stranger to torturing someone for information, after all that was how Marcella had lost his prized honeypot to her. But to use it to break someone until they could barely function as a person and then put them to work? She would never stoop so low. She'd rather put the poor bastard out of their misery once she'd gotten what she wanted, like with Betty.
"Then, of course, he had those "new recruits" be the ones to test the waters for Gregor to begin moving his weapons dealing into other Rings, with success in some and failure in others until business began picking up in the Rings it initially failed. Then he disposed of them because, and I quote, "the Marcella Family has no use for turncoat cowards except for as stepping stones for the truly loyal to reach greater heights." Real piece of work this guy. So now he's got his business going in all Rings save for one: Pride. Because Sinners are innovative and do things their own way. Of course, Gregor doesn't like that and starts plotting how to sink his claws into this last Ring."
Of course Gregor can't settle for being the top weapons distributor in six of the seven Rings. Because this is Greed and everyone in Greed eventually learns to either accept their lot in life or strive for more, more, more. And clearly Gregor was a part of the latter group. But the other Rings all learned to steer clear of Pride as much as they could for a reason. Enough of the chaos trickles down as it is, and now Gregor essentially wanted to open up the floodgates and saturate the rest of Hell in Pride's special brand of crazy.
"That's where things start going from bad to worse. No one can get a clear answer as to how this specific individual learned of Gregor's plans, but soon after Marcella begins to poke and prod at Pride to see where he can find an in, he's approached by an Overlord. We don't know which one yet, we've got a group working on figuring it out around the clock until we figure it out. But all signs of Gregor's business' rapid growth in Pride points to outside help coming from someone high up on Pride's food chain. And obviously the royal family wouldn't get involved in matters like this."
"Obviously. Everyone knows that his majesty King Lucifer prefers to sequester himself in his palace while her majesty Queen Lilith minds the politics of all of Hell. And their daughter is simply too young and sheltered to have a hand in this."
And isn't it odd to think of someone who's one hundred and twenty-six years old as young? But she is. For every ten years that pass, Princess Charlotte Morningstar biologically only ages one. And even that will stop until she becomes as timeless as her parents. Right now, she's essentially twelve, nearly thirteen.
"Right you are, Ma'am. So we've deduced that it can only be an Overlord who's aiding Marcella, we just don't know which one. Though, if this "Radio Demon" keeps up their slaughter, they may just handle the problem for us."
"Best not to rely on "maybes" Marlene. Now, what bait is so enticing that out little rodent friend is so willing to step out of his little hidey hole?"
"Apparently Gregor struck a deal with this mysterious Overlord. In exchange for carving out a place for his weapons dealing, Marcella is to assist this Overlord in ridding themselves of a certain thorn in their side. The details were kept vague, no doubt to deter eavesdroppers. However, due to Gregor himself being spotted, we assume that he's managed to make some progress in delivering on his half of the deal. But we haven't a clue as to what it is."
Avary sighs. It's moments like these that made her wish you were here over the past five years. Aside from just missing you of course. You had just been too damn good at what you do and Avary was struggling to find an acceptable replacement. Her people did fine with what they had, but she knew what she was missing out on without you heading all the espionage missions.
"Have everyone stationed to watch for him continue monitoring Gregor; they are not to engage with him or the Marcella Family unless there is no other choice. We just don't have enough information to act on right now. If there really is an Overlord involved in all this, we can't afford to rush in blindly. That will only cost us. Dearly. Relay that to the teams."
"Ma'am," Marlene nods in deference and leaves the room as swiftly as she'd entered. The door doesn't so much as creak.
Avary sighs and eyes the drawer with the Ogre's Tear hidden inside before tearing her gaze away from it.
Conroy waves goodbye to you after you help him get the corpse situated in his kitchen. He'll have to carve up the meat and store it in the icebox soon, but he can give you another quick hug goodbye before doing so.
He hums to himself as he goes about rending flesh from bone. Seeing you again had put him at ease completely. The letters had helped but a little over two years without being able to actually see how you'd been doing physically had made him a bit stressed, but you seemed to be in good condition, so he would take your word for it that you were fine.
Still, he wishes that you could have been a bit more forthcoming about where you'd been. Unfortunately, your "benefactor" had seen to it that you wouldn't be able to discuss it with him and Avary. And he had been beside himself wanting to ask. He just knows that something big had to have happened apart from what you'd been able to share. It might have been five years ago, but Conroy knows damn well that you hadn't had a tail when you'd first met.
Alas, it seemed he was doomed to burn to ash if he allowed his curiosity to continue as a raging inferno. He'd have to put it aside. No doubt whoever this "benefactor" of yours was wouldn't relinquish you from your deal of silence for a while, if ever.
So there was no use in dwelling on something he couldn't change. Instead, Conroy shifted his full attention to the delicate carving he needed to do to fully separate the sinew from the bone without damaging either.
