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Rosie had never been the most powerful Overlord in the business.
Partially because she wasn't really in the business; where other Overlords cornered this market or that, she had approached her position with a lady's delicate touch. She dusted her skirt off in the gory town-square, sharpened her smile like a needle, and kindly laid down the law in the town that had such quite lovely people, if they could just recognize the community they had with one another. With words almost as honeyed as the feasts she severed, her townsfolk trusted her with their souls by the dozen as she swore they'd eat better and more often together then they ever could have dreamed to alone.
Mostly, though, she simply didn't pose much of a threat to the other overloads. Even in hell, even so far up the food chain, plenty of overloads found her diet....distasteful, and hesitated to associate with or challenge her. Some were simply relieved that her presence had mostly brought order to sinners of similar palettes, and given the blood-hungry somewhere to go so that other overlords rarely had to deal with them. A particularly pleasant handful had a professional respect for her conduct, how swiftly and handily she got one of the most historically chaotic demographics in hell to fall so well in line.
No matter how they felt about her, she really didn't have any enemies, and she had enough manners not to involve herself in much drama.
Rosie was more then happy to firmly establish terms for her and her people to hunt throughout Pentagram City, and avoid bothering anyone else as long as they avoided bothering her. She had plenty enough to do in her free time besides, keeping everyone in her town fed and running the emporium and overseeing the monthly festivals that kept spirits high enough she almost forgot she was in hell, sometimes. Were she a shade less polite and practical, she might not even bother attending the overlord meetings when they were called. More often the not they either were centered around the petty gripes she refused to participate in, or a tacitly more 'productive' meeting that still didn't usually effect her.
Today's meeting was the later.
"Well?" The looming minotaur overlord said, fingers twitching, eyes frantic. "Two overlords dead in a night last week, and another this morning, so what the hell are we going to do about it? This effects all of us." She stressed. Her voice was husky with smoke as she took another puff of her cigar, the only thing that seemed to be keeping her hands from quivering.
Rosie tuned the rest of the woman's rant out. Whoever was targeting overlords was obviously trying to send a message, and given how powerful their first targets had been, it was a message too flashy for Rosie to bother worrying about.
She expected the only effect any of this would have on her was the long laundry day ahead to scrub out the putrid stench of Colombian cigars.
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Franklin and Rosie's Emporium was not open on Sundays. It was more out of mortal habit then anything, but her residents knew better then to disturb her day off regardless. She enjoyed having a lie in and a few quiet hours to herself, planning out the towns itinerary for the next week and reading whatever recommendations she got from her youngest citizens. Rosie was a classy woman, and part of class was making sure you were keeping up with the times!
This Sunday, Rosie awoke to a knock on her door. She threw a quick coverup over her night clothes and felt her teeth sharpen as she approached the door. It was a rude start to her day, but at least she'd have someone for breakfast after dealing with the disturbance.
She opened the door, and plans for black pudding with her tea fizzled out, replaced by a spike of fear her surprise couldn't quite trump.
"Hello!" The tall man smiled, eyes glowing red. Rosie looked him in the eye because it was the polite thing to do, even though her nose tried to pull her gaze to the smell of a fresh kill. "Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you Miss Rosie, quite a pleasure, I've heard only good things!" The Radio Demon introduced, taking her hand in his own blood covered one and giving it a firm shake.
"Just Rosie is fine, dear." She replied, trying to determine whether this was going to be her final conversation. She hadn't thought herself powerful enough to draw the attention of the no-longer-aspiring overlord, and in the months since his rise he's yet to seem to care for anything besides power, so she really didn't know what could bring him here.
Alastor squinted at her, and then gave a laugh that was almost sheepish. "I'm sorry, is this not a good time for you?"
She blinked, and remembered that she was still in her nightgown. It hadn't mattered when she came down the stairs with every intention of eating her visitor and going back to bed, but now it left her in a bit of an awkward spot.
"Oh my! Apologies, I wasn't expecting company this morning. A moment, please." She blushed, stepping back to close the door.
"I was actually hoping I could join you for breakfast?" Alastor spoke up before she could close the door. She perked up curiously, looking over him. That certainly wasn't a sentiment she heard from outsiders, and especially not overlords. He smiled and stepped to the side, and she finally saw what she'd been smelling since she opened the door; The minotaur Overlord that had been watching her back with increasingly accute paranoia.
She laughed, and smiled just as wide as the new overlord did. "Oh, why didn't you say so! A fresh kill like that, you're more then welcome." She stepped back and waved him inside, leading him to her the small abattoir that branched off from her kitchen. "I'll join you shortly. There's aprons with the rest of the tools, if you'd like."
"Lovely, thank you." Alastor hefted the overlords corpse up onto a hook by her heels, a jaunty tune playing from the cane he leaned against the wall.
Rosie dressed herself properly, in a red tea gown she didn't mind getting dirty and styled her hair up so she could secure it with a matching hat. She picked an especially sharp pair of pins to support that hat. The concealed last protection helped her gather the last of her wits as she powdered her face. For a moment, she wondered if perhaps leaving The Radio Demon unattended in her own home surrounded by weapons was unwise, but she shook the thought off. If he wanted to kill her, he wouldn't need any of her tools to do it, and he'd been a perfect gentleman so far. She'd apparently been wrong about being beneath his notice, but she was still convinced he wouldn't kill her. Probably. Even if he did, there was no use worrying about it- she couldn't very well stop him. Hair pins or not.
