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Chapter Text

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Tap.. tap.. tap.. tap 

A heel of a ruby T-strap shoe tapped incessantly on top of the venue’s bronze marble floors. Whispered conversations, soft laughter and the clinking of glasses all echoed around her, grating at her ears , as she was unkindly reminded that she had been left bereft of her date for the evening. So suddenly and without any prior notice to boot.

Thanks to the Radio Demons prior outburst, the twinkling chandeliers on the upper floors were the only sources of light left. It had dimmed the area quite significantly, causing a gentle shadowy haze to overtake the more private levels of the ballroom, especially her side of the mezzanine which had been decorative enough for the King and Queen themselves. 

An elegant but shady, almost haunting atmosphere; one that served its illusion of privacy well. A stark contrast to the bright liveliness of the guests that gathered below, who were being snatched into performances left and right. Serving as the willing audience to all of AV’s talented performers that happily used them as props for their skits. 

Truthfully, that is where their little entourage would have preferred to be. The boisterous excitement of being right at the head of the stage, free to mingle, free to dance. It was only out of Alastors desire not to terribly distract their host for the evening that they chose otherwise. 

Such a shame, for the entertainment segments of the night were truly superb. 

…would that Rosie could enjoy it.

It had only been one hour into what was supposed to be a lavish evening filled with drinks and food a plunder, and after three generous glasses of wine, a yummy horderve of skewered sinner meat covered in a delectable buttered garlic, served with a side of melted parmesan slices on top of heirloom tomato bruschetta, toasted , Rosie was still stressed. 

Leg shaking, heel tappin, perma-smilin to keep off a frown kind of stressed… and the little darling meticulously rearranging the bracelets on her wrists wasn’t easing her worries in the slightest.

Not for her lack of trying though, the sweet thing.  

That damn Alastor. For all his appealing nature, his charm and ingenuity, his liveliness and loveliness, he was truly a terror to deal with from every conceivable angle. 

Seeing Alastor’s uncanny magic at work was usually a delight. Ever since she’d first met the deer, and happily allowed herself to get helplessly caught up in his tempest of chaos and mischief, she’s always been excited to see what the man could do with the most curious powers he inherited from his descent . Every few months or so, he would pop up in Rosie’s territory with a bunch of new tricks. Exhilarated and eager to show off all of the new ways he discovered how to use his magic. Often, to her and her people's own benefit. 

It was quite adorable, if not a bit worrying, how many new abilities formed at his disposal with every powerful soul Alastor devoured. He’s always been a complicated cookie to crumble, special as he was. (And boy did he like to hear it) 

Putting her fondness and bias aside- it was exceedingly rare for sinners to drop into hell with power thrumming through their veins. Let alone ones so potent as Alastor.  He was very much a dime a dozen.

Her priceless diamond in a mineshaft full of coal. 

It was why Rosie could not help being fiercely protective over the silly man. Satan forbid if anyone  more powerful than him had gotten a whiff of that all potential hiding behind that handsome face. Even if he was by all means a genuine terror as he was now, the concern never left her- and while she managed to snag him out of trouble every so often, there was simply no protecting that man from one of the largest threats of all to his person.

His- fucking -self. 

It was exactly why that no matter how long she’s known him, no matter how many times she’s lain witness to how deceptively durable that willowy body of his was, watching Alastor being ripped so violently into the ether, by his own magic, had put her on edge. 

Par for the course when dealing with the Radio Demon of all sinners. Of course nothing was ever just a simple night of fun when he was involved. 

It was already bad enough that Alastor had developed a bad habit of turning up half dead at her doorstep after swan diving himself into terrible situations. Usually, they were ones he could laugh and tap dance himself out of. Funny little tales of pettiness and tomfoolery that brought humor and laughter to the dinner table. A gag over afternoon coffee. A giggle over late night calls that trickled past midnight hours. ‘ Hours that any “proper” married lady should not be using to entertain the rambles of a man not her husband,’ Alastor always playfully reminded her, if only just to get her cackling and threatening to make him the next one. Even if she had been still held by the traditionalism of her time, Rosie could never resist the temptation of Alastors shenanigans. 

…but every once in a blue moon, there’d be some tiff that he couldn’t twirl his lanky body out of. Ones that left him battered and wretched. Where he’d lose an arm, or a leg, or lord forbid his bowtie or yknow, both of his fucking eyes.  

That had been a very very bad week that he’d spent months trying to make up to her for. Just the lingering memory of Alastor slumped in the colorful reeds of her garden, dead grass and florals piled beneath his accursed body. Blood pooling down the sides of his head as he chattered away in manic glee… with both his eye sockets fucking empty .

Thunk!

The sharp piercing pain in her hand and the sound of cutlery bouncing off the table was what brought her back to the present day. Her smile was still present on her face, even as one of her void black eyes twitched in irritation. That memory never failed to get her temper ready to boil over. Her stabbing her fork right through the meat of her hand was purely out of instinct. A way to cut off the anger before it turned into outright rage.

If Alastor had been there it probably would have been his hand Rosie would be driving a fork through. 

The sound of the slam did jostle Nifty out of her dissociative rearrangement of Rose’s jewelry though. “Not you too!” The little cryptid said with a strange form of delight, pulling a needle and thread out of thin air, seemingly happy to have something else to do with her hands. Rosie would have found it just darlin (reminiscing on all the times she whined to Alastor how she wished Nifty was her adorable thrall instead, and how the little darling would do so well working at the Emporium. All the silk and petticoats for her to sew away at with delight) if her every instinct didn’t have her itchin to barge right out those enormous sapphire crested double doors. She would have- if she knew where the fuck he was.

It was the ‘not knowing’ honestly, that bit at her heels. There was really just no telling where the man had been spirited off too nor what kind of situation was going to greet him when his magic spat him out on the other side. All she did know was that it had something to do with Vox . 

The fact that, that hooligan knew how to summon Alastor in the first place made her teeth itch somethin fierce.  

Her darling venison made just as many bad decisions as he did good, but this one… this one, took the cake .

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Vox. (She didn’t, but that was neither here nor there.) It was more so that Alastor liked Vox, a little too much. More than even the man himself realized. A notion which should have been absurd from every angle she looked at it. 

For the Radio Demon, the usual tell-tale sign of him genuinely liking someone was tricky. It wasn’t the linking of elbows and weekly camaraderie drinking sessions at the nearest speakeasy kind of acquaintanceship. Wasn’t the pleasantries or even the outright flattery that left his mouth, none of that indicated any sense of real closeness to his person.

No.

No , it was the uniqueness of his unwavering attention and the contextual manner of time that he awarded someone, which tipped them off to be something more than just idle company.  

For Rosie, it’d been the generous donations of the most premium of sinners he delivered to her butchery on a monthly basis. Keeping her slaughter house full and her people fat and merry. The cleansing of the trash that had plagued the dark corners of her territories for decades. The removal of rivals and Overlords that posed a threat to her authority and livelihood, things that he could do with his complete disregard for the politics of hell’s most powerful souls, for he held no claim over the title of Overlord , at the time.

Then it was dinners, many of which he cooked himself. The gift of private information, the gift of being allowed to touch him , without prior warning. The gift of sharing the lingering shreds of humanity that lie beneath the unfathomable power of a true hell-bred monster. Humanity that shone through the dark chasm of his heart every time he combed her hair or sent her flowers. Everytime he brought her coffee and pastries on a taxing day and pulled her shoes off her feet when she was far too tired to do so.

All of which co-existed with his devilish reputation. One that soared past her own in less than a single decade.

Rosie had already been strong on her own merits before Alastor came along, but after , she’d become a force to be reckoned with and feared. In a way that nothing Alastor did, hell forbid their friendship were to ever come to a halt, could ever undo. The outcome of all the unasked favors he’s granted were permanent , whether they remained loyal to one another or not. 

That was the sign of true companionship. 

For Vox in particular, the process looked a bit different. The frequent invitation to serve as Alastor’s companion at important invite only dinner parties. The casual nature of how Alastor introduced the television demon to important figures of Hell’s hierarchy, as one of his own. One with agency and something to prove. Someone to keep a close eye on in the promise of a good investment. Someone, a man no less, that he didn’t mind tugging at his wrist or hooking an arm around his waist or shoulder.

Within a few years, the T.V headed oaf became relevant enough to be collectively considered by the general populace as one of Alastors permanent plus ones. 

That was Strike 1.

