Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Despite what Lucifer seemed to think, Alastor truly did not know that the man couldn’t harm sinners. Had he known, one best believe that Alastor would have made a far bigger show of it. He would have traded the information away for quite literally anything, rather than just sitting on the knowledge and trying to goad their king. No no, he truly hadn’t the faintest idea. Really, the whole thing was unfortunate more than anything. Alastor had no desire to sit there and tease a wet noodle, a neutered puppy. It wasn’t fun and it wasn’t sporting. All in all — boring.

It was so absolutely, dreadfully, far too unendingly boring.

He had come back to the hotel because, for all that he might have won his little bluff with Rosie, he truly had managed to start developing some bonds within this little collective. More importantly, his souls had managed to create connections to this place, and though he cared little for Husker’s opinion, dragging his darling Niffty away from her Baxter would cause some behavioral problems, of this he was certain. Yet the fact that his freedom was technically amounting to doing the same thing as before, simply in a slightly better mood, was starting to frustrate. Surely there was something else he could do. Something. Anything. He felt like he needed another goal to reach for, something to strive toward.

He hummed to himself and twirled his cane around as he moved into the front lobby. Throughout the building were numerous little puppets of his, performing miscellaneous tasks offhandedly, like straightening a piece of furniture or handing a guest a key. Thankfully, such things didn’t take too much effort to automate, and now that he was no longer injured and sending all his energy into not dying from that little wound from Adam, he no longer needed to rely on dear — what was it now? Vaggi? — for assistance in his job.

More interesting than the hustle and bustle of their now filled lobby was the way the King moved through it, fumbling and apologetic at every bump or slip. He waved his hands around and practically tripped over himself, surrounded by sinners all quite a bit larger than him. It wasn’t as if any of them could actually harm the King, not without vast effort and the assistance of something created by Carmilla, and yet the King seemed so much less confident than he had been prior to his interactions with Vox. Technically speaking, little had actually changed between then and now, but the King was utterly lacking the bluster he used to summon.

The little King stumbled into a large sinner, smoking and angry-looking with pale yellow skin and dripping fangs. Alastor tilted his head to the side and used one of his summons to listen in.

“Woah—okay, sorry about running into you there, big guy! You know, I mean, don’t want to alarm you or anything, but you’re kinda, like, dripping all over the place out of your mouth, and it’s kinda gross, so like, you should probably fix that,” the King said, waving a hand over the sinner’s body.

The sinner tensed, eyes narrowing in on the King. He leaned over him, and some of the liquid dropping from his mouth splattered onto the King’s hat, his crown. Lucifer stumbled back, “Oh god! What the fuck, that was fucking gross.”

“Mind your manners, puppet. Just because Vox didn’t work out doesn’t mean we don’t know how useless—”

Alastor narrowed his eyes but cut off his connection to the puppet below.

Swiftly, he slid his way back into his room, waving his hand to summon up the sofa in the middle of his bayou. Alastor leaned back and considered what he had just seen. What a vile little creature. To think that at one point Alastor himself had tried to bait the King into action, yet now things like that sinner could do so, and the King was truly cursed with inaction as a sinner — for lack of a better term — spat on him. Alastor didn’t know what that was. He wouldn’t label it entertainment, more like an annoyance. It brought up the question of what exactly he should do about this annoyance.

It had been simple enough before his seven-year break to simply start up a broadcast with the reason behind his annoyance as the main focus. But he couldn’t quite do that yet, not when he was still so deeply associated with the hotel. Plus, he hardly wanted the King to know that Alastor was the one who had decided to off the mannerless cur. Of course, he could just kill the sinner, but that was so uncreative and rather boring, and the poor thing would never understand the folly of its mistake in playing with the little King, who was technically still Alastor’s interest, even if playing with him was boring for all its lack of consequences.

What an odd position to be put into.

Perhaps he could use some assistance in figuring out what to do.

Hmmm… Annoying his darling Rosie was also something sitting on his rather vacant to-do list. Two birds with one stone, as it were. For all that she treated him like a pet, she was rather good at advice.

Alastor allowed himself to fade into the shadows and materialized right outside of Rosie’s shop. He swung both doors open with the same level of enthusiasm as before — no, far more enthusiasm, because he was free now, and seeing her without the fear of his chain getting pulled truly was a new experience he knew he would enjoy.

“Rosie, darling, it’s Alastor~!”

“Why, if it isn’t the backstabber. You have a lot of nerve showing up here, don’t you, dear~?” Rosie said, coming down the stairs. Yet despite her words, there was a flick of the wrist and the usual summoning of the blood Thai tea they both enjoyed so much. Alastor took a seat and allowed himself to actually enjoy the first sip of his beverage.