He looked over the individual pieces with satisfaction as he stored them away in the icebox. They'd all make lovely future meals and the lungs in particular were calling out to him for dinner later that evening. He closed the icebox and looked at the last remaining morsel left out on the counter.
He'd really done Miss Rosie a disservice by dodging her all throughout the week, as necessary as it was. He'd apologize for his rudeness with this heart. It was in lovely condition, so red and vibrant. He was almost a bit disappointed he wouldn't be partaking in it himself, but Conroy was a gentleman and this was an apology to a refined lady for his misconduct towards her. So he'd do without.
The emporium was open by the time he'd arrived after painstakingly wrapping the heart us so its juices wouldn't spill everywhere and rob it of its moisture. Nobody enjoyed dehydrated organs unless they were specifically prepared that way. Allowing the organ to dehydrate without preparing it made it incredibly unappetizing.
Miss Rosie was always in high demand for the people of Cannibal Town and as such the line in the emporium to seek an audience with her was always long. Normally. But no one liked to disturb her after she'd been out on official Overlord business unless it was incredibly important. And apologizing was indeed incredibly important and Conroy was thankful that the usual sprawling line was just a handful of people today.
When it was finally his turn, Conroy saw how Miss Rosie perked up at the sight of him.
"Conroy! Now here's a pleasant surprise, I certainly wasn't expecting you to visit little old me with how you've been giving me the runaround this past week!"
Conroy flushes in shame. "Terribly sorry about that, Miss Rosie. I-"
Rosie cuts him off with a polite laugh. "Oh I'm just pulling your leg! If any of you need my advice on anything you'll come to me when you're ready and not a moment sooner."
"I do appreciate your concern for me, Miss Rosie, truly I do. The business I 'ad ta' attend ta' was a' the utmost priority as well as incredibly private, an' it isn't mine ta' tell. But I am sorry for me unacceptable behavior towards you this past week. I 'ope you can forgive me."
Conroy holds out the wrapped heart to Rosie with open palms and she accepts it graciously.
"Why Conroy, you old charmer! You certainly know your way to a woman's heart," Rosie jokes as she pulls the wrapping back enough to peer at what's inside.
The two of them shared a laugh at that.
"If you ever are able to talk about it and want to, you know my door's always open. But it's good to see you acting like your old self again, Conroy."
"I'll keep that in mind, Miss Rosie. Now I best be off, so much ta' do an' always so little time ta' do it!"
"Ain't that always the way," Rosie smiles as she waves goodbye.
Conroy goes to open the door, only to stop short to avoid hitting the man on the other side of it.
"Terribly sorry about that!"
Alastor smiles. "No harm done my good man!" He sweeps his arm out as he steps to the side. "After you, I insist."
"Thank you kindly."
Conroy tries not to rush past this bloke, much as he'd like to. It wouldn't do to be seen acting rudely towards Miss Rosie's friend after he'd just apologized for rude behavior.
Alastor's gaze follows Conroy lazily as he walks past. He takes a deep, quiet breath of mild annoyance as the man passes by him and freezes.
The door shuts as Alastor remains rooted in place, eyes locked onto Conroy's retreating form.
You let out a pleased sigh as you snap away the little tea party. That had gone fantastically. While you wish you hadn't had to tell so many lies as well as lie by omission, it's what had to be done. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that the two of them would be put in unnecessary danger if they were seen hanging around with you while in costume. True, while they were both adults who could make their own decisions, you'd prefer it if they made decisions that didn't put their lives at risk. Well, any more than they already did on the daily.
You're just about to open a portal back to Purgatory when you hear the sound of glass smashing come from somewhere in the warehouse and you reflexively put your costume back on. Good thing too because it's only mere seconds after that you're ducking out of the way of an aggressively powerful kick to the face. You attacker backflips away from you without her hands touching the ground when her hit doesn't connect and lands gracefully on the tips of her toes several feet away from you.
"Where are they?!"
Oh, holy shit, it's Cutthroat Catfight.
Carmilla Carmine doesn't give you a chance to mentally giggle at the running gag of getting her name wrong in your head before she's on you again. Her movements are precise, her body is well-coordinated with her limbs and if she were able to land a hit on you, you're certain you'd feel the impact against your skin. As it stands, she isn't managing to hit you so you can only admire the dents and holes she's putting into what she does hit.
"Coward! You can talk a big game when you've taken what's most important to me, but falter when given the fight you were looking to pick?!"
"Uh… Lady I think you've got me confused for somebody else. I don't know who you are," you lied like a liar. "And I definitely didn't take anything from you." True, and whatever poor bastard decided they wanted to court death by ballerina could at least have the courtesy of facing it with dignity.
She scoffs at you. "As though I'd believe the words of a cowardly snake such as yourself." She pulls out a slip of paper and holds it between her fingers. "I received this message stating that some suicidal fool looking to hasten their demise had taken my daughters and would be waiting for me at this very warehouse. And you're the only one here."
