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The door clicks shut behind him, quietly but thoroughly announcing Alastor's presence to the mistress of the house, and yet the Voxtek drone continues to float nearby, blades whirling away and the heavy feeling of Vox's electrifying gaze shooting down Alastor's spine. Lovely. As if the day couldn't get any worse.
Perhaps he should've known this was going to happen all the way last week- after all, their dear Princess Morningstar hardly could listen to reason, even from her beloved, when the Hazbin Hotel was involved. One moment everything was fine, filled with the usual insane screaming, and the next, two out of three V's were prancing around the hotel. With cameras. And giant flat screen TVs. And the usual sweet lies that coaxed anyone and everyone right on into the cult. Lucifer didn't lift a finger, for all his boating, nor did the angelic pulsing coming from his core much allow Alastor to help.
Thus, here he was! Away in Cannibal Town, seeking refuge somewhere safe, to find somewhere quiet and peaceful- apparently, to no luck! Woe as usual, it would seem.
Alastor heaved a sigh, even as his grin sharpened into something much more sinister, and called out to the waiting party, "Rosie, my dear! I've brought snacks~"
In an instant, with barely time for a blink, there she was, descending the stairs two at a time with her own feral grin. "Alastor, doll; what have I told you about showin' up to a lady's uninvited?" Rosie chided lightly, though her clawed nails drug down the stairs banister with a barely contained rage. She had noticed the drone then; excellent. "I hardly got anything to offer ya! Hm, except maybe an old leg…"
"Oh no, no. Don't worry your pretty little head about that! I've had some whiskey this morning myself," Alastor replied with a laugh and a twitch of an ear. Silent, away from prying eyes, he added, Ugh, I know. Play along?
Rosie giggled indulgently, "My, my! Day drinking on the job? How naughty." What fun! Of course. "Now, come, come. Tell ol' Rosie what brings you here." Lead the way~
Alastor bobbed his head, all but skipping over to the little table set up in the corner. He dropped a tin of lady fingers down and popped the lid off with one of his own claws, then let spill forth the gossip, "Actually, about that… I quit!"
"…Eh?" Rosie quickly blinked. "Sorry, could you repeat that. I could've sworn you said-"
"That I quit? I did!" Pleasantly, Alastor plucked a finger out and crunched down on it. With his other hand, he nudged the tin toward Rosie, who also absentmindedly took one. "Oh, it's been fun dealing with Charlotte's rainbow tears and singing and mushy talk, but, well, we all have our limits." He shrugged. "Lucifer being one of them."
Rosie bit off the nail of the finger, chewing thoughtfully. Alastor could see the moment her void-like eyes lit up with an idea. Change of plans, they seemed to say. You follow me.
"Right. Because he made you feel feelings," Rosie hummed, amused, yet her tone quickly turned dark with her next words, malice dripping from each syllable. "But you know, hon, that wasn't your decision to make."
Oh? This time, it was Alastor who became indulgent, flapping his hand about carelessly as he drawled, "Yes, yes, I know. However-"
"Ap, ap-" Rosie chided. She reached out to poke Alastor's nose, to which he wrinkled it. "That. Wasn't. Your. Choice. What was our deal, deer?"
Oh. So she- "You don't need to remind me; I remember it quite clearly," he said with a click of his tongue. His ears pulled back, dancing to the illusion they were weaving, and he added, "Really. Don't."
Rosie giggled. A bottle gin was in her hands, as deadly as a knife, and she flicked it open with what could be idle chatter, were it not for her ignoring his plea completely, "Oh, but you were so adorable. My sweet little killer, reaching for the stars- stardom. From your father to politicians, you had fun as you danced to your downfall. But before you did…" Rosie threw back a hearty sip. Alastor took it after her and took an even longer one. "I still don't know how you found that little ritual, or how many times you tried, but when your call breached Hell's gate, I just couldn't refuse to sate my curiosity~"
She was a remarkable story teller, Alastor would give her that. He'd give her more than that, truth be told, but that was a matter for another day. For now, he played his part of an annoyed pet- clearly that was the part Rosie was coaxing them to. An odd choice, but Alastor wouldn't begrudge her it, not when it'd create some fun reactions.