Then, it was the controlled chaos and mayhem his broadcasting show had taken a shift towards. Now sometimes performed with rather frequent company providing a collection of witty, horrified and amusing commentary. Whether it be at his radio tower or in the streets of hell enjoying the live slaughter of his enemies, Vox had become a frequent feature in Alastor’s shows. Enough to where people actually started to take notice when the man wasn’t there. 

He didn’t exactly steal Alastors thunder per say, but the viewers couldn’t help but be intrigued when the ever elusive lone wolf Radio Demon decided to do something insane as inviting someone to co-star in his radio show without being sacrificed for the listeners entertainment. 

Strike 2.

Then it was the at-home get-togethers which was what truly threw her for a loop. The final nail in the coffin, one that provided there was something brewing beneath the surface that Rosie was regrettably, blindsighted by.

There was nothing more blatant than a shared living space that betrayed how much their proximity to each other had escalated beyond her watch. Alastor was an Overlord with a lot of territories, much thanks to the very merry murdering spree he went on during his first two decades here, so it was only expected that he’d possess multiple residences. But his home, that Manor Estate he had begun building and expanding with his bare hands, was entirely private. An exceedingly intimate space that was unreachable and impossible to be found without the Radio Demons direct allowance. 

…and Rosie had caught that Televised lout lounging in Alastor’s home three times over . Even when the man of the house wasn’t even there to watch him. 

Strike 3.

Notebooks and articles spread haphazardly across coffee tables while the man talked to himself and paced in circles like some kind of stressed out pet. Drinking coffee from Alastors mugs, sometimes wearing one of Alastor’s robes. There was an unsettling disinterest or look of frustration perched on that screens face unless there was someone looking at him. Something which she’d taken notice of each and every time she caught him in Alastors space alone . Frowning, looking vexed or dispassionate, only to switch back to that charming facade the second he realized he was being watched. 

He’ll never be as good at it like Alastor was, but the attempt she could admit was somewhat adorable. 

The fact that he didn’t officially live there should have put her at ease, but the knowledge that he had a spare key to Alastors home bothered her. 

It was not normal. 

-but whatever was when dealing with the Radio Demon of all sinners. 

Still , Rosie simply could not believe that Alastor had taught him how to summon him. For all of Alastor's snide comments about how reckless and impulsive the television demon was, that deer could be just as bad, if not worse ! Rosie had been far too horrified by the nature of the summoning alone for her to even think about attempting using it, and she’d seen that deer brutalized more than anyone else!

She’ll take Alastor missing all of his limbs before she ever entertained the idea of risking the safety of his soul. Than to ever gamble the possibility of him vanishing and never returning because of some mistake she made. If she didn’t trust herself with the heavy weight of that information she defintetly didn’t trust someone like Vox with it either. 

Vox was a bizarre flavor of man, one that she didn’t necessarily like around Alastors own, outlandish flavor of man. The short-tempered debonair to Alastor’s charming dandy. While his growing infatuation with Alastor had given him the appearance of a tamed house pet to the naked eye, Rosie knew better . 

There was something awfully vacant about Vox’s expression when Alastor wasn’t in his direct vicinity or line of thought. Something bitterly cold. Manic but empty , a quiet type of madness she simply did not like. Rosie didn’t know if the man had always been that way or if it was the result of his current mentor, but what Rosie did know was that something about him just ain’t right.

There was a lot not right about Alastor too. An entire laundry list of seemingly never-ending piles of horribleness and complexities, but Vox brought forth a different kind of danger. One that Alastor was playing carelessly with due to its unfamiliarity. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if this attachment was one-sided. After all, her deer had never entertained the idea of collecting any paramours despite his status as Overlord before. If so, the T.V demons' growing crush on the Radio Demon might have even been cute at one point in time. A romance made for the pictures, as one would say. 

But now Rosie had to suffer coming to the startling realization that there was a possibility of this not being one-sided at all, and she didn’t think Alastor had come to terms with it yet. 

That was going to become a problem. 

Trust did not come easy to the Radio Demon but once you had it, you had it, and Rosie was not convinced that the T.V demon deserved it. 

Sure, he was intelligent, full of drive and ambition and possessed a hunger for power that nearly rivaled Alastors own. A showman through and through, just as her deer was, but one of a different era. Of a different medium for a different time and she’d bet her bottom dollar that was exactly why Alastor was fond of him. He was the same, yet different. Similar but unfamiliar. Full of potential but not better, and furthermore, he was entertaining .

Rosie could understand why whipping him into shape looked so appealing to the deer demon. She could understand the urge to mold him into something great. Teach him, tame him, turn him into something he could really sink his teeth into. Finding kindred souls in hell was difficult enough as it was but for someone as bizarre and infamous as Alastor, simply unheard of. 

So she understood. She really, really did. 

-but the man was simply not worth the risk.

“Penny f’r thy thoughts madam?”

Rosie nearly jolted out of her seat. “Heavens to Betsy!” She shouted out, slamming a hand onto her chest in fright. All of her thoughts surrounding swatting any pesky Televisions with a pest swatter came to a screeching halt as she realized her and Nifty were no longer alone at their lavish mezzanine. Rosie quickly looked to her left only to come face to face with heavy black and gold garments. On eye level with the waist of someone tall and menacing, looming over the side of her chair. 

She lifted her head towards the towering demon who, despite his ergeriously tall stature, somehow managed to sneak up on her and was greeted with four green mirthful eyes. Glowing beneath the shadow of his hat, twinkling in a menacing shade of delight. “Zestial!” She exclaimed with a heavy exhale. “Why you old goat! You should know better than to sneak up on a gal like that.” Rosie lightly whacked the arm closest to her with a hand, letting out a huff of indignation. “You gave me a fright!”

”Bad boy!” Nifty said as a greeting in pure excitement, standing on top Rosie’s red-satin covered legs. The little dear practically vibrating in excitement. Too much excitement, Rosie decided, as she had to practically grab her before the little woman did anything batshit insane. Like trying to climb Zestial like he was some kind of cursed willowy tree. 

Zestial let out a deep rumble of laughter, a sound that danced around her ears, his voice staining the air with an otherworldly raspiness. Her fellow overlord took it upon himself to bow at the waist, all four of his eyes dead-locked into her own. 

“Mine own apologies.” He said, still ever the gentleman , and took Rosie’s fingers into his own, bringing the back of them to his mouth. An imitation of a kiss, for his lips didn’t press one of any kind to her gloved hand. The gesture of respect however was nonetheless given, and felt.

‘Don’t offend me none’ - she thought with a careful smile taking over her face. For the only hand she’d ever seen the old Overlord fully press his lips to was Carmilla Carmine herself. “Rare doth I receive the opportunity to gallow thee.” Rosie’s smile twitched at the edges as she forcefully struggled to shift her brain away from overprotective murderous dread to Zestial mode. Alastor was significantly better at understanding the old overlords archaic tongue than she was. 

Unfortunately, there was no deer demon around to translate for her this time around, so weeding through the demons cryptic speech was going to be… fun.  

“I’ll say, it ain’t like ya to go plucking for such low reaching fruit.” Rosie teased, worriedly eying Nifty as the small demon stood on her tippy toes to fix the feather on Zestial cavalier hat. Noticeably different from the one he usually doned in his daily attire. 

In fact, his entire ensemble was different. Gone were the long capes and spider motifs on his chest and undercoat and in its place was a long heavy coat. An ash grey that tipped almost into black, encrusted with brass and golden ornate designs on the wide-breath collar and clasps. The buttons and belt dripped with ornate antiquity.  

Her mouth almost salivated at the sight of such craftsmanship. You simply just don’t see get-ups like that no more. 

“My, don’t you look just on the right side of dashing tonight Zestial! You certainly dressed to impress!” She managed to get another chuckle out of him, as her fingers slipped out of his hand.

”As doth thou, mine lady. Rare do I seek forth the opportunity to stumble upon thee at more social events.” Rosie did her best not to rub her ear into her shoulder, for they felt just a tad bit itchy from the mystical echoes of his voice. Rosie didn’t think the demon was even capable of turning it off. 

”Our crowds ain’t the type to mix and mingle with each other are they?” She shrugged helplessly before gesturing for the man to join her. “Ya look different without a cape attached to them shoulders of yours. Gotta say, I ain’t expect ya to wear something so Victorian. Borderline American with the cut of that coat. Quite a long stretch after your time ain’t it dear?”

