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Her heels clacked against the pavement, her dress muddied with golden stains that she knew would take ages to get out. She never had such experience with an Angel’s blood on her hands, but she figured that it worked like a sinner’s blood all the same. A delectable mess that she would spend time scrubbing out once everything was said and done.
Her cannibals were well fed thanks to princess Charlie, though it was a pity how many were lost to the exterminators, and so soon after the last extermination too. Some were distraught at the loss, but many were more focused on the new meat they could feast upon; a delicacy that her colony had never gotten the pleasure to taste before.
Rosie was not keen on staying for the building of the new hotel, content to be filled in later. She had a colony to look after, afterall, and she was still grappling with a sudden loss herself. The Overlord found it best not to stay any longer in any case, not too keen to intrude.
She moved through the streets of Cannibal Town, making her way to her emporium with practiced ease. The emporium was empty as a funeral home, the tiled floor kept just as pristine as the day before, when her dear friend brought the princess to rally up some help for her cause. A rather relieving sight today, unlike the many other days that she would trip over her own heels to help her colony with their needs.
Rosie was surprised herself that she found the sight of an empty emporium to be relieving. Though she supposed that the bright sparkle that had been brought back to these halls had been quickly dulled with a pain she would take to her grave.
Her heels clicked against the tile, echoing through the grand hall of the emporium she called her home. She made sure that the decided ‘closed’ sign was in order before she traveled to a nook where a couch sat, the cushions dolled up in red and the throw pillows striped with grays and blacks. Rosie’s eyes found the radio on the side table, the top rounded, with a design that resembled small spandrels of wood, with a small dial at the bottom. It was turned off. She contemplated turning it on, but she didn’t think there would be much on without her dear friend’s station running.
The Overlord didn’t know how long she sat there, thinking over the day that she, and many others, had managed to surpass. She knew that she should be feasting with her colony, but she had gotten her taste of angel blood, and she wasn’t hungry any longer. Maybe she lost her appetite.
The bell above the door jingled to announce the entrance of someone. She thought that the ‘closed’ sign painted in red was enough of a deterrent, but she supposed that tensions may have still been high- perhaps someone was desperate. Rosie stood and turned to face the entrance to the emporium, brushing her hands down her dress and readying herself to greet the poor soul that walked inside. However, she was left dumbfounded by who she saw, her mouth hung open with a sentence that had died on the tip of her tongue.
Alastor stood at the entrance of the hall, the door already closed behind the Overlord. He stood with something akin to an air of confidence, though it was a lot more faux than the usual pride that he displayed. His hair was still kept, unlike his suit that she could not say the same for. It was wretched, the clawed line through the closed coat, down to the shirt and the skin underneath, stretching from his chest to his side. His pants and shoes were very much still intact, though his mic stand was snapped in half- well, she could tell that it was, since now it was sloppily stitched together at the center of the stem.
“Ah, Rosie, my dea-”
Rosie was at his side in an instant, not wasting time in letting her dear friend finish his sentence. She grabbed his arms at his side, her grip gentle enough not to hurt the fellow, but definitely among her usual attention. It was enough to shut him up briefly.
“Alastor, where in Hell’s name have you been? I thought you were-!” She cut herself off at the raised brow she received from Alastor, bringing that thought to a screeching halt. He didn’t need to know that.
Rosie tugged his arms with her, moving him to the couch she had previously been sitting on, “Sit. You look awful.”
“Charming as ever, my dear.” Alastor commented with a level of monotony, his smile relaxed, without any sharp teeth to be seen, “But I do not have time for that. I simply need to cash in a favor.”
Rosie fixed him with an unimpressed look, “And what exactly would that be?”
“Nothing of nuisance, I assure you, just some more fixing up of my coat.” Alastor responded. The radio quality of his voice of a lower transmission tonight, she noticed.
Rosie begrudgingly took his coat from him, shooting her dear friend a look, “Fine then, but I will be having a look at that shirt too, and you better spill whilst I work.”
