Chapter Text
"Holy shittt, oh my God, oh my God, oh my G-”
“Yep, heard you the first time,” Lucifer cut off Angel, staring so intensely at the wall that he might actually start burning a hole through it if he wasn't careful.
“Wait wait wait, are we seriously going to be watching… Alastor’s past?” Charlie whispered the last bit as though it were still a secret to the rest of them, covering the lower half of her face with an impressive combination of mortification, terror, and foreboding in her eyes. “Oh shit. Oh my Dad, wait, this- This is bad, right? What if we’re invading his privacy by letting this play out? What if we see something that we weren’t meant to ever see and- and we can never-? No, no, we have to shut it off-”
“Ummm… Charlie...,” her dad butted in, snapping out of his horror-stricken trance to slowly rotate towards his daughter with a wince so visceral that it looked like it hurt. “Yeahhh, that’s the thing, sweetie... Now that it’s started, I can’t really, y’know, break this clunky old thing out of it until whatever it’s shown... uh… y'know, ends.”
“WHAT?” they all shouted.
“… and, okay, I’m just go ahead and say this while everyone’s already looking at me like that; it’'s probably also not the best idea to just stop watching it once it's started, either,” Lucifer confessed, then shivered slightly as his eyes drifted to side of the room like he was remembering something traumatic. “Believe me.”
There was no response to this, as it seemed none of them particularly wanted to know what exactly could've been bad enough to put that look on the king's face.
"Well, that's fuckin' convenient," Cherri scoffed, though she was easily the least affected of the lot. She didn't exactly know the bloke that well, considering she hadn't been a part of the hotel for as long as the others.
“Oh, fuck… urghh, this just feels so… This feels really…” Charlie’s pretty face was scrunched up in worry as she tried to figure out how to word what she wanted to convey correctly whilst being plagued with thoughts of how much Alastor would hate them seeing this side of him without his consent, "... icky..."
“Okay, look, now that I've thought about it, I gotta say: I am pretty curious about seeing whatever fucked-up shit the Radio Demon got up to on Earth,” Angel admitted, hands up in surrender.
“Look, don’t make a fuss over it, princess. It's not like he'll find out, 's long as no one tells," Husk said, unable to tear his gaze away from the image on the wall (which had paused the moment they’d started talking). Yeah, a moment ago he’d felt uneasy - because, undoubtedly, the first people Alastor would come for if he found out about this would be himself and Lucifer, and let’s just say that Husk had far less of a chance at winning that particular fight than the King of Hell - but right now, he could feel something malicious and petty and vindicated curling in his chest. In fact, nah, you know what? Hell yes, he wanted to see this. Having a good chunk of the dirty little secrets Alastor’d kept from them all practically handed over on a silver platter? What more could he possibly ask for?
After realising he'd fallen silent for a hot second, he irritably added, "And anyways, it’s not like he would stop watching if it were any one of us in his place."
"Actually, the Roach King-" Niffty started, before one of Angel's hands and one of Husk's paws clasped shut around her mouth. Eyes darting up to make contact with each other, a mutual understanding passed through the cat and the spider. They both wanted to see this shit, and they weren't gonna let anything spoil the opportunity.
After a moment of quiet, they freed the girl's jaws, and Husk turned her around by the shoulders so that he could lean down so he was face-to... well, face-to-eye with her.
"Hey, kid, now's the time for you to help us out a bit, a'right?" he stage-whispered, unable to stop his ears from pinning back in embarrassment as the rest of them watched him come to an agreement with the oddball maid like he was some sort of fuckin' babysitter. "You're gonna do some studyin' up on the boss for, just, y'know, if we ever need to know a little more about him in the future in case he needs us help him out. Y'know how cagey he can be, o' course. And we wanna be able to actually do something if anything bad does happen to him, right?"
He was speaking directly out of his ass, and everyone else knew that - because what, exactly, could they get from this that would help them in any way, shape, or form in any given scenario? - but apparently that was something that Niffty was more than happy to eat up (and no, the image of that accidental wording was neither enjoyed nor encouraged). With an adrenaline-fuelled nod of agreement, she immediately sat herself down in on the arm-rests between himself and Angel's chairs, pulled out a pad and pen from fuck-knows-where and braced herself on the edge of her seat, practically buzzing with excitement.
Ignoring the girls to his right who were either mocking him (Cherri) or shooting him disapproving looks in that moment, Husk glanced back at Angel, who looked unfairly turned on by the unusual exchange that'd just occurred. Feeling himself blush - and, for the first time ever, thankful to the shmuck who’d decided to give him fur in his afterlife - Husk only managed a resigned shrug.
And so what? It didn't mean he'd calmed the girl down out of the 'goodness of his heart'. It was only because he'd known the chick so long that he was even remotely able to figure out any solutions to her erratic behaviour at the best of times; not even Alastor, who was closer to Niffty than anyone, knew just what was running through that strange little woman's head.
“He has got a point, babe,” Vaggi eventually conceded after a minute, jerking up a grey shoulder in a half-shrug. She still looked a bit shaken-up from the realisation that they were about to watch human Alastor’s life for the next… Damn, how long would they be stuck in here? Wait, were they even stuck? Or were they actually just curious enough about this dude's history that they were all subconsciously willing to go along with the belief that leaving while this 'recording' was still playing would bring upon them some sort of bad juju like Lucifer said?
Which, if that were the case, well, then, fair play. For once, Husk held no qualms with how events were shaping up.
“Plus, maybe this is, like… an unintentional way for him to make up for all those missed group-therapy sessions," the ex-exorcist continued, refusing to meet her partner's eye as she did. The moth was so obviously bullshitting (there'd been a lot of that today) and was terrible at it, but she also definitely knew how to press Charlie’s buttons better than any of them. That being said, the rest of the hotel staff, plus Angel and Cherri, were way too excited to see whatever was going to happen to give much of a shit either way.
As expected, Charlie eventually let out a sigh, her padded shoulders slumping in defeat (a defeat that she really hadn’t actually fought all that hard against despite her original protests, but, again, no one would mention it). “Okay. Okay, okay, okay, fine, I guess we’ll keep watching. But only as long as nothing we see here leaves this room, got it? Is everyone good with that?”