"Congratulations, your eyes work." You doubted you'd be so flippant if you didn't know you could easily grind her into the dirt and finish her off for good with that angelic spear you're still toting around. "But that doesn't mean I'm the one who sent you that message. You're clearly angry about your daughters being abducted, any good parent would be, but because of that you aren't thinking about this rationally. Would whoever sent you that message really have let themselves be seen out in the open as soon as you arrived?"
Fuck it, you'll try to be diplomatic. It might not work, but you honestly aren't in the mood to be dealing with a case of mistaken identity. This whole thing is ruining the good mood getting to see Conroy and Avary put you in and you are not having it.
Carmilla sneers at you but doesn't immediately lunge for you again. She takes stock of the warehouse and just how bare it actually is on the inside. It'd been completely gutted however long ago, the only things left being the rusty overhead pulley system and scraps of debris here and there. It was why you and Neviah agreed it'd be the perfect spot to meet with Conroy and Avary. It was completely and utterly abandoned.
And with how empty it was inside, it'd be impossible to hide the fact that Carmilla's daughters were being held hostage here.
Carmilla crumples up the paper and throws it to the side in anger. "So, you're saying I've been lured into a trap."
You shrug. "Looks to be that way. Whoever sent you that note could very well have your daughters, but they certainly aren't here as you can see. Luring you out here might be a diversion for all you know."
Her head snaps towards you and you're proud of yourself for not flinching under the unwavering pressure it gives off. Stronger than her you may be, but you were not immune to the "angry mom" glare.
"But hey, what do I know," you continue. "It could be a diversion, or whoever sent you that note is waiting to make a needlessly dramatic entrance and ambush you. Either way, this has nothing to do with me, so I'm just going to-"
Magic sigils suddenly cover every window and door in the warehouse.
"-not go anywhere, apparently. Great."
You could leave no problem, but that would just show Carmilla that there's more to you than simply being able to dodge her attacks. And though you're aiming to make it into the ranks of the Overlords, you're still trying to keep a low profile.
A high pitched, annoyingly shrill laugh echoes throughout the entire warehouse, originating from the now open front door which closes quickly before a magic sigil appears on it like all the others.
"My, my," a two-toned nasally voice scratches against your eardrums. "Your friend there is quite perceptive my dear Carmilla."
"Muse," she growls.
Which, what?
Who the fuck is this?
Chapter End Notes
Oh, would you look at that, plot is moving for everybody it seems.
And before anyone asks this is who Muse is.
I figured since we didn't see them at the Overlord meeting that they were no longer amongst their ranks one way or another. So I thought it'd be fun to use them for this next part.
Assemblé
Chapter Notes
I decided to Google when rubber ducks were invented for reasons and apparently it was the late 1800s.
Moving on, the lovely Cecilogical has made fanart of Vestige!
And the lovely florist-of-the-valley over on Tumblr also drew some wonderful fanart of Vestige as well!
And the lovely ElizaNJam drew some fanart of Alastor and Vestige!
Thank you so much!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
No, wait. You think you vaguely recognize this demon from the pilot. It's hazy, but you're pretty sure they're one of the many unnamed Overlords that were seen during Vaggie's explanation of who Alastor was to Angel Dust.
Even among the ones you'd seen, you only really paid attention to the Overlords who had prominent speaking roles. This one certainly would've grabbed your attention if they'd been present – and had spoken – during the meeting due to how grating you found their voice to be. To be perfectly honest, you kind of wish you could cover your pinned back ears to help further block out the shrill sound, but That could be interpreted as an exploitable weakness and you weren't keen on letting that slip.
"A shame the same can't be said about you Carmilla," Muse taunts. "You're usually so much more levelheaded than this. It's a much-appreciated change of pace to see you so frazzled."
Carmilla snarls and her body tenses in preparation to lunge but Muse holds out a hand and waggles a finger at her.
"Ah, ah," they croon as though talking to a misbehaving child. "Remember, I still have your daughters held captive! You wouldn't want to do something that would risk your precious spawn being harmed, would you?"
Carmilla laughs coldly. "You don't give them enough credit. My daughters are smart and strong, they'll have no issue in freeing themselves of whatever underlings you have watching them."
Muse chuckles like they're in on some grand goof. "Normally you'd be correct. But anyone would fail to perform at their best when under the influence of Demon's Bane."
Carmilla's hands clutch tightly at her sides. "You miserable wretch!"
You have absolutely no idea what "Demon's Bane" is and you aren't going to even try hazarding a guess. What you can glean from Muse's taunts is that taking it – or in this case, being forced to take it – makes a demon unable to be at their best. Saying it that way makes it sound like you're describing some kind of drug, and maybe you are. But again, you don't know. It could be a rock that demons shouldn't come into prolonged contact with for all you know.
The smiling head laughs obnoxiously again. The frowning one has been silent this whole time. Maybe only one head talks depending on the mood they're in?
