Chapter Text
Charlie took a deep breath, then another, trying not to hyperventilate—again—as she triple-checked her reflection.
Nothing could be out of place.
Four months of doing… this, and she still felt nervous…
No. Not nervous.
She wasn’t allowed to be nervous. Not with everything on the line.
The buzzing in her belly must have been just… carnivorous bees.
A Wrathian delicacy.
Didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten the bugs in years, decades even—never mind being nowhere near the colonies during her last visit to Wrath.
Before all of this.
…
“Okay, you got this,” Charlie encouraged her reflection, leaning on the vanity. Ignoring the strain in her voice, the tingles racing down her limbs that urged her to move. To run. That threatened to choke her. “You’ve done this before, you can do this again. It’s just like every other night. Everything will be fine.”
She took one last slow, deep breath. In for two, three, four. Hold for two, three, four. And out for two, three, four.
…
……
………
Didn’t work.
Her heart was still racing as she glanced at the clock.
And out of time.
Pushing off the table, the mirror rattling with the force, Charlie straightened with a confidence she didn’t feel.
“Show time,” she grumbled as she moved across the room.
She opened the door and disappeared into the noisy hallway beyond.
“So, what do you think?”
A drink appeared in front of Alastor, interrupting the rhythmic tapping of his claws that kept tempo with the band. He hummed in response as Vox joined him at the table, letting the television stew in his own nervousness as Alastor slowly swirled his drink in the glass.
The other demon had been pestering him nonstop for over a month to bring him to this little club instead of their usual bar.
Something about good drinks and a pretty songbird.
Alastor had honestly stopped paying attention after the first time Vox brought it up.
“The band is talented,” Alastor drawled slowly once he figured Vox had sweated for long enough. A low growl escaped his throat as another patron jostled past their table. “Shame there isn’t more room to dance, though.”
The tables on the main floor were crowded together, barely enough room for the waitresses and patrons alike to weave between them. With their backs to the bar, all the tables faced the stage where a live jazz band was warming up. The musicians were tucked away from the center stage, obviously not the main attraction.
A second floor hovered above the bar, but it was even more crowded. Standing room only at all times, according to Vox.
That turned this little excursion into one of the few times Alastor actually appreciated Vox's little party trick—hypnotizing a couple of vermin into vacating a table on the main floor without causing too much of a fuss. Allowing them to take in the songbird's show as comfortably as one could be in an overly crowded bar.
“This isn't that kind of club, Alastor,” Vox deadpanned, one of the few times the television showed a little bit of shine on that backbone instead of just fawning over the Radio Demon.
Alastor rolled his eyes, a small spark of frog song filling the air between them as he sipped his rye whiskey. “And when does your little caged bird offer her tune? I'm just dying to listen.”
Vox opened his mouth to answer just as the lights dropped, the crowd already cheering so loudly it nearly covered the sound of a feminine voice scatting in time with the band as they played the intro to a new song.
“Alright, all you wayward sinners—”
Alastor's eye twitched at the blatant theft of his standard broadcast greeting by the band leader.
“—get ready to wave those paws in the air. Here comes Josephine!”
Alastor took another sip of his drink only to sputter as a spotlight illuminated the stage, highlighting this so-called bird wrapped in little more than gauzy fabric of yellow, orange, and black.
Radio static and high-pitched animal noise quickly filled the room, interrupting both the band and singer, as Alastor whipped around toward Vox, ears pressed firmly to his skull.
“What kind of place did you drag me to, you noisy picture-box?!”
Snow flashed briefly across Vox’s screen in embarrassment, but before he could retort, the singer cleared her throat from the stage.
Alastor glanced at her only to find the entire room watching him and Vox, the band frozen, the music fading out. The only sound echoing around the room now was the noise emanating from Alastor's chest.
Most of the crowd looked ready to bolt, but not the bird, Josephine.
Was she some sort of Ars Goetia?
She just waited patiently, watching him with glowing red eyes set in a dark face. Yellow feathers with black spots were woven into her black hair, pulled high and tight onto the crown of her head, except for bangs and a few curls that framed her soft, round face.
She wore a pale yellow brassiere and a flowy skirt that, even in the darkness of the club, was practically transparent. The fabric and various trinkets caught the spotlight in a way that made her glow.
Downy feathers of dark green stretched across her chest and partway down her forearms and calves. Her bare feet ended in vicious-looking talons. Silk sleeves hung from bangles around her biceps and wrists, flowing like her skirt, and obviously serving a different purpose than to hide her feathers.
Alastor took her in quickly. He learned to assess his prey with nothing more than a glance long before he arrived in Hell.
He had to admit, the lack of fear coming from the little bird piqued his interest.
Forcing his static back into his chest as he dismissed any retort from Vox, Alastor relaxed back into his seat and waved his hand like a king granting the permission of the court to some lowly peasant.
Josephine watched him for a moment longer before she nodded at the band leader, who cued the rest of the band to start the song over.