They all hesitated for a few moments - mostly disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to rub any of this in the deer’s stupid, smug face afterwards - but ultimately agreed under Charlie’s strangely intimidating glare.
And so the projection began to play once more.
Alastor waved cheerily as he watched the portly man waddle off. Once Williams’ had finally disappeared into the sparse crowds at the end of the street, the brunette made a 'tch' noise through his teeth, stepped back inside the house, and shut the door in front of him with a bang!
"Can't say I've ever met a man who's so willing to make himself as easy a target as that one," he muttered under his breath - unnervingly normal without his radio filter, even if it was still accompanied by that fabricated accent. Then he turned round, and the angle finally zoomed out so that his entire frame was brought into view.
There were a few moments of silence as they all sat there, too shocked for words. Then-
“Holy… fuck…,” Angel breathed as he looked at the figure up and down appreciatively. Cherri echoed the sentiment, eye opened wide. Husk had almost done a spit-take out of muscle-memory before realising that he wasn’t actually drinking anything, and instead went down the route of choking on thin air. Hell, even Charlie and Vaggi had flinched away in surprise, taken aback by just how… wow… the Radio Demon had been in life.
Alastor’d been tall and willowy even back then, it seemed (and even though it was less inhumanely apparent compared to his demonic counterpart, both forms shared the same broad, bony shoulders, that cinched waist, the little hips, and the ridiculously long legs), with rich, burnt-caramel skin and a head full of dark, lush waves. His human face hadn’t been all that different either, aside from the colouring; angular with a a little, pointed nose, two massive, clear, light-brown eyes that practically glowered with the same striking vibrancy they did down in Hell, and, unsurprisingly, a big set of straight, white, un-serrated teeth which were bared in a huge, beaming grin.
Angel, in a vain attempt to cover up how much he’d been drooling, tried to joke, “Who could’ve guessed that Al was such a stunner, huh? I mean, like, I probably could ‘ave, but jeez… Hust how bad could he’ve possibly been on Earth to 'ave had to lose those curls, am I right?”
There were no responses.
Charlie, in particular, found herself tipping her head to the side at the image of her once-living friend. Alastor had, undeniably, been a very beautiful human. Which, to be clear, wasn't to say that he was ugly now! She was sure that there were plenty of Sinners who had thing for him - in fact, she knew it (unwilling via Voxnet, which, unfortunately, made no exceptions and took no survivors) - with his sharp, delicate features and his svelte frame and his… his… general aura of malice, she supposed? And look, hey, she didn’t judge! This was a kink-shame-free zone! But by human standards, he just… his face had looked so smooth, and tanned, and soft, and so young. In fact, when had he died, anyways? He barely even looked thirty, here.
As for Husk, he could only stare. Alastor had bragged to the cat about his life on Earth many times over the years - mostly after a few too-many drinks. Whether it be of the ‘impressive-for-the-time’ span of his audience or even of just his prowess on the dance floor, the man lo-oved his stories. Despite all that, though, he’d never really brought up what he’d looked like. All Husk had really known up until this point was that he'd been mixed Creole - which had only been dragged out of him after the man had interjected on a discussion between Husk and some other Overlord about slavery back in in the ‘60s when he'd still owned the casino, and had had no other graceful way to back out of it other than admit that he wasn’t just another white man trying to act like he 'understood' the lot of it. So to be confronted with this… well, it definitely... it was definitely confusing.
Fuck, Husk really needed a drink.
Lucifer still hadn't said a word, looking both a little wonderstruck and, likely as a result of this, disappointed in himself. Okay, fine, he'll admit that he had not been expecting... that. And unlike the others, it wasn't just the physical aspect that took him aback. No, it was mainly because of how the human - the pre-Sinner? Nah, ‘human' was fine - was just so… well, there was only one word he could really use to describe it; alive. Alastor had practically gleamed with it; with that warm, vivid, radiant energy that all living creatures possessed to at least some degree. Lucifer hadn’t seen it in person since Eden, so to be shown it once more in such an intense concentration was nothing short of breathtaking.
“Ohh, I miss the Bad Boy’s old hair,” Niffty sighed dreamily, practically making heart-eyes and kicking her feet at the vision as everyone noticeably 'eeeerrrrrRRRRK'ed their chairs slightly further away from hers (poor Angel and Husk could only lean away slightly).
As the door shut, Alastor’s friendly expression abruptly vanished. His smile stayed in place, but it suddenly seemed sharper, his overly-long, pearly canines glinting under the dull light of the vintage lamp that sat on the console table beside him. Any shred of politeness or excitement or even amusement that had lingered in his stare disappeared like a cloud of smoke being waved away; in their place were two cold, empty holes that seemed to suck in the light around them like vacuums.
The group collectively snapped back to reality within seconds, shuffling uncomfortably at the sudden, unmistakable reminder that the angel-faced man on the screen was the same person as the deer demon they’d watched leave the hotel in a flurry of shadows that morning.
It seemed that the human’s cheeriness and, well, vividness, had tricked them into forgetting that this creature was a stone-cold killer (or, at least, he was going to become one, as none of them actually knew when Alastor had started his… hobbies). Now, seeing him drop the act in less than a second - letting the feigned emotions that he'd held up like a shield disappear as if they'd never even existed - was unnerving, to say the least.
Briefly, the young man let out a short, flat chuckle as his arm joined the other against the small of his back. "What a nasty little creature."
Then, strangely, he continued to just... not move. Instead, he let out a long, whistling sigh through his small, turned-up nose and stared at the door, as if daring someone else to come through it. His brain was - though not obviously, because it would take a stupid idea and an even stupider person to presume to know anything that was going on in this man's head for sure - seemingly in the middle of trying to diverge several different trains of thought that'd all just started for a head-on collision when, suddenly, his pensive mood was cut off by the dial of a rotary phone. It reverberated throughout the room like the pealing of church bells.