A strange glint of delight reached two of the Overlords four eyes. “Forsooth. How observant of thee to take notice.” Zestial swept back the long ends of his heavy overcoat with an ease of dramatic elegance before sitting in Alastors seat. Even when sitting down he towered, but the surprising dash of white in his blouse and feathers adorning his hat shaved off a millimeter of his imposing aura. “T seemeth Alastor was not exaggerating about thy eye for detail.”

“Aww.” She coo’ed, trying to ease the tension building around them. Unable to fully shake the nervousness pooling in her gut. “Sing my praises now does he?”

“Indeed. I have been on the hunt for a more talented seamstress to patron for quite some time. Mine previous tailor had the unfortantry of meeting a rather ghastly end by the wrath of a holy blade, a decades past.” With a flick of his hands, a cup of tea manifested out of thin air. “Timeless and personalized as their artistry remaineth, I've recently found myself desiring… newer garbs. Tis new craftsman I’ve harvested is of an era not nearly reminiscent of mine own, not even in jest, but thine creativity sings well with mine new emerging taste.” Rosie watches as he takes a slow sip from his cup, while Rosie ran his sentence through her head a couple of times, in rapid speed. Curious but also, a tad bit confused. 

Surely Zestial of all people did not bother to stop by her table to talk about fashion , of all things. The old demon did not directly interact with his fellow Overlords outside of a select few. If you were not those selected individuals, then any chance to be granted an audience with this demon was nearly just as scarce as getting an audience with the devil himself. 

Rosie sighed in both bewilderment and sympathy. “It’s such a hassle replacing good talent ain’t it?” She says while again, worriedly eying Nifty. Who was, in her opinion, behaving far too casually in Zestial’s presence. The little darling reached out to lift her own tea cup towards the old demon - ( seriously, what kind of pocket dimension does she have to hold all of those random items )- as a request for it to be filled. 

Rosie almost reached out a hand to put it down... but, there was a vague sense of familiarity settling between Nifty and the Overlord that spoke of something she couldn’t get a whiff of. A sense of ease that spoke of routine and expectancy. Nifty fully believed the menacing demon would without a doubt grant her inaudible request. All despite the vast disparity between their stations in Hells society. 

Both worried and intrigued, Rosie decided against her better judgment and chose to watch this bizarre scenario play itself out. 

She had a feeling that even if Nifty did end up offending the old man, not much of any harm would actually come her way.  Especially over something as immaterial as a cup of tea. 

Zestial was a patient and deceivingly mild-tempered Overlord. Cordial and generally polite, despite the haunting fact that his body count was disturbingly unmatched. He was the oldest of them all and even though his most recent resurgence of terror had ended shortly after she manifested into hell, that capability for cruelty hung over the Pride Ring’s shoulders like an ominous otherworldly threat till this very day.   

Yet right here, in this particular moment, his smile was amused. If not a little fond; acknowledging Nifty in a way that was reminiscent of someone entertaining a small pet. “Quite so.” He agreed, while stretching out an arm to tap tea cups with Nifty. Her cup immediately filled itself with piping hot tea. The playful gesture should have made her smile soften at the edges… it did not. “Rare be it, to be gifted with the scarce chance of stumbling across a talented soul, scattered within the paltry vastness of vacuous savagery, before they meet their ghastly end. The preservation of souls whomst were once masters of our mortal crafts is a daunting task. Tis best to retrieve them before hell hath the chance to strip them of their gifts.” 

Then and there, was the moment that shifted her trajectory of the night. Though the demon possessed no eyebrows, she could tell when something in Zestial eyes changed. Suddenly, Rosie feels as if she is being chastised and reprimanded…?

‘What on earth - for what?’  

“Artisans and jongleurs can be fragile creatures.“ He continued, his stare becoming heavier and heavier. “Their fragility is well aligned in their ability to create and innovate. Tis only natural for one whomst seeks to envelop themselves within their gifts be proactive in thy endeavor of ensuring their spirit remaineth unbroken, yes?” 

Call it hunch, but Rosie felt as if there was something vaguely threatening in that back-handed question. Despite there being no shift in body language or tone. “You’ll hear no argument from me sugar.” She ended up agreeing, curiosity failing to overpower the reammerging sense of dread. If that was a threat, she made sure to navigate her response carefully. For she still didn't understand what it was for… and who it was targeted towards. She did, however, have one hell of a hunch. “Hells a dog eat dog world. Gotta lay claim what’s yours before anyone ruins em. Maybe even be a lil sweet on some so nobody else comes by to steal your favorites away.”

The way Zestial’s smile slowly spread was ominous. “ Indeed .” Was all that was said before the demon went back to sipping at his tea. This tit for tat was starting to make Rosie deeply uncomfortable, though one wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at her. Her smile was as sharp and placating as it could be, but made no secret of studying Zestial in the offered silence. “Tis is why as capable and talented as my newest ward is, I still find them lacking a certain… finesse the previous one possessed. I find myself seeking more gifted hands, with the range to accommodate my Pre-Tudorian tastes.” Zestial eyes never left hers. “With the offer of generous compensation?” 

Rosie’s smile tightened, humming curiously at the dummy offer which hid her fellow Overlords true intentions. She knew it was the right call not to let herself be fooled. This level of direct confrontation was not for a simple request like garment inquiries. Nothing was ever that simple within Hells overly complicated political hierarchy. Still, she could play along.

The old demon had a love for word games, which made dealing with Zestial not too unlike dealing with Alastor. Unfortunately, she simply wasn’t endeared by the man enough to find it on the right side of charming. 

“Rosie hears ya, loud and clear!” She said, conjuring up her memo book and a pen. Both objects feigning sentience by writing  Zestial at the top of her patronage list. Just because she wasn’t fond of the man didn’t mean she’d pass up such a golden opportunity of putting that tall glass of arsenic into her finest wares. Even if it was all for play. “Consider yourself queued in, at the very top of my list. I’d be glad to get my hands on a challenge for once. Not many people request outfits from Era’s as far back as yours. It’d be a delight to see what I can do.”

Zestial chuckles once more. “Full glad I am to hear it. Tis expected that thee not be a woman frightened of challenge.” He tilts his head in a placating manner. “Your reputation serves you well, Lady Rose.”

Rosie’s smile tightened at the edges. Something about that response told her that she had responded incorrectly. Failed to answer a question despite not ever being asked any. There was no stopping the slight blip of satisfaction she felt for rebuffing whatever it was Zestial was seeking with his out of pocket requests. “Anything else I can do for ya Zestial? Surely, you ain’t stickin around for the company. Flattered as I am, I don’t think I’m the kind of gal someone like yourself would prefer spendin an evenin with.” She said, not so subtly casting a glance to the third floor above them. Towards the opposite end of the ballroom where Zestials plus one sat alone, sampling her own customized hors d'oeuvres and wine while reading through the events agenda. Always a striking picture of womanly elegance that Carmilla Carmine was. 

Rosie held back any comment about how rude it was for Zestial to leave a woman like that by her lonesome at a table.

Another chuckle. “Worry not for mine companion, for it is by her encouragement I found it beneficial to seek out thee.” He responded, settling his cup and saucer down to the table with a clink. “ I’ve enjoyed thine company thus far, but thou woudst be correct to assume that tis not m’rely be a social call.” Both of Rosie’s brows lifted this time around, as she did her best not to drill her fingers across the surface of the table. Pushing down any urge to fidget so she could keep the downright frazzled state of her nerves at bay.

There was a long pause of silence that sat between them. So heavy with anticipation that the quiet felt as if it’d manifested its own heartbeat. It would not have been as unnerving if not for the way Zestials eyes never left her own. Not even for a moment. There was no answer to her ‘why’ as she tried her best at deciphering the intent behind those eyes, only to be left with nothing but the heavy unwavering weight that was his gaze. 

It was exactly then, that the sound of corks popping off champagne bottles filled the room. Fizzing drinks, loud cheers and bellows of laughter spread from the first floor all the way to the top, as one of the performers introduced fire into their routine. The debacle caught the attention of the demons from the upper floors, who leant over brass railings to catch a glimpse of what was going on below. 

All except the two of them. 

The moment the venue had lit up, bright from both the flames and gleeful celebration, the intensity of Zestials eyes shifted. It brought down the light and merry atmosphere to something almost menacing . There was no hiding her surprise this time, not when the tension in the elders face created sinister shadows upon his brow. Rosie felt her fingers become clammy almost instantly. 