"All's fair in war, Carmilla! And we both know that this war's been a long time coming between you and I!"
Carmilla scoffs and crosses her arms to hide how they're shaking with rage. "Is that what this is about? Really? All because I refuse to ally myself with you, you feel it necessary to aim your frustrations towards my daughters?!"
The frowning head perks up and snarls as the smiling one goes quiet. "The two of us could do so much if you accepted my proposal of an alliance! But no! For some unfathomable reason, you feel the need to consistently deny my stage the presence of a prima ballerina! And I just don't understand why! With your stage presence and my showmanship, we could attract so many wayward souls! The theatre would never lack workers and we would continuously grow stronger with each new member of the audience captivated!"
"Hardly," Carmilla spits. "What you've proposed is nothing more than having me dance to your tune while you sit back and allow others to do all the heavy lifting for you. You boast about your "showmanship," but if it truly were all you claim, you wouldn't be so desperate to try and forge an alliance with me. We may both be familiar with the stage, but clearly the spotlight has dimmed for one of us. I'll give you a hint, it hasn't dimmed for me."
Muse snarls and clenches their teeth so hard you're surprised you don't hear the enamel immediately crack. "Oh, here you go again! Here goes Carmilla thinking she's above the rest of us just because Zestial pays attention to her! Well I've got news for you, darling! Just because he's been an Overlord the longest of us doesn't mean he's all that!"
Carmilla puts her hands on her hips and cocks one out to the side. "I'd argue that managing to stay in power for as long as he has does make Zestial "all that" as you put it."
Muse scoffs. "He's only managed to stay in power for so long simply due to his reputation! But times have changed and stronger demons than he have risen above the masses! It's only fear of an era long gone that keeps others from challenging him! Face it Carmilla, Zestial's all washed up, it's time for someone new to take center stage."
She narrows her eyes icily. "And you believe that someone to be you?"
The smiling head resumes speaking. "Of course! But unlike the wash up, I know that two heads are better than one!" They take a moment to laugh longer than necessary at their own joke. "Though in this case, I suppose it's technically three." They hold a glowing hand out towards Carmilla. "Join me Carmilla, and together we'll rule over the entirety of Pentagram City. I mean, it isn't as though you really have a choice, what with me holding your daughters as leverage. I'd agree sooner rather than later if I were you. After all, Demon's Bane has a nasty tendency to make a demon so out of it that they aren't fully aware of themselves. And I've got a nice set of contracts for the two of them to unwittingly sign if you take too long to say yes."
Carmilla bites her lip in resentment. She clearly doesn't want to do what this cuckoo is demanding of her, but she's obviously trapped between a rock and a hard place with this being the only way out that she can see.
You repeat, that she can see. Muse has been ignoring your presence this whole time, save for when they mocked Carmilla for her lack of perceptiveness. But here's the thing, by Muse and Carmilla solely focusing on each other, you've had ample time to slip into Muse's shadow and rise up from it to loom behind them. To her credit, Carmilla barely glances at you before focusing her attention back on Muse.
But you see her eyes widen just a bit when you pull out your angelic spear.
It's ridiculously easy for you to lop both of Muse's heads off with it. Like a hot knife through butter. They bounce and roll off in opposite directions of each other, making a warped mirror of each other's paths as the body slumps over and splatters blood everywhere on impact.
"Well that was anticlimactic," you state dryly as you put the spear away. "I mean, they were talking such a big game about how they managed to pull this over on you because of your momentary lapse in judgement, but then they go and ignore the other person in the room when they have you where they want you, not knowing what this unexpected third party was capable of? That's just cocky and cockiness will get you killed down here. Again. As I just demonstrated."
"Why do you have that," Carmilla asks.
Her voice sounds oddly hollow to you and you turn around to see her giving you a much warier look than before. Ah. Yeah, a demon walking around with an angelic weapon should be something anyone with sense ought to be cautious of.
"I have it because during my first Extermination Day, an Exorcist was so kind to hurl it into my back where it got stuck. Clearly I lived and I got a useful souvenir out of the encounter. To be honest, outside of training with it, this is my first time using it. I know spears are more of a piercing weapon, but hey. A blade's a blade; and blades were meant to cut."
A small black shadow darts towards you from underneath the front door. The magic sigils had all vanished the moment you sliced Muse's heads off. Carmilla takes several cautious steps back at the sight of it, but you simply reach a hand out to it and allow the small creature to climb aboard.
This power is among your favorites so far. It allows you to make shadow creatures of any size or shape and they can follow your orders perfectly. You'd gotten the idea after witnessing Wraith's limitations. You mostly stuck to amorphous blobs with little limbs and faces though, because you thought they were cute.
It immediately starts speaking in nonsense gibberish. Or at least that's what it sounds like to anyone that's not you. You understand this little one perfectly as it relays information on where Carmilla's daughters are being held. The nice thing about shadows is that they're all connected, no matter how small. You simply had it track down the shadows of the ladies that spent the most time with Carmilla. Which thankfully were just her daughters, it'd take a bit longer to sort through the details if Carmilla was a more sociable woman.
