Chapter Text
Cannibal Town stinks like rot, smoke, and fresh blood you did not sign up for.
You cling tighter to your bags as Alastor practically glides ahead of you, humming a bright old-timey tune that absolutely does not match the environment. Every note he releases seems to mock your discomfort, bouncing cheerfully against the eerie moaning winds.
“Why,” you hiss through clenched teeth, “did you bring me to Cannibal Town?!”
A nearby demon looks up from licking a bone clean and leers at you. You look away immediately.
Alastor doesn’t even turn around. “Because,” he chirps, stepping around a puddle you really hope isn’t blood, “we happened to be out and about, and I needed to run a quick errand!”
“That didn’t answer anything!” you snap, side-stepping a demon gnawing on someone’s discarded ribcage like it’s a turkey leg at a state fair. The demon gives you a nod as if offering to share. You gag. “What part of errand implies dragging me, the brand-new sinner, into a place where the sidewalks are literally drip?”
They were, in fact, dripping.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he calls back, which is rich coming from him. “Cannibal Town offers a unique charm!”
You gesture broadly at the carnage around you. “Yeah, if you’re a serial killer!”
He laughs in that static-laced sing-song way of his. “Well, what does that make me?”
Wait. You stop walking. Your gaze freaking out as your eyebrows couldn't decided to scrunch or lift. "W—what do you mean by that?"
Alastor stops and looks over his shoulder. Giving a grin before shrugging and continuing on. Humming still in tune with each step.
"Alastor you can't just leave it at that!" You blink, trying rationalize what he's insinuating. Your feet picking up to try and catch up with his long strides. "Are... Are you telling me you're... You're a..."
Your memory kicked into high gear, trying to think of any thing. "What... What was your full name again? Alastor...?"
He just chuckles again, not even looking at you. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Alastor. Alastor. Alastor... New Orleans. You think of him using twenties slang to mock you. Okay so 20s or 30s... Killers in the thirties, think... you didn't know any that were in New Orleans—You froze, a gasp leaving your throat as a sudden realization hit you. Your gut plummeting a hundred feet. Holy fuck...
"Oh my fucking God ..." The words left your lips. "Holy fuck you're—you're Alastor Hartfelt! The New Orleans Butcher!"
Alastor stopped and somehow the world grew eerily silent. No voices, no cars, no screams—nothing. Completely and utterly silent. It sent chills up your spine as his body slowly turned around. Eyes wide like he's both seen a ghost and subsequently wants to murder that ghost.
"... That's a name I haven't heard in almost a hundred years." He hisses, his nose scrunching a little as he spoke.
Your jaw dropped as he didn't even deny it. "Oh my God, oh my fuck, you are him aren't you?"
The deer rolled his eyes with a grinning sneer. "If I answer you, you will never say that name again, bluenose dame."
"Stop calling me a bluenose—and yes I will never utter your name again if you just stop dancing around the subject!"
Alastors sneer turns into an amused grin as he shrugs once again. "Hmph, well, you are not wrong in your guess."
You jaw drops even farther to the ground. This is absolutely mad, I literally just watched the documentary of him on Netflix last week!
"This is absolutely insane! I—I mean, I just watched the documentary on you, like, last week or so!"
His brow quirked. "There's documentaries of me?" He laughs airly, in disbelief and almost hate.
"Uh, yeah," you nod. Struggling to keep up with his long strides once more. "Dude you, you're like, a famous case—my god I can't believe I'm associating with serial killers now. My pop pop would kill me...My grandpas talked about you, how his parents lived in fear because of you. He remembers the newspapers—I, I mean he was a teenager when you were killing people."
Alastors grin grows wider. "Well, I'll take the compliment."
You wanted to strangle this sarcastic man. "Stop taking compliments when they're not supposed to be compliments!" You took in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I... I can't believe I'm walking next to a serial killer..."
"And Cannibal~"
You froze again as Alastor sped up. I remember that from his doc, but man, I was kind of hoping they were wrong. "A—Alastor! Stop, you—you can't just say that kinda shit and walk away!"
Alastor only hums as he ignores you once more, stalking his merry way down the street. You huff as you catch up, sweat building on your brow as you were ready to call him out.