Alastor’s head whipped round, eyes flashing behind his spectacles, before he strode over to the rectangular table upon which the phone sat next to the kitchen door. Scooping the receiver up with swift, graceful movements, his voice uncannily switched back to polite and conversational as he trilled, “This is Alastor Hartfelt, how may I help you this lovely afternoon?”
After a moment, there came a distinctly unimpressed voice from the other end of the line, so loud that it could be heard without even having to hold the speaker to one’s ear. Straightaway, Alastor’s expression twisted into more of a grimace, his eyes sliding shut one by one as he rubbed his forehead with two slim fingers, suddenly looking tired and dishevelled and actually human again. “Hello to you, too. Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry."
Several more seconds of yelling passed, and he rolled his eyes slightly. "Maman, ou té jis alé péyé bon lajan pou yon kou téléfòn pou kriyé sou mwen?" {Mom, did you just go and pay good money for a phone call just to yell at me}
Stunned, they all watched as Alastor began to actually apologise over the phone - then go on to speak in two different languages, at that! One of them sounded vaguely French, though it was decidedly twangier, more guttural, and heavily accented with something that was unfamiliar to most of them.
Being the first to get what was going on, Husk let out a sharp bark of laughter, leaning back in his chair smugly. “Never thought I’d see the day that Alastor gets told off like a naughty little kid.”
After a second of processing this statement, Vaggi let out a short, uncontrollable, obnoxiously chesty guffaw before she clapped both hands over her mouth in embarrassment.
Having realised what was happening only a moment following his daughter's girlfriend, Lucifer immediately broke down into a fit of cackles, which set Vaggi off again like a voice-activated toy. Charlie's wide-eyed gaze flitted between the two in confusion, then over to Husk - who'd been happily avoiding acknowledging that he'd been the one to spark the two chuckle-fucks over there - a frown dimpling her otherwise porcelain-smooth face. “Ah, sorry, Husk, what's going on, exactly?"
On instinct, Husk nodded. Then shook his head. Then, once he’d realised that this wasn't a 'yes or no' question (jeez, and to think he wasn’t even drunk at this point), he lazily gestured at the frozen image of Alastor’s hand wrapped around the phone with a limp paw. “I’d bet fifty bucks against all of you that that’s his Ma on the other line right now.”
Charlie’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’ shape, hands coming up to clap against the crimson circles of her cheeks. “Oh my gosh, are we gonna get to see his Mom? Ooh, I hope we get to see his Mom, he talks so highly of her."
“Alright, wait - and, look, I believe ya an’ all, mate, but how’d you’ve guessed that one?” Cherri asked Husk with a grin, slightly out of breath from her own round of snickering.
“Well, firstly, I’ve known Alastor a good forty years or so longer than all of you,” the cat snipped, ears back in annoyance, “and, as it seems, I’m the only person around here that’s smart enough to know the motherfuckin’ French word for ‘Mom’’!’
There were several flushes of embarrassment at this observance. Lucifer’s dejected mumble of “I knew” went unacknowledged.
"And besides, can't you all see what’s happening there? Probably immediately started scolding him for talking to her like ‘one of them uppity, white, no-good news reporters’.” At the surprised glances he received for this, Husk shrugged. “Hey, the guy likes to talk even more ’n usual when he’s buzzed.”
“Wi, wi, mo renmen ou tou. M'a wè to bonjou, d'accord, Maman?” {Yes, yes, I love you too. I'll see you later, okay, Mom?} Alastor chuckled, his smile having actually fallen into something softer, more fond. He nodded for a few more seconds, said something else too fast to decipher, then gently placed the receiver back in its cradle. After a while, he let out a long, slow breath and turned so that he could lean back against the long table, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
“Sorry to interrupt again, but what is that language he’s speaking in?” Charlie asked no one in particular, her face alit with curiosity “I was sure it was French at first, and I only thought I knew that because he kind of curses in it all the time when he thinks no one's listening, especially in the kitchen, but this, now that it’s in, like, actual, full sentences, it kind of doesn’t… I don’t know, it’s just not what I thought it'd sound like.”
Angel mumbled something unintelligible, fixated on the dark, lengthy lashes that were spread across Alastor’s high cheekbones. They were so beautiful, and so natural. How could that possibly be fair?
“That’s because it’s Louisiana French, princess,” Husk said, flicking the fluffy white spider against the corner of his temple to startle him back to reality. “Or Kouri-Vini, I think it’s still called. A big language among Creole and Cajun people in the early 1900s, ‘specially in the poorer regions in South Louisiana.”
“Ohhh, I remember that one! I learnt to speak it when it first came about down here,” Lucifer claimed with a big smile, having nearly forgotten about his languages phase which had occurred somewhere around the 17th century. It’d been fun, definitely, but Lilith, who hadn’t shared his enthusiasm for learning different tongues - oddly enough, despite her intense interest in, and knowledge of, the different cultures and customs Sinners spoke of from when they were on Earth - had quickly grown frustrated with how he kept forgetting how speak English for a while there, so he’d eventually been forced to stop after about fifty years or so. He could definitely still speak the majority of them, but then he’d have to actually focus on a conversation if he wanted to be fluent, which was difficult enough in itself without involving linguistics.
At least mostly used to the king’s random, unusual facts about himself by now (which, at first, tended to act as devastating reminders of the guy's actual origins and of all their own insignificance in the grand scheme of things), the rest of the crew barely reacted to this admission.
“Koo-ree, vee… nee?” Charlie tried to pronounce, nose scrunched up as her tongue struggled to shape the words. Vaggi gave her a fond look, rubbing her girlfriend’s upper arm as she inched as close as their separate seats would allow them. She remembered when she’d first tried to teach the blonde Spanish so that they could talk in two different languages together. If you were wondering, the answer is ‘no’; no, it was not something Vaggi would ever try again without a gun to her head.
“That’s… almost it, yeah,” Husk snorted, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of one pitch-black paw. Christ, he was surrounded by idiots.
Alastor stayed in this relaxed position for several more seconds before, with a start, he forced himself to perk up with a freshly renewed grin.