"Thank you, sweetie. That's all I needed to hear." You pull out a leftover cookie from the tea party and hand it over. The blob squeaks in delight and immediately tries to choke itself on the treat. Good thing they don't need to breathe. You tilt your head at Carmilla. "Ready to go get your daughters?"
Her face goes from wary to stoney in an instant. "Am I to put my trust in a complete unknown such as yourself?"
"I didn't say anything about you trusting me. I just thought you'd like to go get your girls before they're forced to sign their souls over. You know, to Muse. The Overlord I just killed. And whose contracts I just inherited. The ones still waiting to be signed might be in their name, but they'll go to me once they are, and I'm not interested in making an enemy out of you. Also, they really aren't looking so good."
It's minor, but her hands flinch at that. You think she might want to grab and shake you by the shoulders. "You saw them?!"
You rub a finger back and forth on the blob's head. "Yep. Might sound like nonsense to you, but I can understand shadow creatures perfectly. They aren't really talking though but relaying what they saw to me mentally. The noise is just something they produce." You hold out a hand to Carmilla. "I think you want me having ownership over your daughters' souls about as much as I do – which is not at all – so I'll ask again: are you ready to go get your daughters? You don't have to come with me, obviously, but I thought you might appreciate taking a shortcut to where they're being held as opposed to having to take the long way."
Her apprehension is obvious, but momentary. "Know that if this has all been an elaborate trick, there is no force in existence that will stop me from enacting vengeance upon you."
"Ha! I'd honestly love to see what your attempts would be, but I promise this isn't a trick. I've got better things to do with my time than play head games with you… Carmilla was it?"
"Carmilla Carmine," she affirms, grasping your hand. "One of Pentagram City's Overlords."
"Good for you," is all you say before you're pulling the both of you through the shadows of Pentagram City until you pop out on the roof of the building where Carmilla's daughters are being held.
Carmilla looks around bewildered for only a moment before removing her hand from yours. "A useful trick."
"Yeah, took a while to figure out how to do it. Now then, your daughters are being held on the top floor, directly underneath us. The entirety of the building is swarming with guards."
"Would it not have been better to enter from the front and work our way up?"
"Perhaps. But unfortunately the guards watching your girls have been armed with angelic weaponry. I don't know if you're all Hellborn demons or if you all died at the same time and manifested together, and I'm not going to ask. Doesn't look like Muse knew either."
"And therefore made certain that if they could not gain my cooperation even with their underhanded tactics, they would ensure that they would cause me the worst pain imaginable to me. I almost wish you hadn't killed them so quickly."
"Well, look at it this way. Once the angelically armed guards are taken care of, you can take as long as you like dealing with everyone else."
The smile she gives you is sadistically genuine.
The two of you do not destroy the roof to get into the room below. That would just risk debris falling on Carmilla's daughters, and she wasn't going to do anything that might get her girls hurt more than they were already. So you agreed to sneak the both of you into the room below through the shadows. You would've done it immediately, but you doubted Carmilla would have appreciated suddenly being in the room where demons armed and poised to kill her daughters were. The rood had been a necessary detour for her to get her bearings.
You let out a low whistle of awe as you watch Carmilla throw guards around like they weighed nothing. The wrath of an angry mother trying to get her children back is nothing to sneeze at. You'd tossed two small rocks that had been placed in each girl's lap into your shadow before untying them. Your sarcastic guess from earlier had been right. Demon's Bane was a type of stone that drained a demon's energy, both physical and magical; not enough to kill, but enough to keep heavily subdued.
You'd felt nothing when you'd touched them.
Already you could see a bit of clarity returning to the girls' eyes.
"Mo…ther…?" the blonde barely rasped out.
"Your mom's just over there taking care of the pests that were keeping you and your sister here, sweetie," you say gently.
These girls are no doubt older than you, if not biologically then chronologically, regardless of if they're Hellborn or Sinners. But it's difficult to not see them as young girls when they're seeking comfort from their mother in this deplorable situation. The blonde can barely get her eyes to focus on where your finger is pointing long enough to get a good look at where Carmilla is bashing some poor bastard's face in with her fists. Looks like she's foregone her graceful dance fighting for sheer brutality, not that there was room for her to dance here anyway. The blonde smiles before closing her eyes again.
You check for a pulse from both to make sure they're just resting and not dead.
"Carmilla? Carmilla," you attempt to get the enraged woman's attention. "Carmilla. The man is unconscious Carmilla. You've bashed your fists against his face eighty-seven times Carmilla."
On bash eighty-eight she finally puts her bloodied fists down. She rushes to her girls' sides the moment she realizes you'd been calling for her.
"Are they alright," she asks as she brushes their hair back against their foreheads.