He smirked at her, allowing one side of his smile to droop ever so slightly, wanting her to know that yes, it was a smirk, and yes, he was quite smug. “How have you been, my dear?”

She frowned, but sighed and shook it off. “Oh, just fine, I suppose. I certainly wasn’t expecting your company, now that you have everything you want.”

She gestured to his staff.

“How bold of you to assume that I don’t enjoy your company, my dear. Why, if you hadn’t refused to fix my staff in the first place, I never would have needed to take such measures. But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to have me sing that damnable—”

Alastor cut off his words as they started to drift away from his more measured speech and into something closer to growled complaints.

Rosie, however, beamed at him. “Oh Alastor, I didn’t know that you wanted to be—”

“Don’t say that word.”

“—Friends~! Why didn’t you just say so!” She was far too smug.

His ears pinned back. “You are an infuriating woman. I’ve no clue why I decided to bother with you.”

Something more genuine flickered across her face. “I did, of course, know that you would someday attempt to break your chains, my favorite demon, but I hardly expected you to come by for tea afterward. I must admit, one could become accustomed. Why, did you miss your dear Rosie’s advice?”

The words were joking but clearly true. Alastor half rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

She made a show of gasping, a hand covering the abyss that was her mouth. “Why Alastor, does that mean you’ve come with juicy gossip for me? Why didn’t you just say so, we could have skipped all the ribbing and gotten down to business much sooner. Now tell me, what brings you to my shop today? I’m a generous woman, so I won’t put a price on my advice.”

The price for her advice was the gossip that Alastor knew she enjoyed, but if she wanted to pretend to be a giving person, he supposed he couldn’t stop her. “Yes, well, you see, I have become quite listless, I will admit.”

“I’d imagine so,” Rosie responded, and there was still some bitterness there.

“Now now, Rosie, don’t be such a downer. You know as well as I it was bound to happen. Ah yes, where was I—The hotel is rather boring as of late, and knowing that I cannot truly force the King to snap means I can’t find fun in that little side project anymore. And, for the reputation of the hotel, I can no longer find someone to broadcast beautiful screams, at least not until I start to separate myself from the facility. Then I saw our rather incompetent King get drooled on by a sinner, and I thought to myself, it’s quite the shame to miss the perfect opportunity to teach someone to respect their betters—”

“An interesting amount of respect you seem to have developed for Lucifer,” Rosie commented, her fingers interlocked and her chin resting in her hands as she leaned forward with interest.

Respect was not the word he would use. No, something more like unfulfilled annoyance would be more accurate. “Now that is simply not the case.”

“Are you quite sure? Well, never mind that. If you are looking for something interesting to do, and you want to start with that demon you were considering before, perhaps you should just murder all the people who are looking to overturn the Morningstar rule. Surely that would give you plenty to do, it’s practically half the Pentagram.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“I have no intention of helping Lucifer, but also, that would still have me running into the problem of giving the hotel a bad reputation.”

“Well, instead of killing them, just contract them.”

Alastor laughed. “Contract them? Like you said, that’s half the Pentagram, don’t be ridiculous.”

She took a sip of her tea. “Well, start with Overlords, then have Overlords do the rank and file of it all, and it might happen faster than you think. Either way, it will give you something potentially never-ending to do with your energy. After all, my dear demon, you’d hardly ever be satisfied—”

He didn’t want to hear her words, knowing they would sound far too similar to the ones he had given Vincent, and Alastor never favored reminders of how similar he was to that TV-headed joke. So he disappeared. What would Rosie do, scold him for rudeness? No, they were far past that now. If she tried, he would simply vanish before she could say a word at their next meeting.

He had to admit, there was something about her advice. It would be… nice, to have something to occupy his time. And trying to contract all those who stood against Lucifer would take a lot of time and effort, and subsequently also gain him a great deal of power. It was a win-win, even though he wasn’t the biggest fan of helping Lucifer. It was a mostly positive sort of action and, if he was found out, at worst it would reflect positively on the hotel. Perhaps a little trial wouldn’t be too out of place. And thankfully, there were certain perks that came from being the hotelier.

He appeared in the main lobby and quickly skimmed through their books until he found the room of the demon from before. His eyes gleamed, flickering through radio frequencies as he located the number. Twirling his staff, he rested it on his shoulder and made his way to the room, ignoring all others and enjoying the way the crowd split in half to let him through. All of them remembering the way he had utterly destroyed Vox in their little battle, and knowing better than to get in his way. Splendid.

He knocked on the door when he reached it, but didn’t wait for an answer, slipping into shadows and entering beneath the gap before re-materializing. Before the sinner could do or say anything, Alastor gestured toward him, and shadows broke off, covering the man’s mouth in black and muffling anything the would-be speaker could say. Hmmm. Alastor always did enjoy the sound of that muffled silence as a victim tried to plead their case. How lovely to hear it again.