Pushing off of the wall and through the kitchen door, his voice, though his mouth made absolutely no movement other than a wider stretch of his close-lipped grin, exclaimed, Oh well! No need to waste the rest of the day, then. It's five o'clock somewhere, and that ‘somewhere' is likely where I will find dear Mimsy!
They all jerked back as they heard the disembodied voice rattle out, only slightly softer than Alastor’s actual speaking volume.
“What the fuck?” Angel cried out in shock, head swivelling as though he was expecting the deer demon himself to pop out right then and there. “Did we just hear Smiles’ thoughts?”
“Shit, yeah, sorry, I forgot to mention that can happen sometimes,” Lucifer cringed. Then, like he'd just had a startling epiphany, he began to grin with an almost impressive amount of self-satisfaction. “Oh, this is going to be so good. I’ve always wanted to know what’s going through this freak-show’s mind.”
“Can’t say the same,” Husk groaned, lamenting the fact that the one thing he’d been spared of whilst working under the Radio Demon - having to truly know everything that went through the deer demon’s fucked-up head - was being wrenched away from him before his own eyes.
Charlie looked like she was going to partially combust, head likely filled with warnings against 'consent' and 'violations of privacy' and 'breech of confidentiality', but she somehow managed to stay silent. For the time being.
"So, what, do youse reckon he just always thinks to himself like he’s talking to an audience when he's alone, or...?" Cherri queried, but was met with no straight answers - likely because no one wanted to actually consider that creepy possibility.
Practically skipping through the kitchen to the next door on the opposite side, Alastor swung it open like a man possessed.
The room behind it - bedroom, actually - was, much like the rest of the house, slightly cramped but organized to a T; a narrow, comfortable-looking bed was pushed up against the far wall underneath an open window, next to a short side-table topped with a small alarm-clock, a worn, hardback book with a nearly fully-eroded spine, and a kerosene lamp; a wooden dresser was placed a few feet away against the same wall, and another bookshelf was lined up next to the bathroom door at the foot of the bed. It was exceptionally cute, and far too ordinary for the man it belonged to.
“He’s lucky to 'ave gotten his hands on a house like that,” Angel remarked, leaning back in his chair and tucking his arms around himself thoughtfully. “Yeah, it's a tad small 'n all, but America wasn’t lookin’ too good in the ‘20s and ‘30s housing-wise, from what I can remember. This looks like a cute little place."
“He’s lucky to’ve gotten a house at all,” Husk said gruffly, feeling weirdly protective all of a sudden - though more over the situation than anything that was being shown. And don’t get him wrong, he one-hundred-percent held absolutely no affection whatsoever for the man who’d had him enslaved all of these years; however, he did feel some sliver of empathy when it came to things like this.
Because, come on, God knows how long it’d taken the guy to get a house for himself. A mixed-race man born at the turn of the 20th century in the Deep South, and one that was lookin' to be a radio host, too? Christ, to think how many hours he’d probably spent working his ass off for the bare minimum, night after night for years on end; just so that he could support himself; just so that he probably help out his Ma, too; just enough to make a living so that he didn't have to keep suckin' up to every condescending asshat who was just pale enough to act like an asshat it that bothered to pay him enough attention-
Charlie tilted her head. “Wait, what do you mean, Husk? Everyone in this has seemed pretty alright with houses and clothes. Would a place have been even that hard to get a hold of?”
Biting his lips, the feline in question had to actually refrain from giving the princess a scolding, especially with how worked up he'd already gotten himself. She’s grown up and lived in Hell her entire life, for Gods sake, he had to remind himself. And as a royal, too. Of course she wouldn’t understand silly human problems like poverty and housing crises and overcrowding and racism. When has she ever wanted for anything that her daddy couldn't snap into existence?
Prancing over to his dresser, Alastor tugged open the top drawer; with some difficulty, it seemed, as he grunted slightly before he was able to peer inside.
Hmm, what to wear on such a fine day as this?, his inner voice hummed, pianist’s fingers drumming against the wood as he appraised the rows of neatly folded clothes. Then, as his big, dark eyes narrowed and visibly drifted from the real, physical reality in front of him, his thoughts came out sour and vitriolic. No use in showing up in garments dirtied by whatever air I shared with that supercilious pig of a man before.
Deciding on a slightly darker red vest and a black button-up, Alastor tossed both items of clothing on the bed as he began to undo the tops he currently had on.
Instantly going red, Charlie covered her eyes and squeaked out, “Guys, do we really have to watch this part?”
“Speak for yourself, toots,” Angel grinned lasciviously, looking about a second away from rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain as he exchanged cheeky looks with Cherri. “Don’t tell me you ain’t even a little interested in seein’ what’s goin’ on under all those layers.”
“Of course I’m not,” she huffed, but it didn’t go unnoticed that one curious eye peeked out ever-so-slightly from between her fingers.
After ridding himself of his vest, and now having finally finished unbuttoning the top-half of his under-shirt, Alastor tugged the rest of it upwards.
And with this reveal, two things became apparent.
First of all; the clothes the man wore did a surprisingly good job at not showing just how thin he really was. The human narrowness of his build was likely more due to genetics than anything, but, even so, the bones of his shoulders and slim hips jutted as though they were trying to claw their way free. The flat, smooth, honey-brown length of his torso, which was impressively pinched in the midsection and slightly more developed in the chest and shoulders, was corded with lean, ropey muscle.
"Me-ow," Angel purred, and Husk shot him a look of revulsion.
Funnily enough, out of all of them, it was Lucifer who found himself (in his head, of course) agreeing most. Me-ow indeed.
And second of all; once Alastor had turned so that the other side of his torso was brought into view as he reached for the fresh clothes, it was shown that - against the entire span of his back, from just under the skin of his neck to past the tanned flesh that disappeared under his suit pants - there was the unmistakable cross-cross pattern of beltmarks.
For the first time since they’d begun watching this projection, the whole group had gone silent at this grisly sight not just out of shock at some funny or surprising or unexpected discovery. This sort of silence was grim, and upset, and… well, yes, pitying.
Though some of them were almost entirely faded, some were fairly old but heading down the same route, and some looked as though they would've remained until he was an old man, the scars all attested to hours upon hours of beatings.