"One of them was awake briefly to see you hurling their captives around, but I think she either passed out or fell asleep. The other one didn't wake up at all, but they both have pulses, albeit weak ones."
"What did you do with the Demon's Bane?"
"It's out of anyone's reach now." Save for yours.
Carmilla doesn't question you further about it. Could be that she's just that consumed with worry about her daughters to not press the issue, could be that she doesn't care what you did with it as long as it isn't hurting them anymore. Could be a number of reasons why she doesn't question you further; the point is she doesn't.
Instead she says, "I can't carry both my daughters and fight at the same time."
"That's fine. You go and get them somewhere safe to check on any injuries they might have. I'll deal with the guards."
Carmilla nods and scoops both her daughters up and she launches herself out the open window and across the street out of sight.
It doesn't seem like any of the guards on the lower floors heard any of the commotion Carmilla had made. That's good, you think to yourself as you absentmindedly snap the necks of the guards Carmilla had beat unconscious.
You whistle to yourself as you casually meander down the stairs to the next floor, spearing guards on your tendrils lazily as you come across them. Some of them lunge at you screaming and you're not sure why they do that. It only announces their presence to you. Not that you didn't know where they were already due to being able to feel their shadows.
You picked up so many cool tricks while you were training.
You eventually make your way down to the ground floor and briefly spot Carmilla checking over her now conscious daughters with all the care one would expect from a doting mother. It's a sweet scene, one that your view of gets immediately ruined by a goon lunging at you and having his guts splattered on the window you were looking out of.
Can't they see that you're in the middle of watching a very tender moment between a mother and her children? Sarcastic thoughts aside, wow. These guys seriously suck. Or maybe it's just that they suck to you. You worked hard to master the absurd amount of energy Neviah infused into your soul – and would continue to infuse into your soul in smaller increments from now on – so you suppose it's only natural that things that once would have given you some form of trouble seem so mundane to deal with now.
You kick in the door of the room with the very last active shadow in it. There he stands shaking in his boots. One Gregor Marcella. To think that you'd once been worried about tipping this guy off to your involvement in his little instigator's disappearance. He'd seemed like such a looming presence back then, but now he was nothing more than a sniveling obstacle to you. One that was going to be all too easy to dispose of.
Assuming that she hasn't decided to end your spontaneous partnership and leave with her daughters, Carmilla should be waiting for you outside. And you know that it's terribly rude to keep a lady waiting for too long.
Gregor struggles to plead with you for… something. It's a little hard to make out with how hard you've wrapped a tendril around his neck. A neat thing you learned how to do was change their shape, so you've got a tentacle squeezing the life out of him for old time's sake.
His eyes burst out from the pressure along with copious amounts of blood and brain matter. You carelessly drop the corpse to the side and mosey your way out of the building.
Much to your surprise, your spontaneous partnership with Carmilla doesn't end then and there. She'd requested – read: demanded – that you accompany her and her daughters back to her home so that she could thank you for lending your assistance with getting them back.
Apparently you'd proven yourself trustworthy in Carmilla's eyes. Or maybe she was trying to get a read on the random demon who'd suddenly inherited a recently deceased Overlord's soul contracts.
Eh, could be a bit of both to be honest.
You're pretty sure that the building you've been brought to – aside from being Carmilla's home – is the same building that Vaggie had visited when she'd gone looking for answers about how Carmilla had killed that Exorcist. But without all the delivery trucks and manufacturing plants around. Huh.
Had Carmilla not begun her foray into weapons dealing yet? She'd clearly recognized your spear as holy – as if Muse not regenerating from their injuries wouldn't have told her what it was – but maybe at this point in time Angelic Steel was even more uncommon than it was during canon. The other holy armaments currently sitting alongside your spear suddenly feel a whole lot heavier.
Dinner, while delicious, is a quietly tense affair. You can feel eyes boring into you that don't belong to Carmilla, Odette or Clara. The girls had introduced themselves to you on the way and you'd returned the courtesy.
You have a feeling you might know who those eyes belong to. You'd already figured the two of them were friends at this point thanks to Muse's ramblings, but it was odd to you that Zestial was choosing to remain in the shadows. A terrible place for him to try and hide from you, really. Not that he was aware of that. And from how Carmilla kept smirking after shooting brief glances to where Zestial was lurking, you had a feeling she was having a bit of harmless fun after the stressful day she'd been through.
"I feel as though words would fail to express how grateful I am that you assisted me in rescuing my girls," Carmilla speaks up suddenly.
"Eh," you wave her off. "That's fine. I didn't do it for recognition or anything like that." And you really hadn't. As much as this could help with your goal of attaining the title of Overlord, it had all been completely spontaneous and you'd just done what any decent person who could do something in that situation ought to have. Though, you suppose trying to find decent people in Hell might be a lot harder for others than it has been for you.
"How very… altruistic of you," is Carmilla's only response to that. Her tone is kept carefully neutral.