“Surely thou does not think I haven’t taken notice to the absence of thy companion.”

…

-and just like that, every single muscle in Rosie’s body went completely rigid. Her smile sat frozen on her face as she did everything in her power to shove down any fear licking at her throat. Knowing that demon across from her, fed on fear like a hellish bloodhound. Zestials' knowing smile beneath that borderline baleful gaze however said everything she needed to know. That she did not hide her fear well… and that she had been right. 

This was about Alastor. 

‘Good lord Almighty.‘ Rosie thought to herself as she fought against the nerves which had her throat locked from terror. ‘Alastor, just what in the hell could you have possibly done to piss off Zestial of ALL demons?!’ 

Rosie had to fix this, pronto. With gusto.  

“I’m afraid he had some last minute business to address.” She said far too calmly to be considered natural for her, but pretending to not be afraid would do naught but wound her pride even further. She was pretty sure that Zestial could smell her fear, regardless of how well she managed to hide it. “Quite rude if you ask me to leave a lady wonderin after him, but you know how he is. Such a busy fella. Always in motion, always in demand.”

“Indeed he is.” Zestial replied easily, and though his tone was light his expression remained unchanged. “A desirable problem to acquire, one might assume. Certainly leaves little room to gander such bold ventures containing unprecedented surprises. Upon receiving such a peculiar invitation, I had expected a most dull evening, however the night hath played quite a curious string of events. Twas not the nature of entertainment I’d thought to receive upon attending this…” He chuckled. “-ephemeral celebration.“

Rosie locked her fingers together on the table and rested her weight on her elbows, so that the interlocked fingers could settle beneath her chin. “Oh Zestial…” She said with a light-heartedness that did not reach her chest. “I thought you were an appreciator of the arts.”

Zestial seemed even more amused now, whatever trace of anger that’d lied within his eyes vanishing as if it were never there at all. “That I am, my lady. That I am. True art is to be admired and perceived most grandously. It is the deepest of pleasures to pour into the passions of well-cultivated minds. To bask in their eccentricity. To watch as they rise and fall, and rise once more, only to fall again.” Zestial’s voice suddenly became bored. “T beest no secret how I findeth this current flight of fancy unimaginatively monotonous. Though there is nay want of screams to keep me entertained through mine days, the nature of this diversion hath brought to light a most egregious folly. Goaded by distractions that risks becoming perilous.” Zestial smile sharpened. “By design I’m sure. Hard it be, to imagine that gent wouldst have it any other way.”

Rosie swallowed before she let out any kind of nervous chuckle. “Full of surprises that one is.” 

”That indeed, and yet I continue to wonder…” the Elder Overlord rested his tea cup on its saucer with a clink, before subtly reclining in his seat. Eyes aglow beneath the dark swoop of his hat. “ - the purpose. ” The echo of Zestials voice had intensified, reaching deeper than before. No longer echoing around her but vibrating deep into her diaphragm. An extreme sense of unease filled her stomach despite there being little to no magic in the words themselves. The aura of the elder Overlord wasn’t threatening in the slightest… and yet, her stomach curdled at the possibility ; at the mere presence of old magic being held at bay.

“Purpose?”

“Ay.” He said, filled with curiosity. “The purpose of what there is to be gained for arming a fellow so heinously inept at self preservation with knowledge that threatens to undo the meticulously placed threads of ones soul. One that possesses the ability to tip a most delicate balance… that holds obscure eyes at bay when handled arbitrarily.” This time, Rosie could not hold back her surprise. Her eyes widened by a large margin and edges of Zestial smile curved so high, the corners of his mouth threatened to reach past his temple. 

”You…” Rosie said, voice suddenly alight with worry, before she swallowed all her nerves in one go. Nerves that threatened to choke her when Zestial gave a gentle tilt to his head.

“I?”

Rosie could almost not believe her ears… nor her own idiocy. Before the recently unwelcome realization that Vox had been taught the methods of how to summon Alastor, Rosie had been informed there was only one other soul outside of Nifty and herself who knew of the unimaginable feat Alastor had achieved. She had assumed it could have been Mimzy, or another thrall he was as smitten with as he was Nifty. Perhaps someone terribly charming, talented and powerless enough to tug on the Radio Demons nearly non-existent heart strings.

…now, sitting across from the actual identity of that third- fourth person, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of connecting the dots earlier. Zestial, was one of the only other Overlords Rosie had seen Alastor speak to frequently enough to be considered an acquaintance. One made out of necessity considering he was not on Alastors chopping block due to the sheer power the Overlord possessed alone. 

Rosie had thought nothing of it… until now. 

'Zestial.' Her mind said, taking another moment to swallow the information all together.

‘Zestial?! Really Alastor?!’

If there was anyone who was undeniably not going to be calling on the Radio Demon for protection or even aid in their time of need, it would be the quite literal personification of undying wrath and malice sitting across from her.

‘You stupid delight of a man. When you dip your toes in trouble, you could suffer settling for a sinister little pond for once, instead of the lethality of an entire fucking ocean!’ 

Rosie sucked in the deepest, quietest breath she could manage to discreetly take in… before hardening her resolve. She was not foolish enough to dismiss the alarms knocking at the knobs of her spine, for now there was now doubt about it. Zestials' tone was threatening and the intended receiver was most definitely not her . 

Rosie had not made it this far into her reign as an Overlord by allowing herself to be cowed by the threats of demons more powerful than her. She may not be on the other end of the scale when it came to raw power like Zestial, but she was fully aware that, much like being an Overlord, taking calculated risks weren’t for the faint hearted. Knowing when and how to pick her battles was something she was very good at and even though Zestial was not someone she could ever hope to best in a fight, the urge to step in and protect what was hers, ignited a scalding fire deep in her gut. 

With a vengeance.

“Darlin-” She addressed him, pensively. “If you’ve come seekin for answers, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong gal.” Rosie spoke, with a sickening sweet tilt to her voice. Motherly even, despite the being in front of her being ages before her time. 

Zestial raised a curious brow, now looking at her with less foreboding malice and more… intrigue. “You’re gonna have to wait till Alastor decides to pop back in from whatever little endeavor he’s been spirited off to. Much as I like to speculate, I simply can’t share what I don’t know.” Rosie shrugged helplessly. “Whatever the mans reason may be, they’re his to share and his alone. Ain’t much little ol Rosie could tell ya.” She paused, if only to lean her weight further on the back of interlocked fingers beneath her chin. “Though I imagine if he were here, silly man that he is, he’d get quite a kick out of making you guess!”

Zestial stared at her for a long stretch of silence. Giving Rosie the chance to take back her chosen course to double down on her statement. She however, remained true to her path.

Alastor was not only a beloved friend, but also an ally. A very clever, profitable and generous ally. One absolutely worth sticking her neck this far out for and she was not going to let anyone think they could threaten him right to her face. Elder Overlord of not, their united front would be perceived as nothing but a sham if she did anything other than stake her claim on her buck. 

She was held dangling her along the edge of discomfort and trepidation… before something in the old man finally gave way. A gentling in his smile, followed by a small inconspicuous hum. The pressure that’d gathered in the air around them gave way, returning to a normalcy that allowed her to breathe with ease. 

“Quite true.” He said, suddenly placated and pleasant enough to give her whiplash. Something about it told her that whatever unasked question she had answered, she did so correctly. Rosie watched as Zestial raised his tea cup to his lips once more and drained it of the rest of its contents. With a flick of his wrist, the decorative cup vanished into wispy green trails of magic. “Far be it from me to assume what malicious streams of thought passes through that fellows head. The perplexity of his mind is a one of a kind delight.”

Rosie pushed away the urge to bask in any kind of relief after being so high strung over from dealing with a possible threat. Deciding that she just about had enough of the cryptic aloofness, at least when it came to discussing Alastor. She chose her next words deliberately and carefully, not wanting to poke at the sleeping bear anymore than necessary. ”What is it that you truly want from me, Zestial?” Rosie asks, not unkindly. “A bit more bluntly if you’d be so kind? I know you and Alastor enjoy deliverin your riddles of suspense, with poetry and rhymes, but I’m just a simple gal. You can give it to me straight.”

If Zestial was annoyed by her ruining his fun, the demon definitely didn’t show it. If anything, the wicked gleam in his eyes makes a second more potent appearance. Seeming just a bit more pleased that she’d been put further on edge despite the demon being nothing but polite. “Upon his return, Alastor will require aid.” He said it so matter of factly that she became even more convinced that the Elder knew far more information about the process than she liked. “The afr’rmath of his questionable decisions shall not beest valorous for him.” Rosie does not like how the smirk on the mans face quirks wider at the thought. “Do inform him that he is to seek mine company before the night reaches its end.” 