“Oh,” Charlie whispered, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she took in the sight. Vaggi gave her upper arm a tight, reassuring squeeze; wanting to be there for her girlfriend, but uncertain of her own actual opinions regarding what she was witnessing.
Lucifer gave a short, conflicted glance towards his daughter. Even though he didn’t particularly like the deer demon all that much (alright, fine, they’d possibly started getting on a little bit better as of late, but the motherfucker still got on Lucifer’s nerves like a live wire), as the only parent in the group, as far as he knew, being confronted with the notion of a parent treating their child that badly, inflicting that sort of pain and leaving their own kid with scars like that that lasted to adulthood, made him feel nauseous and angry and disgusted.
Husk, who was unfortunately familiar with the sight in more ways than one, just looked away.
Eventually, it cut back to Alastor as he finally jumped back out of his bedroom; upper-body fully dressed again, a suit-jacket slung over one arm, his hair freshly coiffed, and a handful of cash clutched in one hand that he quickly deposited in a pocket.
He looked like a man prepared for a much-needed night on the town.
Locking the front door behind him, Alastor nimbly leapt off of his porch and onto the dusty road in front of him. After giving one of his neighbours a friendly wave - an elderly black lady sat her porch with her hair tied up in a strict bun, whose kind but unyielding face curled into a smile in response - he then darted off down the road.
Forcefully breaking himself away from the macabre vibe that'd taken over the group, Angel couldn’t help but wonder why he’d never quite been able to picture Alastor - not as a human, and definitely not as a demon - using any mode of transport other than his usual ‘melting-into-the-shadows’ shtick, let alone running somewhere. Watching the guy booking it on-screen as his long, lithe limbs carried him at a pace the actor wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep up with despite his height, Angel decided that he would see the Radio Demon sprint again, no matter the cost - whether it be an arm or a leg. What would it matter to him? He had eight of them, and countless others, if the rest of Pride could be included in that payment.
Ugh, maybe he had been spending too long around the hotelier, if the types of thoughts he was having to diffuse the tension involved using appendages as currency.
Catching a streetcar at the last minute by launching himself onto it while it was still moving, Alastor responded to the looks he received (ranging from amusement to condescension to, likely, a bit worse) with a charismatic, boyish grin, probably coming across as less apologetic than he’d meant it to, then turned to lean against the back-window of the rear platform to watch as his street was eventually left in the distance as they moved on.
After a good fifteen or twenty minutes, once the sun had properly set and the dirt roads, bungalows, shotgun houses and wooden cabins had merged into larger buildings and hustling, bustling city life, Alastor hopped down from the streetcar and took off once more. As he did, he bumped into many people he knew along the way.
“Hey, Al!” called out a young, lanky, dark-skinned man who’d been busking with his guitar outside a restaurant.
Alastor had wordlessly waved back with a face-splitting smile.
“Oh Allie, baby, how’s yer mom’n’em? Tell ‘em to come by the house when dey can!” cried a small, middle-aged woman with tight, obsidian curls who’d been walking past with an armful of groceries.
“Pa 'ill out for a good while, but Momma’s gon’ be by yours real soon, don’ you worry ‘bout dat, May-Belle!” Alastor had replied, tipping an imaginary hat to the woman who’d simply flapped a hand at him with a giggle in return.
Once again, the group found themselves gawking at the screen like a bunch of baby birds. A few of them had been braced to speak up on how much it was both a surprise and not a surprise at all that Alastor had been so a popular man even in life, but any such comments been cut off in an instant.
In fairness, it wasn’t really their fault; the way that the young man's voice had just shifted like that, starting out clear and practiced and unbearably fake before slipping into something so raw. Raw, and drawling, and ‘improper’, and natural. Honestly, something about it was strangely satisfying.
But, out of everything from this scene that could've been mentioned out loud, this was not the first.
“He still called his mom ‘Momma’,” Angel murmured softly. And it wasn’t a comment made out of mockery or teasing.
He looked… actually kind of devastated by this discovery.
No one else really clocked onto this in the same way, none giving the spider a second glance - aside from Charlie. After having overheard it, the princess found herself having to bite down on her bottom lip in an effort to ignore the tightening of her throat and the pricking of her eyes. She didn’t even really know why the words had affected her so much, but…
Alastor used to call his mother ‘Momma’.
As he rounded a corner, Alastor bumped into a short, blonde-haired man, whose face instantly curled into an unctuous grin. “Ohh, it’s you, again, ‘Mr Charleston’! Where’ve you been, kid?”
Alastor had completely frozen, eyes wide and grin stretched back uncomfortably in place.
“He- he looks like… He looks like a deer in headlights!’ Lucifer wheezed, slapping his knee like an old man as he laughed.
At this, the others began to snort - then, suddenly, it was all they could do to stop from falling off of their seats as at once, all they could picture was the ridiculous image of a stock-still Alastor, his eyes fixed on the headlights of a car as it came rocketing towards him, ears pricked forward and pupils like a cat that'd just seen a laser-pointer.
“You better be up for another round this weekend! That is, if you catch yourself by the…” Then, after looking this way and that dramatically, the dude tried, and failed, to surreptitiously mouth the words ‘gin mill’.
Jerking back into motion, Alastor clasped the man’s shoulder and, with a grin that read as friendly, politely let him know that he was in a hurry. Even if it should’ve been obvious to someone with slightly more intelligence than a border collie that Alastor never wanted to make any form of contact with this guy again, the man just just bid him farewell joyously.
As annoying as it was to some - as in, those who were constantly bearing the brunt of Alastor’s snarkiness, rudeness, or otherwise ‘bad moods’ (i.e., Lucifer, Husk or, on lesser occasions, Vaggi) - it was endlessly intriguing to watch how he interacted with others as a human, and how he seemed to respond to the many, many people who knew him and, apparently.
It was irritating, but undeniable; he’d been very, very well-liked in life.
The scene finally shifted as Alastor skipped down a steep set of steps and into the guts of what looked like an underground speakeasy.