She stopped in the kitchen to boil a pot of water, filling her kettle and steeping a strong black tea. After a moment's thought, she also pulled out scones left over from the morning before. It took time to properly prepare a fresh kill to eat, and she'd be a bad host if her guest got peckish before breakfast. She poured rice into the remaining water in the pot, covered it, checked that the heat was turned down, and swung the connecting door to the abattoir open.
She returned to the sound of slowly dripping blood. She frowned at the grotesque sight of the dead overlord, eyes bulging and bloody, some areas bloated with pockets of blood. The gruesome sight made sense if Alastor had fought the woman before killing her, but Rosie still allowed herself a moment of annoyance at the waste. There was still more then enough for sausage, but the more blood is moving when someone dies the less of it would drain neatly, and now she had a whole overlord and barely a pail of clotted blood to show for it. Alastor barely seemed to notice, already busying himself with skinning the carcass with an expert hand. He'd even made the bleeding cut in the right place, closer to the chest then to the head.
"Would you like any help with that?" She asked anyway, because while his deft hand was impressive, she'd rather not loose any more of her meal to carelessness or inexperience.
"I've already made enough of an imposition on you, my dear! I've got this well in hand. The specifics may differ a bit, but I've hunted my own meals for years, I assure you!" The man tilted his head, studying the corpse like a mildly intriguing puzzle.
"If you say so." She stepped forward, laying the platter she'd gathered in the kitchen on the tool table. "I did bring refreshments, though, and I'll have to insist on them- you've had quite the busy morning!" She held a teacup out for him, waiting patiently for him to take it. He hesitated, regarding her with.....either suspicion of amusement, it was hard to tell. Either way, he relented quickly, his second sip more eager then his first.
"Why, thank you kindly!" He said. His smile looked a bit more honest, as he took a scone, pinching his knife (not one of hers, he must've brought his own) between his pinkie and ring finger to better hold the pastry.
"Oh, it's my pleasure, really." She waved him off, replacing the pail collecting blood with one of the many spares under her tool table. She lifted the pail, careful to hold it steady to avoid spills; she already had less to work with then usual.
"Could I ask what you're doing with that all?" Alastor peeked in to the kitchen after her. She put the pail down on the countertop and fetched a wisk and a strainer.
"Have you never had blood sausage before?" She raised an eyebrow, now properly confused by the man. A deft butcher and killer, but almost sloppy in his execution. Maybe that was the difference between tempering your kills with hunger, and tempering your hunger with kills.
"I can't say I have!" He said, sounding downright thrilled at the prospect, and she laughed, turning the stove off.
"It'll be my honor to rectify that, then." She mirrored his enthusiasm, turning to him with a sparkle in her eye. "It's always good to try new things, after all."
"I couldn't agree more." He immediately agreed, eyeing the pail with renewed interest before relenting and returning his attention to butchery. Faintly, she heard the radio cackle and flip to what she was fairly sure was called 'jazz'. She hadn't heard any in her day, but it was all the rage this past decade, and she'd be lying if she said she minded- especially when it came with the novelty of hearing the radio demon humming along and tapping his foot. She wondered if he'd make a good dance partner.
She paused, and wondered if she lost what was left of her mind for jumping so quickly to the thought. But really, it wasn't her fault. The Radio Demon was apparently rather charming, when he wanted something! Rosie decided she didn't mind, as long as all he wanted was company for a meal. She'd been a proper socialite once upon a time. She was more then well suited for town life, but tea with a man more powerful then her was still old hat.
The only real difference was not having to deal with her husband in addition to the company. It wasn't a difference she minded.
She turned back to her meal, lifting the rice now that it had been left to sit for a few minutes, and grabbing a wooden spoon to fluff it up properly before setting it aside to cool, leaving the lid off. Ideally she would've known to make the rice in advance, but she could still...dry it out in the oven, perhaps? There's no reason that wouldn't work. For now, though, she busied herself gathering herbs and spices from around the kitchen. As she started mincing onions, she decided she might as well make conversation.
"So!" She called, loud enough Alastor should be able to hear her. He didn't respond, but the radio did quiet down, which was close enough for her. "Any idea why someone with your palette didn't spawn closer to town?" She couldn't help but wonder! People in hell tended to be pulled together by the things they refuse to let go of from mortal life, and your first day in hell seemed almost designed to keep you from straying too far from like minded company. She thought maybe souls just searched for the like-minded to appear amidst, but of course they'd never know for sure. Still, it was a nice thought. This town being full of her people, even before soul contracts came into the deal.
He didn't answer for a moment, and she turned the halved-onion to dice it.
"It's a taste I've yet to fully develop, as a matter of fact! More a flight of fancy then anything else." He answered, and she paused in her cuts, a smile lighting up her face.
"Truly?" She asked, poking her head through the door to see him. He didn't turn to her, very preoccupied with an especially tricky bit of knifework, but she saw his head nod. "Oh, that's just wonderful! Really, why didn't you say so?" She tried to restrain her enthusiasm, but she couldn't help it! She hadn't helped someone partake in flesh for the first time in......well, decades, probably! Not since when she was alive, long before cannibal town- and she'd never had a first-timer who seemed almost as excited at the prospect as she was!
"Oh, I wasn't sure if it would spoil the mood!" He laughed, sounding a little too close to deflection for her to think it entirely honest, but she didn't mind so much. She laughed at the pun she set back to her work with newfound determination.
This was going to be a meal to die for.
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