Much as she tried, Rosie could not control the slight grimace of fear that appeared on her face, as a cold threatening chill traveled down her spine.

“Beggin ya pardon?” She asks almost on auto-pilot, more scathing than she’d usually allow. Her question is met with a lighter more amused chuckle this time, the demons bioluminescent eyes squinting in half moons. He was enjoying her panic. 

“Such fright on thy face. A sight I’ve never been graced with before… how delightful.” Rosie bit the inside of her cheek to cut off any rude remarks she wanted to dish out. “Not to worry Lady Rose. Unlike this, yond is to be a social call. A necessary one, shouldst the condition he return in not be ideal. A boon, that will not be offered again, for the Radio Demon hath not yet left my good graces.” Zestial chuckles. “Despite current folly .”

Folly, he says. At least in that, the both of them were in agreement. 

Rosie takes another quiet breath in and squeezes her fingers together. ”I’ll be sure to pass him the message darlin.” She said, fixing Zestial with a sweet but threatening smile. One that caused one of Zestial upper eyes to rise in curiosity. “So as long as nothing nasty is to become of my darling venison, ya hear? He’s good company, and I’ll be one very unhappy camper if something nasty were to happen to him.”

Zestials eyes raise high on his head. “A threat?”

Rosie’s smile thinned as did her tone - the look in her eyes, unshakeable. ”It doesn’t have to be.”

There was another pause between the both of them. An uncomfortable one, until Zestial, one of the most stoic demons she’d ever met, gave a short but hearty laugh. “I see!” Rosie really does not like how unashamedly delighted he is. Zestial’s tone was more jovial than it’s been for their entire conversation. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit offended. Who would be, when one was a predator of unimaginable eldritch bounds. “So very charming. What recklessness thy companion inspires! What thoughtless spontaneity his well-being incites. How dear he must be to thee.” It was then that Zestial smoothly stood from his seat. Tall and with grace, he glided from his chair to hers, patting his lip with a dark handkerchief. Rosie watched him approach her and finally pulled her hands from their interlocked state. Sitting up straight in her chair as he gentlemanly bowed to take hers once more. This time the pressure of his fingers holding onto her own was more pronounced, thumb rubbing as if they needed encouragement for the blood in them to flow normally once again. “Rest assured mine lady. Not a single hair will come to harm on the Radio Demons head.” 

Rosie's smile sweetened with a tilt. “I’m gonna need that to carry a lot more ground than a hair my friend. Plenty of other prime real estate on that man to take a jab at rather than a little tuff of fur.”  

Zestial’s smile was pleased even further. “Not an inch of flesh on the Radio Demon shall be damaged by my hand or will, upon this day.”

”-and evening?”

Another chuckle. ”Aye, evening as well.” 

“Swear on your word as a gentleman and I’ll let ya off the hook!” She said, proud of her ability to reintroduce playfulness to her act. Zestial humored her, of course as any true gentleman would, and placed his other hand upon where his heart would be.

”I solemnly swear, my lady Rose. Thee has't mine own word.” This time, when he bent at the waist towards her hand, a real kiss was pressed onto the back of her fingers. That alone sent a shock through her body that was enough to throw her off kilter. A twinkle of magic sparked between his lips and her hand, solidifying the promise in a way that was unexpectedly binding . Stupefied, her smile fell right off her face, as she was left only a couple seconds to really take in what Zestial had done.  

As soon as it began to register what had just taken place, that Zestial had sealed their agreement with a kiss to her hand, one with magic that binds him to her will, the man vanished into thin air. 

Not a lick of magic or smoke and trails left behind, he simply vanished. As if he was never there at all. 

The ease that’d been gifted to her before was nothing compared to the breath of air she’d taken while no longer in his presence. Eyes glued to the back of her hand that glowed green for a few more seconds, before the magic left behind evaporated into the air, like hot steam. 

Rosie breathed… and breathed… and breathed again before curling her long fingers into a dainty fist. Squeezing down hard until she felt her fingers crack. ‘Alastor…’ She growled, cursing his name to Hell and back. She was going to yank that deers ear right off when she got her hands on him. Rosie never wanted to hear him lament about her poor taste in men EVER again. Not after this . Never after this.  

Then, as if sensing her wrath, Pentagram City experienced a rather worrying power outage. One that only lasted for a couple of seconds but was enough to shock and scare the pants off the unexpecting guests. The lights were quickly flickering back on and returned to normal as all attending parties looked around in alarm. Trying to spot any incoming danger.  

“Oooo! How ominous. Alastor must be having fun.” Nifty cackled, reminding Rosie of her presence. She’d been surprisingly quiet during that entire exchange between her and Zestial. Nifty looked up to her, noticing the tension in Rosie’s face and tilted her head like a curious cat. “Is the bad boy in trouble?”

Rosie’s smile widened maliciously. “Oh he is in big trouble my dear. Very very big.”

♤ 

Meanwhile... 

♣ 

“Holy fucking sHHIIII-!!”

SMASH!

A large body of a hellhound went crashing through a window, sending glass shattering every direction possible. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck I'm…” He sat up. “I’m alive?” His hands patted down his beefy body in disbelief. “Holy shit I'm alive!”

N̴̡͠ͅo̷̦̹͋̓t̶̟̀ ̷̰̍̿f̵̼̋̄ó̸̱r̴͓̓ ̵̧̼̇l̷͖̃͑͜o̴̜͍̊̕n̸̖͙̾g̷̗̚.̴̖̀̃

“Not for long.”

 A blood-curdling scream erupted from his throat, as he was yanked back into the warehouse by a slimy tendril, fastened around his leg. 

“Wait- wait- wait - WAIT- PLEASE-!” 

SPLAT  

One of Alastors singular tendrils began having a field day with the unfortunate hound. Treating him like one would a bat, and the walls of the warehouse, a very stubborn piñata. It mercilessly smashed the demons body to pieces with every swing, screams becoming weaker and weaker with every collision, as the body slowly became unrecognizable. All while Alastor continued to have his fun picking apart his victims one by one. 

With his bare hands.

“You know, they say that T.V makes you violent.” Alastor said, voice drowned in the deep octaves of his demonic form. His teeth crunching down on the neck yet another screaming demon within his grasp. Their cry of terror cut short, replaced with wet heaving gurgles. Impossibly long limbs carried him around the warehouse like some sort of eldritch mantis as black drool dripped from his mouth. Thick enough to mimic the texture of coagulated blood, as it pooled onto the floor in heavy wet splats. “ But I’d say not having my T.V is making me pretty f̸͙͗́ů̶̼̼c̶̱̪̒̄k̴̝͌͜ì̷͈n̴̥̂g̸͇̳̾́ violent.”

Vox smothered a laugh into his arm from where he sat lounging on the second floor. Safe and out of harm's way, happily basking in the chaos while his hands busied themselves trying to reload Alastors personal hunting rifle. It wasn’t often that the Radio Demon let him handle his equipment so off-handely, especially something so near and dear to his blackened heart, but Vox had wanted to play.

-and Alastor wanted him to stay out of harm's way.

The rifle was a compromise! 

So what if the Television used his most pathetic puppy dog eyes to convince Alastor to get his way. It’s not as if anyone would be alive to tell the tale. 

Besides, he could use the practice. He was no sharp-shooter. Didn’t have Alastors amount of precision when it came to aiming that thing in the slightest, despite the deers continuous attempts to teach him. Still, he was better at handling it than he was Alastors shot shotgun. The Winchester? He almost blew his own goddam hands off. God that’d been embarrassing. Alastor was laughing at him for weeks . 

Vox decided to kill the two little imps first. A little snack for the ravenous shadow that had been hanging over his back to help steady his aim. The entity vibrated in exhilaration when Vox told it, ‘How bout I hunt you a lil snack to help wet your whistle.’ Unlike its master, the vile thing was far more willing to accept gifts. Particularly ones delivered in flesh and blood. Sure, it could have just gobbled the two little things itself, but it's the gesture that counts! 

He could even call it a mercy kill, if he squinted, hard. With the amount of blood thirst steaming off the Radio Demon, the deer would sooner skin both of them alive than let them escape with their hides intact. Harmless or not. 