Despite the day having only just dipped in the later hours of the afternoon - where the warm orange and purple rays of the sun were still grasping onto the edges of the town as they were dragged lower and lower behind the horizon - the place was already full of people ready to drink like it was well after evening, and the lights were dim enough to replicate the shade of proper nightfall. The quiet sounds of jazz that was being played by a live band where they were set up on a stage at the back of the bar lazily cut through the chatter of the crowd that swarmed the place.
Once he'd soaked in the atmosphere - having looked as though he'd been taking in his first breath of fresh air in his entire life - Alastor tucked his coat behind the bar with a wink at the bartender, who shot him one right back, and made his way into the crowd. Almost immediately, the young man was nearly bowled over by a bright streak in a wine-red flapper dress that’d launched its way through the dancing masses. He staggered back with an ‘oof!’, barely keeping his balance as he found himself wrapped in a suffocating embrace.
“AL-AS-TORRR!” shrieked a familiar, nasally voice as a small, plump woman wrapped her arms around the tall man’s midsection in a breathtaking (literally) hug, shaking his thin frame from side to side as she dragged out his name.
Alastor, his grin tensed in pain, managed to squeak out, “Mimzy, dear- have t- breathe-”
Seeing the rather unpleasant woman on-screen was about as much fun as the first time they'd been introduced to her - a meeting that had led to a decimated wall, a series of sharks equiped with tommy-guns storming the hotel lobby, and the father-daughter song of a lifetime playing out in front of a crowd of people with devastating daddy-issues. As you can guess, it was kinda a tough call.
"God, I hate that slimy little...," Husk hissed, clenching his fist. He'd never liked the chick, and he'd never been able to understand why Alastor kept her around to this day. Sure, the two went back a long time, but so did he and Husk, and look what'd become of them. "Always butting in where she ain't wanted."
"I completely forgot she and Smiles were buddy-buddy even as humans," Angel commented, considering the humans shown on the projection with a hum. Then, face twisting into a mischievously lecherous grin, he stage-whispered to Husk and, due to their apparently unavoidable proximity, Niffty, "Hey, d'ya reckon they ever-?"
"No."
Immediately letting him go, Mimzy bounced back with an excited squeal. She, like Alastor, didn't looked all that different to how she did after she'd died; a full-face of makeup and dressed to the nines with heels that could cut glass, a pale-pink, feathered headpiece adorning her short blonde curls, and a matching boa. “Oh, doll-face, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! You came at just the right time!”
This had obviously not been Alastor's first rodeo, however - and judging by the look in his eye, not even his first rodeo of the week. The man gave the short club-owner a smug raise of his brow, wag of his finger teasingly. “I can tell that you think you're being cute, my dear, but you know I can see through you like glass."
"Oh, bite me, you mean little nancy. I'm always cute," Mimzy snapped, though there was no bite to it, as she began to twiddle her fingers and put on a face that might have been piteous if it had come from anyone else. "It's just our pianist hasn’t shown up yet, the lousy bum, and we’re meant to start up in five! Five, Al! Look at me, I'm an absolute wreck! Won't you help a lady out? Just so the nerves don't get to me before the night's even started?"
"From what I can tell, that sheila's never encountered a moment of nerves in her life," Cherri scoffed, jabbing a thumb at the screen as she shot Angel a scowl. "And notably, because a bucket o' nerves would do her a world of good."
At this, a couple of them laughed.
"Don't we know it, babes," Angel snickered, wiping away tears of mirth. "And with how it looks from here, Smiles ain't so far from thinkin' the same thing."
Seemingly more enthused by the incentive of getting to show off rather than by the woman’s mediocre attempt at pleading, Alastor put a hand on his hip and the other against his chest dramatically as he batted his lashes like a flattered dame. "Well, then, I suppose that means I'm expected to save the evening once again, my dear, hmm?”
“You’re a regular mind-reader, toots. Would you pleaseee take ova’ for ‘im?” Mimzy asked imploringly, putting on her best pout and clasping her hands together. "You're welcome to as many drinks as you want, on the house!"
"Ohh, Mimzy, sweetheart, I’m touched! Why, I’d be honoured!”
"Eugh, remind me to never go out on a night with those two," Angel cringed, feeling his skin crawl as he watched the exchange between the two freaks. "I feel like they'd challenge me to a drinkin' contest, lure me out back, skin me alive by a dumpster, then end up havin' a cat fight over who gets to keep or sell my furs while I'm still awake and watchin'."
"Oh, kid, you don't know the half of it," Husk muttered, putting a heavy paw on the spider's skinny shoulder. "They are so, so much worse."
“Oh, you’re the best, doll! I’ll get’chu a drink - now, go on up there and knock our socks off!” With a flash, the small woman was off again.
Practically sashaying over to the band, Alastor heaved himself up on stage with the help of the saxophonist, an older black man with a cheeky smile and a knowing look who'd taken a break from his ambient playing to stick a hand out for the other to grab. Instantly beelining for the empty piano on the left side of the stage, Alastor sat down, adjusted his seat and lifted the lid with practiced ease. After admiring the ebony and ivory keys for a few moments, he turned to quietly informing the band about the situation, who responded by halting the background music.
Clearing his throat, Alastor warmed up with a quick, vibrant intro to get the attention of the crowd. Predictably, the chatter around him slowly came to a stop, and he used the opportunity to call out, "Hello, again, all! Guess who just couldn't stay away?"
A few cheers echoed out once people started to recognise who was speaking, and Alastor visibly preened. It was official; his performer-persona was on full-blast.
"As always, a warm welcome, I do hope you've all been enjoying our wonderful bands tunes up until now! Before I kick things off with a familiar little number, I do hope everyone remembers the drill from last time. To those of you who weren't around; don't forget to keep on buyin' those drinks, and dance 'til you can't feel your feet!"
And with that, Alastor began to play.
Long, deft fingers moved across the keys like they'd been made for this; the man didn't even need to look at any sheet music as the tune swept through the room. Within minutes, the energy had picked up, especially once the band began to join in whenever they could like the old pros they obviously were, and the crowd began to do just as Alastor had asked of them. Legs were swung and skirts were fanned out and heads were tossed as the smell of cigarettes and booze and excitement filled the air. Minutes became hours, hours became... more hours, and songs became a blend of notes as shots were tossed back.