Then right on cue, two children sprint past you while tossing a skull back and forth like a football. One of them calls, “Go long!” and the skull flies beautifully through the air.
You freeze mid-step.
“…They’re playing football,” you whisper, “with a human head.”
“Exquisite arm strength for their age,” Alastor comments lightly.
“Are you serious right now?!”
He shrugs, doesn’t even stop, the bastard, and merely turns the next corner, humming louder as if compensating for your horrified sputtering.
You jog a few steps to catch up. “Did you really need me here for this errand?”
“Well… no,” he says brightly. “Not in the slightest! But it was convenient!”
You stare at him. He beams. You consider throwing a shoe at him.
He glances back at you just long enough to taunt, “Careful, Ace! You’re making quite an expressive face. You’ll attract attention!”
“You dragged me into Cannibal Town!” you hiss back. “Attention was guaranteed!”
Alastor laughs, then he claps his hands. “Ah! We’re here!”
You follow the motion of his arm, expecting something horrifying. A butcher shop. A bone market. Something.
You do not expect—A pink shop.
A cute, pastel pink shop, tucked in the middle of a street that looks like it was decorated by a grandma rather than a cannibal. Its storefront practically glows with warm, wholesome energy that feels illegal here.
The sign above the door twinkles in warm rose-gold cursive:
ROSIE’S EMPORIUM
You blink. “…This is… here? In Cannibal Town?”
“Oh, indeed,” Alastor says proudly. “Only the finest!”
You give him a slow, baffled look. “This looks like a cupcake shop....”
“Don't tell Rosie, she'll take that as an insult,” he replies.
Before you can argue that that wasn’t an insult, he strides forward and opens the door with a sweeping gesture. A bell jingles overhead and echoes through the parlor.
You step inside and immediately freeze. The interior is bustling. Demons weave through aisles filled with jars of herbs, trinkets, preserved flowers, fragrance bottles, fabrics, charms, enchanted sweets, handmade jewelry.
Even the air feels different. Floral, sweet, layered with enchantments that brush your skin like soft static. A faint echo of classical music somewhere in the back adds a serene undertone that contrasts sharply with the chaos outside.
“This is… cute,” you whisper, barely believing it.
Alastor chuckles under his breath. “This is the place to be in Cannibal Town.”
You elbow him lightly. “Do you just say ominous-sounding things for fun?”
“Yes.”
“What if I said I hated it here?” you mutter.
He pats your shoulder with mock sympathy. “Then I’d remind you that you willingly followed me.”
“I—I did not willingly follow you—!”
“Oh look, Rosie!”
You choke on your rage. You’re still taking in the shop when movement draws your attention.
At the checkout counter stands a tall demon woman dressed head-to-toe in Edwardian fashion. Her smile is razor-sharp, literally—her teeth glint like polished knives. Her white hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.
She’s mid-conversation with a cluster of customers when her gaze lifts—And lands on you two.
Her eyes widen and she gasps. “ALASTOR!” Her voice echoes like a cheerful gunshot.
She abandons her group with a flourish and practically shuffles toward him in a half-shimmy, half-sprint. Her skirt swishes dramatically with each step.
Alastor’s polite smile twitches—just for a second—but he quickly masks it.
You catch it, though. And it’s kind of hilarious.
“Rosie, my dear!” Alastor says with exaggerated charm. “It has been far too long!”
“Oh, don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” she laughs, swatting at his arm. “You haven’t visited in ages. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me!”
He tenses at that, the tiniest flinch. Rosie seemed to notice as she grins and giggles. It almost makes you mimic her, seeing Alastor irked was slightly amusing.
Then her attention shifts to you.
“And who,” she coos, eyes softening, “is this cute little demon?”
You nearly trip over your own feet. “Cute—what— I, uh—"
Alastor swoops in dramatically. “This is Ace! A poor new sinner who has only just fallen!”
Rosie gasps. “Oh, honey. Come here.”
You blink. “Uh—hi?”
She looks you over with motherly concern and adds. “I’m so sorry, darling. You look terribly young.”