Vox couldn’t feel too bad about it, they were planning to sell him after all.

It made popping the other one in the mouth a bit more enjoyable. Satisfaction thrummed through his veins as he shot the little guy's jaw clean off. Jesus , the power behind this thing. The Shadow dragged its claws across Vox’s exposed neck as the T.V demon looked at the rifle in his hands with a sense of awe. “All yours.” He said throatily, goosebumps spreading across his back as the entity rushed through him with a menacing roar of void-like glee.  

The sounds of jaws tearing apart flesh should have made him sick, as the shadow mauled their bodies with teeth and claws like a rabid beast.

It did not.

In fact, it only made him crave relief of a whole different kind. Reminding him of how he missed the feel of blood and skin caking beneath his nails. The frantic begging and desperate wails of someone flirting too close with the brink of death. He wanted to take part in the slaughter of his abductors, wanted to crush them beneath his heels and pay them back for all the damage they inflicted on his person… but he knew better. 

He called Alastor to rescue him, at the man's own detriment. The least he could do is allow his savior to bask in the blood of their enemies.  

‘Plus, it’s not all bad. I got to hold Betsy.’ He thought happily, sappily hugging the single cartridge Farquharson Rifle for a few seconds. Little daisies popping onto the surface of his screen, displaying the giddiness bursting in his chest. 

He was more of a pistol guy himself honestly, but it was the fact that this thing meant something to Alastor that made him stupid about handling it. Plus, it was a beauty . A real classic, not a gun recreated with Hells unique resources but a topside weapon, reinforced to be deadly in the plane beyond the grave. Alastor probably will never spill how he managed to smug this baby into hell.

“Up high my dear!”

Vox snapped out of his daydreaming and immediately righted it back up to aim for the screaming demon Alastor tossed in the air. 

BANG!

The sound of the rifle pierced through the air, echo bouncing off shadows as the bullet hit it’s mark. ‘Right between the clavicle. Hmm, not bad.’ He told himself, distinctively ignoring that he’d been aiming for the heart. 

“Bravo!” Alastors normal voice burst exclaimed from the cane, floating at his side. Vox smiled wide, if he had his hat, he would have taken it off in a theatrical bow for the singing cane. The mic had been playing one of the Radio Demons classics “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile” while its master raged absolute hell below them.  

Vox even found himself humming to it, despite how much he hated that goddam song. 

Ah, if only he had a cassette. Or a video camera. 

Something he could record with to replay the memory of his assailants being brutally murdered by the man he’s head over heels for. Alastor was taking immense pleasure in making bodies fly left and right. Chomping down on hellbourne eagerly despite not caring for the taste. Enjoying the way they ran, the way they screamed, the way they fruitlessly tried to fight back. 

Laughing with his shadows like some sort of malevolent deity, taking his fill of blood and flesh.

Vox sighed, more wistful than before. This infatuation with Alastor was getting out of hand and today just made it worsen by ten-fold. Oh, what a different man he was now…

That he didn’t take offense to being saved from a situation he simply could not handle. That he didn’t bristle from the inside out at being rescued like a damsel in distress. There were less cutting barbs scraping at the edge of his ego and more pride. Pride that he was the one to make this reputable level-headed jokester of a demon so enraged and bloodthirsty. 

Enough to seek vengeance on his behalf. 

It honestly… made him a little sick to his stomach. More so than the gruesome slaughter happening below. Why, his body up above must be rolling in its grave at the way Vox's heart was fluttering in his chest. 

“Please please no, NO-!!“ Another obscene squelch and splatter of blood coated an entire wall after Alastor sunk his giant teeth in another one of them and ripped the upper half of the body clean off. The sound of his teeth chewing through bone and flesh was haunting. Terror should have ran through his body when his lips parted to let out gleeful laughter, in a voice that had dropped down far too many octaves.

-but all Vox could do was happily close his eyes and drown himself in the man's frequencies. Enjoy the calming, soothing static that ironed out the crinks and kinks in his boxy head. To enjoy doing nothing and receiving everything. In these moments, Vox hated him just as much as he adored him. He made the option of surrender so fucking easy; made the idea of forgoing oneself, to omit ones individuality, to throw all of oneself away, so goddam easy. 

For the first time in decades, Vox felt the compulsion to drop down on his knees in worship. The urge to give himself, what was left of his mind, his autonomy away.

An unspeakably horrible thing for him to entertain. For he no longer felt the sting of revulsion that he’d trained himself to learn. This train of thought, this temptation to give in to his wiles, was far more dangerous to him than Alastor could ever be.

The sound of Alastor sniffing the air pulled him from his downward spiral. “Well, well, now what do we have here? This one smells freshly cooked.”

”GET YOUR FUCKIN PAWS OFF OF ME YOU UGLY BITCH.” 

Vox’s eyes snapped back open. The excitement in his gut flooding through the rest of his body when he saw the hybrid demon dangling from his burned arm in Alastors grasp. ‘Ooooh, yes. Fuck yes!’ The identity of the panicking demon currently on the verge of pissin himself in Alastors claws became a most welcome distraction. One that pulled those treacherous thoughts back into the void they’d birthed from. Vox's smile was unhinged as Alastors own when the Radio Demon turned his ginormous head in his direction. 

“Thought to prepare one for me Picture Box? Surely you know by now that I like my meat raw.”

Reign it in Vox, reign it the fuck in. He absolutely did not mean that in the way you mind is going, you goddamn pervert. “Well if buddy learned how to keep his hands to himself then I wouldn’t have needed to fry him in the first place.” Vox's smile sharpened, witnessing the utter dread to fall over the hybrids face. 

The menacing growl that followed shook the foundation of the entire building. The vibrations spread probably miles off from where they were located. As if hell itself was furious alongside the Radio Demon. For the growl hadn’t even come from the Eldritch monsters throat, but the airwaves themselves. 

The way Alastor cracked his enormous neck back around towards the demon in his hand sent terror shooting straight down his spine. A terror that excited him beyond any reasonable bounds. Alastor chuckled deeply and brought up his other hand to hold the demon steady. 

He took the demons charred arm between his fingertips… and began to twist.

”AAAAAHH!!!” That blood-curdling scream was almost enough to bring Vox to his knees. He couldn’t keep the naked adoration out of his eyes if he tried.

“Ĩ̵̤͝s̴̫̯͙̚͝ ̴̻̉ṱ̵͇̋̂h̵̗̱͉̾ạ̶͐̈́ṭ̸̍͘ ̴͖̗̯̒͌̚r̶̨̯̔̋̇i̶̼͚̍̚g̶̨̏̒h̴̖͒̓ẗ̵̛̤̻̯͝?̶͇̋”

”Is that right?”

”STOP! Please- PLEASE! NO, I stopped, okay?! I stopped! I didn’t-“ Another twist, another scream, another pop of bones and tendons dislodging from their owner. “I didn’t touch him! I didn’t touch him! I swear, I didn’t TOUCH HIM.”

D̶̺̈́́ȉ̴͙d̸̨̞̀ ̵̞̓h̶̦͗ḙ̶̡̛ ̵̩̼̼̀̓̔ṭ̷̡̹̋͋o̸͖̪̠̽͑u̶͇͗̍̚ͅc̸̛̞̯̃ẖ̶̈́̀̆ ̷͙͗̑ÿ̸̛̯̹͎́ó̶̪̫̑u̵͍͛͗̈ ̴̩͕̉̊̿ͅV̴͔̹͐̑͌o̶̙̺͌̿̎ͅx̵̢͖̰̂̋̋?̷͍̖̿

”Did he touch you Vox?”

Vox barely get out a word beyond his nod. “Yes.” He said, enamored by the display of sheer brutality. It was getting him so inappropriately hot under the collar. It was simply so effortless, how Alastor twisted the demons arm like it was nothing but a straw. Not even the sound and site of skin ripping apart, bloody muscles bursting and overlapping with each other deterred him from watching the show in it’s entirety. Alastor just kept twisting, and twisting, and twisting, till the bone of the shoulder was visible for him to see and the hybrid's arm eventually popped completely off. 

The filthy wretch was screaming bloody murder. Screaming, crying, begging for mercy from a God that will grant him none. He gave a full body shudder and both of his hands squeezed the barrel of the rifle tighter. The compulsion had returned. Vox would not give in, he simply would not. 

Alastor dropped the severed arm to the floor, while his eyes glowed with malicious glee, as he turned back to Vox once more. 