The other Overlord’s smile grew, showing his infamous yellowed, sharpened teeth. Rosie knew that he wouldn’t want to share exactly why he fled after facing Adam, but she was going to pry it out of him anyway. She always did eventually, even if he did take his sweet time.
Rosie managed to get Alastor to sit down with minimal fussing, and she got him to snap her supplies into place beside the couch. He was obviously drained of power for the day, but she could give less of a darn at the moment, happy to get him to rest later. He would manage for now, as he always would without her help. However, getting actual information out of him would be the hard part. That man could talk his head off, but he could also talk her into circles if there was something he didn’t want her to know. He wouldn’t threaten Rosie like he would the souls he owned, but he would act like a vague bitch if he so pleased.
She had seen a fair bit of nicks and scratches on this coat in the past, which Alastor always enlisted her to fix, but this was a far cry from all of that. Not many got so much as a nick on the Overlord, but this gash ran deep, and Rosie could tell that from the jacket alone, nevermind his torn shirt. While the suit was red for the purpose of upkeep appearances even with blood staining the fabric, Rosie could still recognise the smell and feel of dried blood along the jagged cut.
That would take time to fix.
“I suppose you already know my blunder.” Alastor started, uneven static playing on his voice whilst he turned his cane in his hand.
“How could I not?”
“I will not be telling you anything just yet, you know.”
Rosie looked up at him with only her eyes, her face still tilted down towards her sewing. She took a moment to respond to her friend, gathering a reasonable response, “Then you owe me a favor.”
Alastor was a very private soul, like many of the sinners who found themselves in the fiery depths. Rosie didn’t know everything about that man or how his insane mind worked, even if she did know many of his tells, so she respected that level of privacy. But her services still came with a price, even for such a good friend.
“Fair enough.” Alastor responded lamely, static playing up whilst his fingers played along the mic stand, holding the ruined thing together.
Rosie paused in her sewing, finally facing her friend. A beat between them passed, “You're not usually so pliant.”
Alastor didn't react to that at all, not facing her. One of his tufts of deer ears’ flicked however, so she knew that he heard her. She didn't mind though. Rosie knew that the Overlord was just as prideful as any other sinner that came about power.
Rosie huffed when she made it to the end of the cut that was raked through the lapel. That would be annoying to fix. She set it down where she had sat as she stood up, and she made her way to the front counter in search of supplies in the storage cabinets behind the counter.
“Charlie reported you missing.”
“I expected as much.”
Rosie turned back towards him, her voice slow and gentle, “She thinks you're… gone, gone, darling.”
A crackle of radio waves. His eyes squinted and smile tightened, his gums visible just above his top teeth. He looked tense, though that seemed to be a commonality after his return.
“Preposterous, my dear.”
Rosie hummed, grabbing white and red fabrics from behind the counter. Her heels clacked against the floors, echoing through the silent hall. She sat down beside her dear friend again, getting to work once more. She wanted to pry, but she supposed that she shouldn't be a nosy bat right now.
“You faced Adam and he got through you, I don't blame her for assuming.” Rosie offered after some time of silence. It was so odd to be in the same space as Alastor and have it be so quiet; it hadn't been like this with him in quite some time.
Alastor's ear flicked. He heard her, he was just ignoring her, which Rosie shot him an unamused look for.
“Though I do find It odd.” Rosie continued, filling the silence.
“And what's so odd?” Alastor queried, raising a brow and angling only his eyes towards her direction.
Rosie put down her sewing, “Why I didn't hear from you.”
“You're hearing from me now, my dear.”
“Two hours later.”
“I was… dealing with something.”
“What, that wound?” Rosie gestured towards his chest, where the jagged line and dried blood still took appearance, “You don't have to deal with everything alone. You do not need to disappear for another seven years.”
“Rosie.” That same radio-quality crackled at the back of his voice, louder this time, though not projecting as much as she knew he could. He wasn't actually threatening her, she knew, or else he'd already be put in his place. He wouldn't do that to her anyway.