You shrug awkwardly. “Thanks. But—well. Hard to control things when you’re… poisoned, I guess.”
The moment the word poisoned leaves your lips, Rosie’s face hardens, placing a tender hand over her heart. “Oh, how awful, I'm sorry dear.”
"It's, uh, it's okay, I guess?" You're so thrown off by this towering woman you don't know how else to respond to her, other than just stare up at her. Is this how Ethan Winters felt looking up at Lady Dimitrescu?
Alastor watches closely, curious.
“Well, welcome to Cannibal town! Our happy little spot in the pentagram!" Rosie flourishes a hand dramatically. "I am Rosie, owner of Rosie's Emporium!"
"Lovely to meet you.." you gulp. "... Rosie."
She grins and giggles at your stupor state. "What brings you both here?” she asks.
“We are out shopping!” Alastor announces proudly, gesturing at your bags like they’re evidence in a court case.
You lift your arms lamely. “Yep. Shopping, heh.”
Rosie claps her hands sharply. “Well then! Come on, darling!”
Before you can react, she places her hands on your shoulders and turns you toward workers lined up like attendants.
“Go, pick out anything you like, on the house.”
You panic. “Oh—I can’t—please—really—!”
“Shh shh shh,” Rosie hushes, literally putting a finger to your lips. “You’re new. You’re traumatized. And you’re cute. That means freebies!”
You felt helpless as a couple women coo at you and drag you off to who knows where
Alastor waves you off with a mocking grin. “Enjoy!”
You swear you’ll drown him in a decorative fountain later.
Workers hook their arms with yours and happily drag you toward the jewelry displays.
Rosie gives you a final reassuring wave before turning back to Alastor. Her cheerful expression falls like a curtain.
“You’re right,” she murmurs, voice lowered. “There is something off about her.”
Alastor folds his hands behind his back. “Indeed.”
“You still can’t place it?” Rosie asks.
“No,” he admits, annoyed. “And... i must admit, though I hate to, she truly stumps me. It's like her soul is owned, yet it isn't. It's an obscure feeling I have never felt about someone before."
"Hm," Rosie ponders, rubbing her chin. "Her entire being screams something vicious, yet she seems as harmless as a butterfly..."
"Now you see what I meant the other night when I visited you." Alastor sneers, "I don't know whether to believe she is as harmless as you say or if she is a real threat."
Rosie gives him a sly look. “You know, when you first told me you weren’t sure about her, I thought you meant you had a crush on her.”
A record scratches so loud, passerbys cover their ears and glare over at the two.
Alastor chokes as a disgusted chill crawls up his spine. Eyes glitching between red, black and the radio dials. Trying to process what Rosie had dared to say. “I—what—absolutely not!”
Rosie bursts into laughter. “You should’ve seen your face!” She wheezes. “You look like someone stole your pride!”
Alastor grumbles. “Your humor has not improved.”
“My humor is flawless,” she sniffs. "Come now you have to admit, it was hilarious!"
Alastors grin quivers. "Ha, Ha, Ha, no."
"Oh come now Alastor, it would have been adorable to witness your first little crush!"
Alastor gags at the very idea. "I will never in my death, not have I ever in my life, felt any sense of attraction or romance to anyone. And I will not be starting today."
Rosie sighs like a disappointed mother. "How disappointing, I could have had a wonderful wedding gown prepared—"
"R̴̳̰̲̍̏́ō̶̤̘̉s̴̫̫̀̃i̵̲̩͕̎̊̃̅e̵̡̯͓͛"
The woman shrugs with a chuckle, not at all phased by the radio demon. "Okay, alright Alastor, I'll stop... But only because I will forever treasure this moment as hilarious."
He rolls his eyes with another huff. "Well, what are we going to do about her?"
Rosie turns back to look at the swan demon. Watching her be smothered by the workers throwing any and every product she may like in her direction. Rosie all by tilts her head, lost in thought.
"Keep her at the hotel, and keep an eye on her."
Alastor sneers at the prospect. "You already have me babysitting one demon, I don't want to babysit another—"
"You don't have to babysit her," Rosie rolls her eyes. "Just keep an eye on her, observe her. If she really isn't telling the truth in who she is, you may be able to find out why sooner or later."