Alastor glowered into his whiskey as Josephine began scatting the intro to her song once again. He tried not to look at the bird while purposefully ignoring Vox. The way his skin was crawling told him the other demon was staring at him rather than watching the show he had been so keen on just moments earlier.
When Josephine started singing for her little number, Alastor's ears shot straight up and swiveled right toward her—despite his best efforts to control the blasted things.
"Magic Mirror on the wall,
Who's the fairest sheik of them all?
Swinging dobedoo,
Do the do, like Betty Boop.
It said: Tonight, Josephine,
Try something keen!
Soon, get off your Pantaloons!"
All of Hell fell away as her voice enchanted him.
Alastor was never one for provocative displays of flesh, but even he couldn't resist the siren song of quality entertainment. So, despite himself, his attention was grabbed by the bird as she danced to her song. Her body moving in ways he had never seen before, even in Hell.
He watched as she danced with the clarinet player. The band member swayed with her movements, though with nowhere near the same fluidity that she possessed.
Something sharp twisted within his chest—a deep growl crawling its way up his throat—as her focus remained on the man. Alastor wasn't sure why he suddenly wanted to rip that whelp's throat out, he just knew that the feeling didn't go away until Josephine danced away from him and back across the stage.
As she twirled about, Alastor caught a flash of… something.
Locks of her hair seemingly changed from ink black to golden blonde.
"Get in your step-ins and
Then you will feel alright.
A brand new cologne,
Don’t tie your skirt too tight!
It makes you
Shake your leg
To the magnetic waltz
Magic ballrooms won't play no Schmaltz!"
The crowd cheered as she pumped her arms and chest to the beat of the drums, her hips shaking rapidly. Twirling her sleeves, her skirt, her body about the stage until the fabric she wore looked like fire she alone controlled.
Curiosity gripped Alastor throughout the gyrating display. He adjusted his monocle to better view this little bird through the glass.
Only to nearly drop it at what it revealed.
There, dancing so provocatively on stage, was none other than the Princess of Hell herself.
He thought she was glowing when she looked like some Goetia bird, but now she was radiant. As bright as the sun on the hot summer days of his youth.
“She's really something. Right, Alastor?”
Vox’s voice distantly registered from beside him.
“She certainly is… exquisite.”
Alastor leaned forward in his chair, angling his head in such a way to subtly watch Charlotte Morningstar through his eyepiece. He didn't need the annoying television to question him about the accessory, after all.
He watched as she used one of the tables to step off the stage and onto the show floor, much to the fawning of the table’s current occupants. She danced among the crowd as the band continued to play. Touching random strangers throughout her movements.
His eyes never left her, a sharp tightness twisting in his chest. Building alongside his growing radio static. The noise was growing more difficult to keep within himself the longer she worked over the crowd.
The longer he did not have her eyes on him.
"Get in your step-ins and
Then you will feel alright.
A brand new cologne,
Don’t tie your skirt too tight!
It makes you
Shake your leg
To the magnetic waltz
Magic ballrooms won't play no Schmaltz!"
As she sang, Charlotte grabbed a passing waitress by the waist. She twirled and dipped the lanky girl to the excitement of the crowd. The princess then spun the girl away, releasing her back to her profession.
Alastor caught from his periphery how the girl swayed and swooned.
It seemed no one was immune to the princess’s charms, even when she hid beneath a glamour.
Static raced up his spine when Charlotte finally turned toward his table. She twirled and sashayed her way over…
Only to reach Vox first.
Alastor's claws dug into the tabletop, his eyes shifting into radio dials as she danced around the other demon’s chair.
Her eyes flicked to him, holding his gaze for a brief moment, until Vox reached out to touch her during her distraction. She flicked the television’s antenna lightly in reprimand before he could make contact, causing his hand to jerk back and his screen to flush a light blue in embarrassment even as he wore a dopey grin on his screen.
She dragged her fingers over the top of his casing as she continued to dance in front of him before flipping his little hat from between his antennas and twirling away, taking away the chance for the demon to get any more bright ideas.
Alastor stared up at the princess as she finally danced his way, that stupid little hat on top of her head.
He couldn’t take his eyes off that hat, his antlers branching out. His limbs stretching as his anger—his jealousy—triggered his transformation into his eldritch form.
This shouldn’t be happening. He has much better control over himself than this.
But how dare she approach him with the claim of another on her?
Even worse, it was the claim of that fucking picture-box.
Didn't she know that he could see her? That she was meant to be his!
He dug his claws into his thigh, trying to stop his transformation. Fighting to hold himself back as he glared at that little fucking hat.
He couldn't scare her off. Not now, when her attention was finally solely on him.
She slowed, caution crossing her features.
Alastor could feel his chest vibrating with his growling—though it was low enough in pitch that the music and her song covered it. He could see the goose pimples on her arms as she felt more than heard the noise. Her eyes dilating as her instincts no doubt told her that danger was near, that she needed to run.
He was making her feel like prey, it was all over her face. And still, she approached him.
His brave, foolish little doe.