Ah. She's trying to see what kind of person you truly are. Trying to see if you're serious about not looking for recognition for your good deed and to see if you were naïve enough for her to exploit. You'd be offended if you weren't expecting it. The woman's an Overlord after all, she didn't earn that title by not hopping in the saddle of every opportunity presented to her until she broke that horse enough to suit her needs.
A shame for her that you're the only one in this room capable of doing any hypothetical breaking.
"If that's what you want to call it, go right ahead. I call it "having basic decency." This may be Hell, but that doesn't mean I have to act like a morally depraved, out of control beast like so many other demons seem to think."
"So you think yourself above the majority?"
"Not at all. Something I've noticed is that regardless of if they're Hellborn or a Sinner, people act how they please. Some people want to give in completely to their unsavory urges, some may not go that far but are still unpleasant to be around. I've decided to be someone who doesn't let my environment affect how I treat people."
"Some might see that as foolish," Carmilla comments idly as she takes delicate sips from her glass of wine. Odette and Clara watch your back and forth with their mother like it's a tennis match.
"You aren't wrong. But let me ask you this: would you rather I'd come at you with the intent to kill like you'd done to me?"
And like a switch being flipped, the temperature of the room drops and the tension spikes. You've allowed a bit more of your power to seep out in a concentrated amount in this room only. Not much, it's like you opened up the faucet of a sink just to let it steadily drip water out one drop at a time.
But it's enough to get your point across. Carmilla has a stricken look on her face and Odette and Clara look like they're going to be sick. You can feel how Zestial is struggling underneath what is honestly a minute amount of killing intent that you're giving off. How noble of him to want to rush to Carmilla and the girls' sides to try and keep them safe.
You reel it back in.
"Don't misunderstand. I'm well aware of where I am and that people will try and take advantage of my supposed naiveite. I'll gladly welcome them with open arms. The only issue I'll have is deciding if I wish to crush them completely in my embrace or slide a blade between their ribs."
To her credit once again, Carmilla is fast to recover from your – extremely minor – casual display of power. "That is… quite the personal philosophy."
"I know it isn't for everyone, but Hell's already such a terrible place. Why would I choose to contribute to the suffering when I can live my life choosing to be kind instead?"
""Live your life…" I see."
You don't think she does. In fact, you're hoping that Carmilla's misinterpreted your words just now the way you wanted her to.
After all, Wraith is supposed to be a Hellborn demon who can move about the Rings whenever the mood strikes.
"Far be it from me to pass judgement about how another conducts their business," she continues as if she hadn't been in the middle of doing just that before you'd shown her that she wasn't the biggest predator in the room. "In any case, I must ask what you intend to do now that you have Muse's soul contracts under your command."
You see how Odette and Clara startle at that tidbit and feel Zestial do so as well. "To be quite honest, I'm not certain. The fine details of Muse's deals don't really apply to me, but all the same they're mine now. I might see if by changing ownership the contacts themselves can be reworked to suit my wants and needs. If not, I suppose I'll just have more souls to add to my collection."
"So you've made deals for souls before then."
"Yes. Not many I'm afraid. In fact, the entirety of Muse's deals far outstripped the paltry number I had. I relied more on self-improvement to get to where I am now."
You're very carefully not tipping your hand. True, you did just let a miniscule amount of your power leak out, but that was more to put the idea of exploiting you out of Carmilla's mind. Now, if she wants to work with you going forward, you wouldn't be opposed. But you had to establish that you weren't going to be anyone's errand girl.
"It must have taken you quite a while to attain such power simply by your own merit. And yet I've not heard even rumor of a demon resembling you."
You shrug your shoulders as you lack your fingers together. "Well, much like your friend lurking in the shadows behind me," and it's satisfying to feel Zestial flinch at being caught. The corners of Carmilla's mouth twitch upward and back down so quickly that if you hadn't been watching for it, you would have missed it entirely. "I'm not a fan of the spotlight. I prefer to conduct myself… behind the scenes so to speak. If I must come into the light for a time I will do so, but I'll return back to the shadows as soon as I am able. That's simply how I am."
Carmilla waves a hand to Zestial, signaling that his little game was over. "I'm surprised you waited so long to point him out."
Zestial saunters from the where he'd been hiding to stand next to Carmilla and gives her a mildly affronted look. "Carmilla, t'would be most appreciated if thou wouldst keep thy japeries aimed toward parties more deserving than I."
Carmilla smiles fondly at him. "Apologies Zestial, but it's so seldom that the opportunity to pull one over on you presents itself."
Zestial keeps the affronted look for a moment longer before letting the façade fall and chuckling at Carmilla's antics. "Ah, but I cannot stay miffed with thee too terribly long. Tell me then old friend, what dost thou intend for the stranger at thy table?"