Then the demoness head perked up. Her lips curving into a grin as she rubbed her chin. "Maybe..." She holds her finger up. "I think I may have a way to get some more out of her... Figure her out." With the hand she ushers for Alastor to follow her. He does so, but with a hesitant sigh.
They walk a few steps, watching Ace with curiosity. Rosie leans in slightly and asks, “Do you like anything in particular yet, dear?”
Your head shoots up at the two, not having heard them come up behind you. You shrug, fumbling with a small charm. “I… I like a few things, but I don’t even know where to start.”
“Take your time,” Rosie says warmly. “It’s all here for you.”
Alastor adds, “Yes yes, ponder carefully. It's not as if we have spent all day shopping as it is...” a scoff escapes him as he lets down at you.
You glare at him, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You dragged me here, jerk! You could have whisked me back to the hotel with your fairy godmother powers and come here by yourself!"
Alastor gives you a mortified look, like you've not only insulted him but insulted his family name by the saying.
Rosie chuckles. “Oh I like you. Just ignore his frivolous behavior, men will be men.”
Alastor huffs, flaring static like a minor storm. “I beg your pardon—”
Rosie ignores Alastor and continues staring down at you. "Anywho, how do you like the shop, darling?”
You smile. “It’s… really nice. Quaint, actually.”
Alastor raises an eyebrow at your soft tone. “My my, Ace. Flattery does become you.”
You shoot him a look. “I’m allowed to like things.”
“Hmph, I guess,” he teases.
Rosie pats your shoulder gently. “Tell me, dear—what in my shop is calling you? Screaming your name?"
"Uh," you pase, thinking. "I... I'm not sure... I'm not even sure what I want in general—"
"Well, what do you want most in the world?”
You blink at her. “That’s… a big question.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she repeats warmly.
You sigh. “I guess… maybe…" Silence consumes the store as if you three were the only ones in it. You looked down at your shoes, rubbing one against the other in thought, before the words came tumbling out. "I’d like to know how Rhett is doing, my boyfriend ... I've been worried about him, horribly so...”
Rosie’s expression softens further. "So.. you're wanting to see your partner once more?"
You shake your head, lowering your gaze to the ground. "No, I understand I've passed, and I can't change that... I just, want to see how he's coping, if he's taking care of himself and is okay."
Alastor rolls his eyes with a click of his tongue. "How sentimental."
You glare at the radio demon. "Oh shut up Alastor."
His nose scrunches as Rosie releases a snort of a laugh, trying her best to cover it before her attention goes back to you. "Is that all dear?"
You go to shake your head, but you stopped. The way she was asking these questions, it felt like a test. What that test was you weren't sure, but you found the next sentence slipping past your lips before you could stop yourself. “... And I want to know who poisoned me,” you add quietly.
Alastor goes very still, brow curled with intrigue.
Rosie places a hand over yours. “What if I told you, I could help you with both of those?"
You paused, starring up at her with wide sparkling eyes as what she was proposing. "You ... Can?"
She giggles with a nod. "Of course! You are lucky to be in the presence of one of the few overlords who has access to the world above!"
...Overlords?
She hums as a clawed finger taps her chin in thought. "Now it may take a while as I have to find a way to find this man without being called upon by him, as well whomever may have poisoned you ... " A sweet smile grew upon her face. "But I would love to help you..."
Her tone of voice had your brow quirking up. "... Do I... Owe you... Something?"
Rosie laughs and waves you off like you said the funniest joke. "Heavens, nothing too crazy!" She giggles, that sweet smile returning. "In exchange for me helping you, I just need a little model to help perfect my next line of dresses for the emporium! Maybe even a little helped in deciding new fragrances to put out."
Alastor huffs with a roll of his eyes. "How boring—"
You couldn't even process his mumbles as Rosie smashed her heel into his foot. The radio demon hissing as he tries his best to play it off, but not doing it well.
You think over it for a moment, but if that's all she needed, and nothing that has to deal with blood or your soul... Or being dinner... You couldn't refuse. So with a confident grin, you thrusted your hand out to the sinner.
"It's a deal."