"Damn, I wish I'd been able to visit Louisiana in the '30s, if everybody was havin' fun like this!" Angel exclaimed, eyes lighting up as he watched the vibrant scene. "And who knew Al had been the life of tha' party back then?"
"What was it that crazy flapper bitch said to us 'bout him, though? That he was the only bloke who could keep up with her on the dance floor?" Cherri added.
"Yeah, yeah, I 'member that, but it's just so hard to imagine, considerin' the guys so... maybe not stiff, but he's just so old!"
"Alright, look, even I don't like the guy, even I know the one thing you can always count on with him is that he'll always challenge anything anybody expects of him," Husk shrugged. He'd seen Alastor on the dance floor more than anyone here, and he had to admit that, at least back in the day, it'd always been kind of impressive to watch. The memory of it was sullied now, of course, but whatever.
As for Alastor; as Mimzy continued bringing him over drinks - tumblers of various spirits that he downed like water throughout the night - the music simply grew more and more enthusiastic. Several times during, mostly for a few of the more fast-paced songs, he'd had to shove back his seat and stand whilst playing, eyes squeezed shut in concentration and elation. At one point, after he's slid his hands down the keys between notes, he'd let out an uncontrollable, ecstatic howl that was echoed by the crowd, shrieks and applause filling the room.
It was just one more strange thing for them to all realise as they watched. As he played, Alastor's smile, as fake as it had been before, had melted into something that was startlingly, remarkably real. To those observing, it was actually rather breathtaking.
"I haven't heard live music this good since I saw the Sunnyboys in the CBD," Cherri reared back with a surprised laugh as she propped an ankle up one knee, either uncaring of or actively ignoring the confused looks she was getting.
Lucifer, himself, was speechless. How was it that his existence was so fucking unfair that a human Alastor was allowed to be just as utterly beguiling, and irritatingly charming as his demon equivalent? "Wow. I mean, I knew he played the piano-"
"'Cause he dropped one on you once," Niffty nodded wisely.
"-but not like that," he finished, kindly ignoring the maid's comment in favour of thinking over what he'd just witnessed. "I haven't heard music like this since the '60s. It's... pretty cool, I guess."
"We've got to get him to start doing some performances for us every now and then!" Charlie squealed jubilantly, clapping her hands together as though applauding the unmoving Alastor after the song he'd just wrapped up. "Look how much of a natural he was! And this was, what, a hundred years ago? Imagine how good he is now! Oh, we have to do it."
""S long as you don't care about putting your soul on the line for it, go right ahead," Husk muttered, mostly to himself. No matter how small, he had no doubt that the Radio Demon would manage to collect a deal, or 'favour', from a request even as small as this.
Late into the night (or perhaps early morning) once the long performance had come to an end, the band had started to pack up, the lively, hectic crowd had slowed to a dribble of sloppily-drunk individuals that needed to be escorted home by their friend, partner or, occasionally, a stranger, and Alastor finally stood up from the piano with a lengthy, leonine stretch.
"Well, that was quite a night!" he exclaimed - words only somewhat slurred despite how many drinks he must’ve consumed. His speech had changed ever-so-slightly, 'd's replaced 'th' sounds, consonants dropping and vowels drawing out. His lengthy limbs wobbled minutely as he walked over to the edge of the stage, flopping down with an irritating amount of inebriated grace to perch against it.
Mimzy giggled as she made her way over, unmistakably a little out of it herself judging by her walk (or toddle), each hand clutched around a fresh drink as she neared the stage. “Able for anotha’ round, doll? Or d'you gotta get home to yer mom?"
"Wait, but I thought he lived by himself, though?" Charlie asked, once again slightly lost when it came to living human's ways of speech or any undertones used in any conversations whatsoever.
"Nah, don't fuss, princess, it's not something you'll have to worry about unless it comes up," Husk said grimly, hands flexing around a phantom bottle as he did. He vaguely considered whether or not to asked Lucifer for even just enough cheap bourbon to fill a flask, but decided he wanted to remember at least most of this at the end of the day.
Narrowing his eyes and letting his smile grow into an unreadable expression, Alastor snatched the offered drink from the woman and gulped it down in one go. After he’d finished, he handed the glass right back and hummed, in an accent that slipped between learned transatlantic and a Cajun drawl one had to have grown up with, “Gotta get home to myself, cher. Y'know I love nothin’ more ‘n to pass a good time, mais, gone and found myself a job, didn’ I?”
Mimzy gasped, dropping both glasses with a distinctive shattering sound. This went unacknowledged by the workers who were still on the payroll as she pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Oh my God, no way! Holy smokes, Al, you’re gonna be an absolute star! Oh, give us a kiss, baby!”
After hopping off stage to allow himself to be pulled into a tight hug and a sloppy kiss that behind a blood-red lipstick mark on his cheek, Alastor gave Mimzy an ecstatic grin. “Startin’ th' day after t'morrow! In’ that excitin’?”
"Ahh, that was what that old cabrón from Alastor's house was talking about before," Vaggi said slowly, brows furrowed as she tried to recall the few sentences they'd heard from the man. Though she was speculating, the words were mostly only meant for herself. Even though she couldn't remember much of human life (couldn't even remember if she'd actually had one at any point, considering she'd been an exorcist for quite some time and that tended to make things blur, but still), she, as a Latino woman, could figure out why some of the interactions she'd had with some of the white people she'd encountered in Heaven, and from what she could remember of her supposed 'life', had struck her as off, let alone someone who was not only a mixed-race male in the 'Deep South' in the 1930s who didn't... exactly act like every other straight, working man at the time.
As if somehow suddenly clocking just how drunk he was, Alastor then shook his head with a small huffing nose and made for behind the bar to grab his coat, waving at Mimsy without looking back all the while. “Ay, it’s been a good night, dear, but I should be headin’ home. You take care now, a’right?”
Understanding at just what point Alastor was at in the night, Mimzy watched him go with a wave of her fingers and a snicker. “See ya later, dear-heart. I’ll put the money for tonight in yer mailbox next time I pass ya by.”