He continued to glare at the hat, wanting to rip it to shreds. To claw and bite. To rip open the hat’s owner and feast on his blood and entrails.
To mount her and rut into her so that all of Hell knew exactly who she belonged to.
She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she cautiously glanced up, following his eyes as if she could see the hat on top of her own head.
All the while, she continued to dance in front of him, making sure to entertain the many eyes on her. To hold onto the illusion that nothing was wrong. Even as those who could see Alastor's face began murmuring among themselves.
Likely speculating that they were about to witness a mauling as part of the entertainment.
Charlotte carefully reached up and took hold of the hat, moving in a way that flowed with her dance while not provoking the predator in front of her. She flung it back at Vox, earning a chuckle from the other demons as it managed to land on one of his antennas. Snow filled his screen as he seemingly lost reception, causing him to scramble to fix the issue so as not to miss any of the show.
Alastor's form returned to normal, all except his antlers, which were still branched out wide in a display of his dominance, of his interest. The rest of the room faded into background noise as he focused on Charlotte.
"Magic Mirror on the wall,
Who's the fairest sheik of them all,
Swinging dobedoo
Do the do, like Betty Boop.
It said: Tonight, Josephine,
Try something keen!"
Charlotte leaned over him, not truly touching him as she danced for him, her eyes flicking to the staff in his hand. His grip on it tightened.
Oh, how he wanted to touch her, to be touched by her.
But not while they had such an audience.
He may be the constant entertainer, but he still had a reputation to uphold.
He brought his mic up, offering it to her. But she didn't take it. Instead, she wrapped her hand around his own, both of them holding the stand as she brought the mic up to her lips. Soft, plump flesh brushed over the mesh windscreen.
He shivered. He could feel her lips through his mic as though she was kissing his very skin.
"High noon, get off your Pantaloons.
Now, get off your Pantaloons!"
Charlotte blinked in surprise when his mic modulated her voice. She then grinned at him and pushed it away, hooking a finger behind the knot of his bow tie. She pulled him up from his seat by the fabric, revealing her strength as it took a moment for his body to catch on and follow her lead.
His legs spread wide to brace himself, cradling her still-moving body between his thighs.
This close to her and with her holding him in such a way, Alastor’s eyes couldn't resist the siren song of her curves. A sharp pop echoed from his chest at the sight he found.
Without the downy feathers to hide them, her dusky nipples were stiff peaks that he could see through the clingy fabric of her brassiere, the cloth not as thick as it first appeared.
His teeth ached, his tongue grew heavy with the desire to wrap the appendage around the little buds, to suckle from her, to bite into her flesh. And for once, it was not a desire to rip apart and consume.
No, he wanted to bite for the pleasure of leaving his mark on his doe.
His claws dug into the chair, the table, as his chest tightened around his racing heart.
Alastor didn't understand the feelings that this siren woman had been causing in him ever since she opened her mouth to sing.
His smile stretched impossibly wide, sharp fangs piercing gums until blood spilled from his lips.
Charlotte’s eyes followed the trail as she sang the final line of the song.
“Love, take off your Pantaloons!”
Quicker than even Alastor could react, her pink tongue darted out. Leaving a wet line from his chin to the corner of his mouth.
He blinked, claws flexing, almost grabbing. She was so close, he just needed to reach out, audience be damned…
He hit the chair hard—harder than she intended—when she suddenly pushed him back.
He was dazed, but laughed when she waved something over her shoulder at him: the fabric of his undone tie, as if the little cloth was a victory flag. She sashayed her little dance back to the stage, the band playing the final notes to the song.
As the final note rang out around the room, cheers erupted.
The princess bowed to the band, then the crowd. She turned with a wave, disappearing behind the curtain from whence she came.
Alastor glanced down at his shadow, Nyther, and nodded after her as the crowd was still distracted, begging for their little bird to come back for an encore.
The shade grinned widely, even wider than his master, before disappearing to follow after the princess.
When Alastor looked up again, he found Vox staring at him. An expression flashed across the screen, something Alastor didn't care enough to decipher at the moment.
He threw back his forgotten drink, sighing at the pleasant burn that hit his throat. Very much ignoring the pointed look Vox was still giving him as he waited for his shadow to return with the whereabouts of his doe.
“I'm going to get another round,” Vox declared, petulant, scraping the chair across the floor—nearly knocking it over in his haste to retreat.
Alastor waved him away halfheartedly, not truly paying attention. His eyes lazily fixed upon the band as they began playing another set to entertain the crowd before the next act.
Vox huffed, then disappeared.
Only moments after his companion—who was becoming increasingly irritating—left, Nyther returned to Alastor. The good news that the shade imparted made his smile stretch wide.
Alastor melted into the shadows and raced across the room, slipping backstage. He reemerged in front of a nondescript door, Nyther confirming it was the correct one. He reached up to ensure his tie was straight—one must always look presentable for a lady after all—only for his hands to stall in their movements.
…
That's right, his doe still had it in her possession.
He chuckled and raised his fist to knock on the door.