You'd like to know that as well. You've already reduced any hopes of exploitation Carmilla may have harbored by concentrating that little bit of power into the room. If you hadn't kept it in one place and allowed it to permeate then the effect wouldn't have been noticeable. It's something Neviah had you practice relentlessly when you'd shared your intentions regarding Wraith with her. After all, if the Sins could all walk around without their power overwhelming everyone then they clearly could manage the output. And now so could you, as well as how potent it was.
Technically you could walk around with your power fully unleashed and almost no one would be the wiser. But it was that "almost" that kept you from doing so. You weren't sure if the royal family would be able to feel your presence if you just let your full power roam unleashed, so you weren't even going to try. But you could let a little bit more power out as Wraith and use its oppressiveness as a deterrent to ward off stupidity.
"That depends entirely on if they would listen to my offer," Carmilla answers honestly.
"Go ahead, I don't have anywhere I need to be and all the time in the world to get there," you respond.
Odette and Clara find that funny and stifle their laughter. Carmilla and Zestial spare a brief look of exasperated fondness towards the girls before focusing their attention back on you.
"With the souls you've inherited from killing Muse, you are now in possession of the same amount of power they held as an Overlord. That alone would qualify you to join our ranks," Carmilla explains.
"I'm sensing a "but" or "however" coming up."
Carmilla huffs and you think she might be fighting some laughter of her own. "However, we are not currently allowing any demons to plead their cases as to why they should be permitted within our ranks. We've decided it would be beneficial to not accept any new members until such a time comes to pass where the one referred to as "The Radio Demon" either comes forward to claim responsibility for the disappearances of several Overlords or they are killed."
"Because you think they've already accumulated enough power by taking the souls of previous Overlords and don't want to entice them by introducing fresh blood. If they went after the new members – regardless of how long they've been in the game – and took them out as well, you'd basically just be feeding meat to the grinder."
Carmilla nods in acknowledgement. "Precisely. What little I saw of your power today gives me cause to believe you would do quite well amongst our unfortunately dwindling numbers. Circumstances, such as they are, are the only reason I'm not pushing for you to join."
"I would have thought you'd be thrilled to have less competition for territory and souls."
Carmilla sighs as she rises from her seat. She swirls her wine slowly as she looks out the window. "Not at all. Territory requires people to run it. The more territory one has, the more people needed to look after it. And it's quite often that one lacks the necessary numbers to manage large areas of territory and thus loses it bit by bit until nothing remains. Our dwindling numbers means that there is a plethora of territory being fought over constantly by such individuals. In time, things will stabilize, but for now it's utter chaos. Perhaps if this Radio Demon were staking claims it would be a bit more manageable, but they aren't. Which is baffling. Why go through the trouble of dethroning an Overlord if not to take over what was once theirs?"
"To attempt to decipher the mind of such an individual is folly, my friend," Zestial interjects, derailing Carmilla's runaway train of thought.
She sighs frustratedly and returns to her seat where she takes a large swig of her wine. "You're right. But they have thrown the status quo into complete disarray with no regard to the fallout or where it will land! It's maddening!"
Carmilla slams her hands down on the table, causing the dishware in front of her to hop up and fall back down with a clatter. Miraculously nothing spills.
Carmilla clears her throat. "I apologize for my lapse in decorum."
"No harm done," you assure. "Sounds like this Radio Demon is getting on your last nerve, but I think we've gotten a bit off topic. What was it you wanted to ask me?"
"With the way you were able to track my daughters down it's clear you have a talent for gathering information. I would ask that you act as an information broker of sorts and relay any relevant information regarding the state of the city back to us."
""Us" as in the Overlords in general, or "us" as in the four of you?"
Carmilla smirks as she rests her chin on the backs of her hands. "You catch on quickly. I would have you relay anything of relevance to myself, my daughters, or Zestial."
"What's in it for me?"
If you can do something and do it well, never do it for free.
"You will of course be handsomely compensated for your work, and when this Radio Demon is no longer an issue, on way or another, you will be welcomed into our ranks as an Overlord yourself."
"Am I to assume this is a sort of "gentleman's agreement?" Or are you looking to make it something a bit more… concrete?"
"Are you proposing we make this a deal?"
"I'm fine with keeping this as nothing more than a verbal agreement. I just hope you don't think I'll let you use me for my services and then allow you to welch on me when the time comes to pay the piper. I do so hate when people think they can jilt me."
"Hm. Despite your lackadaisical attitude towards how you approach others, you're actually quite ruthless when you want to be, aren't you?" Carmilla hides her smile behind her glass.
You grin at her and it's all teeth.
Chapter End Notes
I'm starting to wonder if I should break this story into parts. Because I'm going over it in my head and along with future chapters I want to write it's shaping up to be quite the epic and I wouldn't want a large chapter count to seem daunting to anyone wondering if it's worth their time to read but gets intimidated by how much there is.
I don't know. If I DID break it up into parts, I feel like here would be a good place to do so. The ending is open enough that I feel you could move on to the next installment easily. And it's also an even numbered chapter. That part isn't nearly as important, but something about even numbers is just so satisfying.
Afterword
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