At this, Husk snorted. He remembered Alastor telling him about the dynamic between the two of them in life when it came to this sort of thing; they both knew Alastor would be seeing no such money at any point in the future, but the unspoken agreement between them was that Mimzy would buy all of his drinks whenever Alastor took over the ‘lousy pianist’s job - which was often - so this particular detail went unacknowledged.
“Oh shit, wait! Actually, Allie-baby, before you head off, I did have one last favour I wanted to ask you,” Mimzy suddenly rushed up behind him, tugging one of his shoulders slightly so he came to a stop. Her teeth were bared in a smile that clearly showed that the favour in question was not a small one.
Apparently clocking onto this, Alastor’s expression instantly went deadpan, which was impressive considering his smile stayed in place. “What is it, Mimzy?”
“So you remember that gig I had you in for at the end of February last year-?”
“No.”
“Ohhhh, come on, Al-as-tor~ ‘Sides, it's not like it’s anythin’ you haven’t done before,” Mimsy cooed, dropping all pretences as she swayed him from side to side by her elvbows playfully. Alastor’s eyes strayed to the side as he thought back to the ‘gig’ Mimsy had been talking about.
The scene cut to a flashback, where a slightly younger Mimzy pushed a strikingly beautiful, and decidedly unimpressed, young woman into the seat in front of her dressing table. She couldn't've been older than seventeen or eighteen; her long, raw-boned, boyish frame was draped in a short, black flapper dress, and her slim face had obviously been done up to both soften her angular features and emulate the look of the time; smoky, purple eye-shadow to compliment her skin; a thick layer of mascara go coat her lashes and kohl, and a dark lipstick to emphasise the Cupid’s bow of her thin lips. Her curly brown hair had been artfully teased in a Betty Boop-esque style.
However, all of this did nothing to hide the look of absolute, pure loathing she was shooting Mimsy via the vanity mirror.
“Oh.” Once the realisation hit him, Angel’s hand shot up to his mouth; half to cover a snicker, and half to hide his shock. “Oh my God?”
Husk was taking his own understanding of the situation in a similar fashion, having doubled over to hide his face with his claws in order to stop himself from falling into a pile of very undignified and embarrassing guffaws.
Fuck, this was just too good - all of it was.
“Huh? What?” grunted an oblivious Vaggi, who merely looked as though she was confused as to why, exactly, they were being shown a scene of Mimzy and some fzndom girl (and no, she would never admit to finding anyone other than her beautiful girlfriend attractive. It was just that this woman was really pulling off the look, so who was anyone to judge?).
“Do you… do you seriously not see what’s going on here?” Angel wheezed, beginning to go red in the face from holding in his laughter.
Vaggi narrowed her eyes at him, lips pulling back to bare her teeth, which only made the spider laugh even harder. “You better tell me what’s so fuckin’ funny right now, hijo de puta, or I swear to all that is-“
“Oh for fucks’ sake, just keep watching,” Husk chuckled, in a surprisingly good mood as he lazed back in his seat and waited for the (likely very satisfying) realisation to hit the rest of them.
“Seeee?” Mimsy crowed, grabbing the young woman by the upper arms and bending down to rest her chin on one bony, bare shoulder. “You look as pretty as a peach, doll-face! Why, you could put some of my girls out of jobs! You can’t tell me you ain’t happy ‘bout this outcome, can't ya?”
“As a mattah ‘a fact, I ‘ain’t happy ‘bout this outcome’ at all, Mimzy,” gritted out the young woman - or perhaps that was the wrong term for her, because the voice that had just left her mouth did not belong to some lovely little Southern belle.
Instantly realising what was happening, it was Lucifer’s turn to begin howling.
“Oh. My fucking God,” Vaggi repeated what Angel had said not even a minute prior, hands immediately coming up to claw at her cheeks like she wanted to rip the skin off of them.
Angel was on the ground at this point, loud, grating cackles leaving him as he pounded a fist against the floor of the attic like that would help him get his breath back. Husk was also chuckling, but it was the rich, unhurried belly-laugh of a person who wasn’t making fun but was rather enjoying someone else’s Schadenfreude.
“Wait, what’s happening-?” Charlie tried to butt in with a nervous smile, but she was cut off by one of Angel’s long arms pointed directly at Vaggi’s curved nose with another wheezing cackle.
“You-“ he managed to gasp out, before dragging in a painful-sounding inhale before, “you th-thought that lady-Alastor was h-ho-“
The sentence was apparently too much for him to finish, and he fell back into his pile of lanky limbs and giggles on the floor as Vaggi blushed bright gold, crossed her arms and resolutely looked anywhere but at any of the other occupants of the room.
She was pulled from her shame, however, when Charlie gently, but firmly, grabbed both of her arms and tugged them til they were clasped together in front of the two girls. The princess’s smile was understanding and kind and painfully perceptive as they made contact with Vaggi’s. And then she planted a gentle kiss on the edge of her girlfriend's hooked nose.
Still unbelievably embarrassed, Vaggi let herself be pulled into a warm, loving embrace by her wonderful, fantastic, stunning girlfriend. It was okay. She was okay. This would all be okay.
Once Angel finally pulled himself back together - with the help of the power of Charlie's burning glare that she shot over Vaggi's shoulder - they carried on.
Flashing forward to the present once more, Alastor’s face had dropped into something often adopted by shell-shocked soldiers at Mimzy’s reminder. “Much as I 'ppreciate the kind offer, dear, I’m 'fraid I’ll have to pass this time round."
"Ohhh, fine, Mr. Party Pooper. See you 'round, Al!"
"Ta-ta, Mimzy." After a hug goodbye and a few more waves, Mimzy disappeared back into the dwindling crowd, and Alastor watched her go before stepping out into the warm, midnight air. As the door shut out behind him, the music cut off, leaving just the soft buzz of insects and the quiet ruffling of leaves in the breeze to permeate the warm, midnight air.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet ever so slightly. Seconds passed, before he opened his eyes again and began to walk down the quiet, dimly-lit street.