S̴͇̄̇h̸̽̎ͅờ̵͍̯͔̕w̷̛̹͘ ̵̼̈́̈́m̴̢̭̌ē̴̡̽͘ ̷̳͈̥̀̈͋w̵̼͐͋̓h̸̢̠͛̔̓ę̵̫͒r̵̭̖͍̽͒͠e̶̪̱͈̋ ̸̰̫͌m̴͈̂̇y̴̼̙̎̎ ̵̤͈͙̇̏d̸͉͇̄́̍ě̶̮̄ͅà̴̖̦͊͒ṛ̵̇.̸̺͒͋̌ͅ”̸̢̲̓́

“Show me where my dear.”

Good god, he was so fucked. So entirely, incredibly fucked- was he going to pass out? He was going to pass out.  

He felt way too light headed. So fucking dizzy that he actually nearly fell off the stool when snatching one of his hands away from the gun. Vox shakily gilded an arm down his thigh and to the bend of his knee. Fingers grabbing there possessively, pretending that his own hand was thinner, bonier, and covered with gore. “Here.” He said breathlessly, heat burying deeper in his abdomen at the way Alastors eyes followed his hand. Hot trail moving wherever his eyes dragged their gaze.

T̸̙͎̓̓h̸̙͚͈͛̅ḕ̷̢̠n̴̗̎̊ ̴̣̈́̅Î̸̠̙͎ ̵̰̈́k̴̘͈̮̅n̵͕̅̋̆o̸̖̲̓͛ẃ̵͎̜͠ ̶̹͝ẅ̴͔͙̠́h̴͕͔̋̕a̶̖͂t̸̔͊̀͜ ̸̢͖̎͆͝ͅÎ̴̺’̵̼͚̫̅͊̑l̸̬̦͆ľ̴̰̋͊ ̵̯͂b̶͕͚͎̈́͊͠ḛ̶́̈̉͜ͅ ̷̨̭̠͐r̷̙̝̠̚̚ê̶̝̻m̴̬̺̮̀͝o̶̧͍͎̚͠v̶̻͗͜ĭ̷̝́̽n̶̫͋̂̈́g̴̢͙̋̈́͑ ̶̟͙̜͋͋͝n̷͉̍ė̶̩x̷̗̱́t̵̼̺̊.̴͉͒”̴̜̰͛͘

“Then I know what I’ll be removing next.”

“No, no NO! PLEA-” Those cries fell on deaf ears, for Alastor wasted absolutely no time and eagerly went for the demon's leg. All sounds of protest and begging fell morphed into bloody screams, as Alastor grabbed him by the knee and twisted violently. The screams were vile. Vox breaths came through heavier and heavier with every sound of bone snapping. This time when the muscles ripped apart, blood splattered across Alastors face, which the monster licked away at with a smile. Cruel laughter erupted from the Radio Demons maw, as he just kept twisting, and twisting , and twisting. 

Like one twisted the leg off of a doll. Until finally, muscle and skin was stretched so thin, into a twizzler like spiral, enough for Alastor to yank off with a pop!

Vox had never felt a hunger as deep and vicious like this in his entire life. There was a euphoric ache, all over his body, no longer gathered at the base of his pelvis. It spread, everywhere, like malicious vines. Full of adrenaline and second-hand voyeuristic blood lust. Alastor smiled in his direction once more and he was pleasantly hit with the reminder that Alastor was doing this for him . 

Then the giant creature that was his mentor huffed in amusement. The kind of huff he did whenever Vox had literal hearts popping up in his digital eyes.

“ ̷̛̠͑A̴̠̺͍͝n̴̢̟͚̐̋͝y̶̫̮͛̅̇w̴̯̿̅ḩ̴͓̳͌̽e̸̗̟͊ṛ̵͉̂̐e̸̺͖̦͝ ̶͔̺̇̓e̶̱͓̮͌͝l̵̯̱̘͌́̈s̴̲̺͇̊e̵̼͌͊ ̵̙̅͒ͅm̴̫͕͎̋ỳ̶͍̙́͝ ̷̧̯͎̌͑d̷͍̜͙͒e̸̘̍͂ͅǎ̷̙r̴͛̚͜.̸̧̺̀̚”̴̟̋

“Anywhere else my dear?”

Vox somehow managed to break through the fog and shake his head. “No, that was it. Though I do recall…” Vox whispered out, dreamy and distracted. “-him mentioning wanting to mount my head in his van.”

This time Alastor watched him when he adjusted his grip, his thumb and forefinger closing down on the convulsing demon's throat. Vox’s hand squeezed Betsy in excitement and awe, eager as a puppy. He didn’t take notice of the eager nodding of his own head, the whispered “yes yes yes, do it, do it, please fucking do it.” That he was muttering under his breath like a mad man.

Sitting at the edge of his seat. A captive audience, an engaging audience. How could Alastor do anything but reward him for it? 

Everything else happened in silence, as he finally felt completely overwhelmed. Vox barely registered when the hybrids head went flying past his face, ricocheting off the wall behind him, only to come bouncing and rolling at the legs of his stool. Didn’t stare smittenly at the rush of blood dripping from the decapitated body, flooding over Alastors fingers and down his wrist. He only had eyes for the Radio Demon himself. In all his horrible, hideous, unmerciful beauty.

♣♣

The body dropped from Alastor's fingers with a loud thud. The demons enormous hand flicking the excess blood from his digits before it moved towards him, making a beeline for the Televisions face.  

Vox was thrown further into dreamland when Alastor stretched one of those large fingers to caress the side of his head, almost like one would do to a pet cat. His body moved on auto-pilot, grabbing the bloody finger with both hands, his thighs squeezing around Alastors prized gun to keep it from falling to the floor. 

There was no way to describe the elation of having a monster's eyes look at you so fondly, to have its hand touching you so carefully, after butchering over a dozen people so effortlessly.

He still to this day had trouble recognizing the nightmare in front of him, elongated neck broken in four places and teeth reminiscent of one of those ugly ass angler fish rather than a deer, as being his Alastor. The one that laughed at his horrible jokes and learned how to make his sweet, abominable coffee despite hating its very existence. The man who liked to steal lemon slices from his drink and would polish his screen clean first after a bloody excursion they’d take together. 

-and now here he was, giant hand dissolving into shadow so that the deer demon could re-emerge beside him. Now back to his more compact size but drenched head to toe in blood, face still covered in all kinds of fleshy viscera. He took out a silk handkerchief from his front pocket to wipe away the gore around his mouth. 

A dainty horror of a man. 

Vox is a love sick fool and the day he finally admitted it, to either himself or Alastor, would truly be the day that there was truly no turning back for him.

“What a disgusting lot they were, but they certainly made for a good enough snack! Glad I didn't spoil my appetite.” Alastor said, good mood and transatlantic voice returning to him. Vox was still stuck in dreamland when the deer stepped closer to him and pulled out a new handkerchief to wipe away the blood, dust and debri that covered Vox’s fully repaired screen. 

Never let anyone try to convince him that the Radio Demon wasn’t a sentimental man. Especially not the man himself. He’d never admit to it, even as he tilted Vox’s head back and forth to assess if there was any more damage for him to take care of. Gently sweeping away any smudges and imperfections only to frown at his own bloody hands when they ended up making more of a mess. ‘Please stop-‘ He begged internally, while the dopey smile never left his face. ‘I need to resist you. I really really need to resist you right now.’  

“You doing alright there pal?” Alastor asked, amused and patting the side of his head like it was still a cheek. “Got all your bolts screwed back in tight?” 

“Just fine Alastor.” He said with a content sigh, taking the moment to bask in Alastor doting on him like he was something precious. It wasn’t often he got to have Alastor’s hands on him like this, gentle and kind. Whatever capacity he had for sweetness was usually saved for Rosie and Nifty, who were allowed much more liberty when it came to touching Alastor. 

Vox could understand. He was handsy when it came to the Radio Demon and it didn’t take much for him to get carried away. Possessive in all the ways he knew Alastor did not like. He managed to hide enough of himself from the deer's eye, but they both knew it was still there and that it wasn’t planning on going anywhere, anytime soon.

Especially if these feelings of his escalated. So, he swallowed his greed and let himself bask in the Radio Demons gentle fussing. It was nice to be the one on the receiving end of Alastors affection. Even if it did cost him his pride. Even if it did cost him… his first major event. 