Rosie reached over to swipe a drop of gin from the corner of Alastor's mouth, and topped it off with a wink. "I made you the strongest sinner in exchange for you doing whatever I want, whenever I want, until I'm satisfied." A sigh, from the soul, and so exaggerated Alastor's grin threatened to twitch from faux annoyance to genuine glee. "And yet here we are, with you not holding up to your promise, sweet thing."
"My apologies," Alastor snapped. His shadow grew, tall, wavering, and though his magic flickered in and out of existence dangerously, his antlers still stretched wide in search of retribution. "But you have me disappear for seven years, in which my name grows into a mere myth, and then you have me play nice for a bunch of sinners, and now, what? I face an archangel and break my staff? You're hardly holding up your end of the bargain for all of the humiliation I've suffered."
The drone, unsubtly floating outside the window, sparks. Someone's enjoying the little show. Just a little more…
Rosie swipes another finger, and the gin for good measures. She sticks the finger down the neck, lets it soak up some of the alcohol, and then draws it out with a wet squelch. "No matter how strong you are, fighting an archangel is stupid for even the Sins. And the first man, who has had thousands of years to accumulate power? Who predates the concept of sin itself? Tsk tsk, Alastor. I'm afraid you'll have to fix yourself up on your lonesome- how else are you to learn your lesson?"
"I think," Alastor crackles with excitement rage, "I can't help with your precious master plan if breathing hurts, Rosie dearest."
Rosie cackles, "And I think that only pets who do tricks deserve rewards, love." And then she winks and jerks her head toward the window. Alastor twitches an ear, hears no unholy static that's not his own, and slumps with relief. Rosie cackles again, this time without any coated wrath.
"I love you," Alastor mumbles into the table, arms covering his head and ears resting in neutral. Rosie taps his arm, scolding softly about manners and mumbling into the table, and he pulls his head up to find her, elbows propped up on the table, chin resting on her hands folded like a bridge. "Thank you," he says, not even having to ground it out with how genuine he's feeling. "It has been a week."
"I had gathered," Rosie snorts. "Ex-troubles? Should I eat him for you?"
"He'd taste terrible."
"You would know?"
Alastor flicks an ear, shadow dancing back into nothing. Rosie sighs, ever the romantic.
"I remember my first husband," she says, and Alastor groans, and Rosie doesn't stop, "chewy thing, that one. But oh, in the early days, he was such a charmer! Talkin' about spending our lives workin' for our dreams, arm in arm, with nothing standing in our way…" Her eyes, which had fluttered shut in memory, snap back open. "Sounds familiar?"
Alastor sits back to cross his arms. Childish, sure, but she had just compared him to a pet ten minutes ago, so he's feeling petulant. "I don't want to talk about this," Alastor huffs. If she had pupils, he had no doubts Rosie would be rolling them.
"Al, if you don't want to be one your father, you will have to talk about your feelings." She stood, gracefully gliding across her tiles. Rosie stood before him, with Alastor tilting his head back against the headrest of the chair, and slid a hand up to cup his cheek. "We can have fun with this, can't we?"
"Can we?" He hummed, leaning into her touch. Alastor barely flinched when her claws suddenly dug into his skin, just beneath his monocle.
"Of course~ You want to prove you can be useful to dear Charlotte too, right? To prove Lucifer wrong? Then I have an idea that can kill two imps with one stone."
"Rosie… You really are the most twisted mind this side of Hell. Let's hear it then."
"Good boy."
(In his gilded tower, Vox schemed away with the latest intel he had gathered, unaware of what was awaiting him.)
(In the same tower, watching Niffty with something akin to horror, Charlie sat, head in her hands, unaware of what was about to hit her, too.)
(Far away, under the red mist of sprayed blood and humanity's misdeeds, the one truly holding Alastor's chains wrapped it tighter around their hand, digging metal into inhumane flesh.)
(And in Cannibal Town, one of Hell's strongest sinners and one of its oldest Hellborn shared a tin of lady fingers and a bottle of gin, finally free of the blue light of Voxtek, and with whispers shared between their breaths.)
(They were in Hell, after all, and every story came twisted.)