Rosie stood, taking her supplies to the counter and placing it there, along with the coat. She had made it herself so long ago, and he was quite the creature of habit, so she knew that he wouldn't want it any different without having to even ask.
“I was just pointing it out.”
She leaned down, getting a closer look to be more precise with the stitching. This wouldn't take her long, but it was still a pain in her behind to heal a cut so long.
“I know that you mean well, but please.”
Rosie rolled her eyes at Alastor's words, “And what about your involvement in that princess’s hotel? I understand why you are not there right now, but surely you won't continue your services there.”
The sound of turning dials tuning a radio met her ears, static crackling from a well-off volume into a quieter feat.
“I cannot leave. Not right now at least.”
Rosie let out a discontent hum. She didn't know exactly what Alastor had planned, but she could see a soul destroying themself from a mile away. She had a keen eye for others, and her dear friend, while not an open book like others could be, was readable enough for her to get a grasp on something of substance, even if it would take a long time of prying. She learned that patience was key to understanding him over the years, and now was no different.
“I hope you know what you're doing, Alastor.” Rosie commented.
Alastor didn't answer her again. Fine. He could do that. She wouldn't force him to speak. It just didn't ease her bubbling frustration.
She pulled the needle and thread through harshly, closing most of the cut up with a swift motion. Rosie always tried to remain calm, but this moment was different, even different from seven years ago. Back then she knew that Alastor was alive thanks to his shadow, but this time he was gone for two hours without so much as a glimpse of him, and with princess Morningstar's distraught yammering earlier…
Rosie harshly pulled the needle through again, her mouth moving seemingly without her permission, with words that felt rough in her throat.
“I mean, for Hell's sake, did they even care to search for you?”
An acutely loud scratch of a mic met her ears. It was a sudden, screeching halt. The familiar crackles of a radio were no longer layered behind it, like the broadcast had come to a full stop for a moment before it continued once more.
Rosie turned to her friend, his smile noticeably strained and eyes devoid of any semblance of readability.
“Alastor…” Rosie paused, collecting her words. It wasn't often that she had a serious discussion like this with her dear friend, so she was treading on eggshells here. Did he need comfort now? She wouldn't push this time. He's been more difficult to read since he returned from his seven year long ‘sabbatical’.
“No matter, my dear!” Alastor hopped up from the couch, spinning his staff as usual and straightening his back. That familiar charm in his voice was back, though she could tell that it was forced, “I best be off soon.”
Rosie frowned. She didn't mean for that to come out.
“Alright, let me just finish this.” She gave in pretty easily,”-And no, you may not fix it yourself.”
Alastor’s mouth closed pretty quickly after she said that. That boy knew better than to argue with her.
It didn't take Rosie long to finish with the coat, and even the shirt after some fussing, though she did take her time to make sure that it looked brand new. It was important that the stitching didn't look patchy. Alastor didn't talk much whilst she did so, his demeanor polite and quiet where he stood, without the presence of one of his lovely tunes that he would usually play. That was fine. She knew that she shouldn't have said what she did, even if there was some truth to it.
She soon got the article of clothing back to the other Overlord, and gave him a small smile whilst she helped him put it on. Her eyes found the cane he held in his hand, the thing still quite cracked and ruined.
“Are you sure that you don't need any more help?”
Alastor’s smile slightly relaxed, less teeth showing, more genuine, “I'm quite sure, my dear. Thank you kindly.”
Rosie didn't argue much with him this time. She could go on for days about him accepting help, but she would bite her tongue this time and grit her teeth in a show of support.
So she bid him adieu, walking him out of the store and watching her dear friend walk until he disappeared into his shadow. He would be back soon, whenever soon happened to be, she hoped it wouldn't be another few years. He wouldn't hear the end of that from her for decades to come!
She was just glad that that same light would continue to fill the halls of her emporium. Rosie didn't know who she'd talk to if that asshole really did die.