Vox's smile suddenly dropped from his face, as he was reminded of where he was supposed to be. “Al, the Gala…” 

“Hmmm.” Alastor gave the T.V demon a cheeky looking smirk. “ Ah yes, you are quite tardy aren't you my dear. Being fashionably late is one thing on its own but getting inconveniently kidnapped by incompetent mobsters on one of the biggest days of your afterlife? Honestly , Vox.” 

There was an apologetic gleam in the T.V demons' suddenly rounded eyes, one that made whatever little bit of irritation he saw in Alastors eyes melt away. “I’m sorry. This was so damn stupid of me. Like, really fucking dumb. I don’t know why I wasn’t paying attention.”

”Excited for your grand venture I’m sure.” Alastor sighed exasperated but fond. It made the knots in Vox’s stomach loosen just a tad. Surprised but overall, pleased that his mentor was not as angry with him as he imagined. 

“Yeah, one that I’m currently absent for. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to make it back in time. I have no idea where we are.”

“Nonsense! Why I can get us there in two shakes of a lambs tail!”

Vox looked at Alastor with concern. “Are- are you sure Al? I summoned you.” Vox grabbed his hand before it could fully leave his face. Eyes widening in dismay at the tremble he hadn't felt through the metal encasing his head.

Alastor was quick to snatch his hand away, whisking away both the handkerchiefs and his rifle with a wave of magic. Sending them right back to the pocket dimension he had them stored in.

“Never mind about me, silly box. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m actually quite impressed! You managed to make my summoning sigil perfectly with both hands tied behind your back. Talk about dexterity. Ha ha ha!” Unfortunately, Alastor’s humor didn’t get rid of the sickening amount of guilt on Vox’s face. As the media demon sent over soothing energy through the radio waves, poking around Alastor’s main frequency, trying to soothe pain. 

Alastor’s grit his teeth, not knowing if he was charmed or insulted by the gesture.

…he decided he was charmed. He had been the one to warn Vox that summoning him was not pleasant. So instead of snarling out something nasty, he simply reached back out to pat the side of Vox’s silly boxed head, coaxing the T.V’s attention back to him and out of his frequencies. “I’m fine Vox.” 

Vox looked at him for a moment too long, searching his eyes for something. Perhaps a show of pain? Trickery? Alastor didn’t care to know but he was pleased when his pupil decided to relent and drop his concern then and there. “Alright. If you say so.” 

“Splendid!” Alastor exclaimed, flicking his hand away from Vox’s face and finally taking a step back to assess the damage. “Hmm, now let’s finish tidying you up, shall we?” The Radio Demon said with a quick snap of his fingers and in a flourish of green magic, both of them were clean once more. 

Vox huffed in relief as Alastors magic restored his flawless suit back to the state it’d been in when he left the tailors. Steamed and pressed to perfection, all sharp creases and crisp lines. Shiny indigo shoes glinting beneath the warehouse lights that’d turned back on once Alastor finished his slaughter.  

Vox faltered for a moment when he went to fix his tie, thrown off kilter and lacking some of the confidence he had when he first left the tailors earlier that day. But then Alastor gave him a good once over, dragging his eyes up and down his frame, slowly and with a dangerous looking smirk. “Lovely." He purred, the sound of radio thick in his voice and all of Vox’s self doubt vanished into thin air.

There was a long stretch of time where he mourned his inability to charm his way in and out of peoples ire by looks alone, ever since landing into Hell. The beauty he’d been graced with in life had been all but robbed from him in death. His silky dark ebony hair, devilishly handsome smile, hazel and blue heterochromic eyes, and overall beautiful face. There was a reason beyond his natural showmanship to why he made it big on television. A reason why he had easily gained so many devotees in his many years as a figure of worship.

Hell robbed his beauty from him, robbed him of one of the boons given to him by his objectively gorgeous but senile parents. Yet the Radio Demon seemed to be one of the people that somehow managed to make him feel pretty. Feel handsome and attractive. Cute, even with his head cursed to be a Television for the rest of his after life. 

And he didn’t even need to fuck him to do it. 

He looked back to Alastor with a grin, only to do a complete double take as he finally saw for the first time that night what the Radio Demon was wearing. 

Alastors shirt was made of a deep red satin material. The waistcoat beneath his wine-red suit jacket was the darkest blue-velvet he’d ever seen, decorated with embroidered crimson roses. All topped off with a black bow-tie at his neck and a new shiny gold monocle to complete the rather elegant look. 

Pretty. 

Alastor looked so fucking pretty.

He’d gotten all dolled up all for his gala. Gorgeous enough that any arm he decided to hang off of tonight was going to have Vox boiling in a jealous rage. “That is far more like it! Pressed and primed to perfection if I do say so myself. Though you’d do better with a bow-tie.” Alastor said, moving closer to brush some dust off of Vox’s lapels and straightening his regrettably normal tie. Sending the T.V demon into an even deeper hole that was filled with nothing but adoration for the red-headed menace in front of him. 

The staff suddenly made an appearance beside them, bursting to life like it had a mind of its own. “You look like a new man! New man in no’ mans land! Ahahaha!”

”Ha ha ha, alright. That’s enough out of you.” The mic let out a radio garble being snatched out of thin air by its master. “Honestly, you get so chatty after a meal.” Alastor tapped the- grinning? - eyeball in the middle of his cane. Vox grinned along with it and decided to take that low hanging fruit, and cup the curve of Alastors elbow with his hand.

”Just like his owner.”

”Aha, watch it Television.” Alastor tapped at his screen. “Don’t get cute with me just cause you’re wearing a pretty little suit. It might just not save you!” Vox shrugged his shoulders placatingly, with nothing but warmth in his eyes. 

“You look gorgeous tonight Alastor.” Ah, there it was. A slight screech of radio feedback, as Alastor blinked at him in slight shock. Vox gently grasped the hand that’d been on his face and brought the hand to his lips. Ignoring the tremble that he knew Alastor was trying to hide. “Just stunning. May I spin you?” 

“I-” Alastor for a moment was at a loss for words. Unsure whether he should indulge the silly picture box before detestably giving in to the pleading, almost puppy-like look on Vox’s face. Honestly, a man with a box for a head shouldn’t be able to look that cute, no matter how pathetically round he made his damn eyes to be. Alastor huffed, “Well, if you insist. I did have this little ensemble put together for your special event after all.” He said, playing along and trying not to let the happiness of Vox’s smile get to him in any meaningful way.

He probably shouldn’t have allowed the man to pull his arm up and spin him around a few times if he didn’t want to be stuck with the absolutely smitten look the Television was giving him. 

“Amazing.” Vox whispered, as he admired the full cut of Alastors fit. The back of the suit jacket had the outline of faded black roses extending from the collar, all the way down to the coat-tail. “Rose really knows how to flatter you best.” Alastors fluffy hair bounced around his face when he finally came to a stop, smiling genuinely at the compliment to Rosie’s skills. 

“I would hope so! Darling, evil woman that she is, pricks me enough with those needles of hers to get me into the right measurements for all her devious attempts at diversifying my wardrobe.” Alastor says, flippantly flicking his hand in the air. 

“What a tragedy.” He said, bringing his hand down to stare at it with care. He ran a sharp thumb over the pulse point of Alastors wrist. There was something uncomfortably heart-felt in Vox’s gaze this time around that the Radio Demon struggled to keep his aloof composure when met with whatever the fuck gooey nonsense was in Vox’s eyes. “Thank you Alastor.”

Vox watched as tension bled from Alastors shoulders and he was met back with an even softer smile from before. Finally giving in and allowing Vox to keep hold of his hand for a moment longer, despite his inability to shake off the trembling. “Yes well… ahem-” He cleared his throat and twirled the cane in his other hand to distract himself from the amount of sincerity bleeding from Vox’s face. Honestly, you’d think he’d never been thanked for anything before with the amount of deflection he was failing to fight off. “You’d do well to make sure it doesn’t happen again, yes?” Vox nodded placatingly, squeezing Alastors hand in his own to attempt to comfort him once more. Alastor decided right then and there that he’d about had enough of that. 

“Right, now then!” He snatched his hand away, happy that Vox let go without protest. “I believe we have a function to be getting back to! You know the drill, put your hand on the cane and brace yourself old chum. This is unfortunately going to be a very bumpy ride.” Alastor tapped his cane to the ground below twice, causing a dark portal to open beneath their feet. 

Vox took in a deep breath to steady himself before reaching out to grab at the cane’s shaft. Stomach flying into his throat as both demons fell right through the void once more.