“Now, I’m sure you are quite confused as to what this is about, and I don’t blame you~! I too am surprised to find myself here.” Alastor crowded in toward the sinner. Ah, he was looking a little too defiant. With a wave of his hand, Alastor used his shadows to force the sinner into a bow. Much better.

“It seems that you don’t really know your place when you are before the King of Hell, and I find myself in need of some…”

Alastor paused, running a finger along the edge of his staff as he grinned down at the now trembling sinner. “…entertainment. So, I wonder, little sinner, do you want to live?”

His tentacle withdrew, allowing the sinner to speak—

“HELP!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Dear, I am the Radio Demon. You think I can’t stop the pathetic sounds you make from leaving this room? Now now, none of that. At least go out with some self-respect. Make this easy on yourself and agree to my deal.”

“What’s… the deal?” The demon looked terrified, that disgusting drool dripping down onto the floor. Alastor wrinkled his nose in disgust, widening his smile.

Alastor tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I’ll tell you soon enough, but first, I’m going to do you a favor and improve your appearance, just slightly~!”

Heart beating faster—practically hammering in his chest—Alastor contemplated his next move. Perhaps if this sinner lacked some teeth, he might find it easier not to drool like a pathetic little mongrel. After all, if Alastor didn’t teach this little sinner to fear him, he might try and sidestep their deal, and that simply wouldn’t do.

He chuckled and sent his shadows forward, wrapping them around the man’s teeth and squeezing. The teeth cracked and broke as the sinner screamed out in true, unadulterated pain.

Ahhh… he missed this. This sweet sound. It was just a shame he didn’t get to share it with an audience.

“I think you’re willing to make a deal now, would I be correct?”

The sinner nodded his head frantically.

“Lovely. The terms are thus: you are going to give me your pathetic soul, and go out and—” Alastor chuckled. This was absolutely hilarious. He owed his darling Rosie for this later. “—spread the good word of our Lord and savior Lucifer. Be respectful of our King in all ways. Oh, and perhaps a public apology wouldn’t be too out of place. Of course, remember, if I find that you aren’t wholeheartedly abiding by the true intention of our deal, I’ll bring you right back here and give that smile of yours a little extra work-over. So, do we have a deal?”

Their hands met, the sinner so weak that even if Alastor wanted to put on a show of power, it wouldn’t have been possible. Utterly pathetic, this sinner. Still, one more soul to the collection was never a bad thing, and Rosie hadn’t been wrong, this was quite entertaining.

Chapter Text

Suffice to say, he was no longer bored. In a total of one week, he had already conquered the entire hotel of all the dissonance toward the royal family. Sure, some of the residents he now had under deals weren’t always the best actors and sent him looks of delicious fright, but considering his position, it wasn’t out of place enough to be suspicious. Moreover, seeing the way sinners would now practically prostrate themselves before Lucifer — not because of Lucifer, but because of Alastor — well, even if it wasn’t him they were bowing to, it might as well have been.

The constant reminder of his power over others made him feel more competent than he had felt in his entire life and unlife.

“Husker, my good man~! How are you today?” Alastor strode over to the bar, which Husker tended to be busy at these days since there were so many guests. But considering Alastor actually had control over about a third of the hotel, it was easy enough to clear them out so he could have a little chat with his old poker pal.

Husker cast a suspicious look around. “I was busy.”

Oh, dear Husker was quite perceptive when he wanted to be. He also knew to watch his mouth when it came to Alastor’s dealings and wouldn’t say a word of his suspicions if he knew what was good for him.

“And now you aren’t. Funny how that works,” Alastor said, tilting his head unnaturally to the side.

Husker rolled his eyes, his wings taking on that unnaturally low slope they’d had for the last few weeks. “So, whiskey? Or is it a Sazerac day?”

Sazerac was Alastor’s go-to celebratory drink, and he was feeling rather victorious today. His widening grin must have given him away, because Husker had already gotten to work. Alastor barely had time to blink before the drink was dropped into his hand. He let his eyes fall into satisfied slits as he took a sip. It warmed his stomach. Truthfully, he wanted to gloat while he drank, which was why he had emptied the room. But Husker wasn’t biting, as down in the dumps as he was.

“Well, go on then, tell me what has you so in the dumps, old pal. I’m in a good mood right now, so I suppose I can hear whatever rather pathetic problems you seem to be having,” Alastor commented, raising an eyebrow at the bartender.

Husker perked up long enough to growl at him — how animalistic, to give into his urges like that — before collapsing back in on himself. “I sure as shit ain’t gonna talk about it with you, fucker.”

“Now now, Husker, you never know. Maybe I’m in such a good mood that I’ll lend you a hand, and this pouting is rather unbecoming of a member of this hotel. So tell me, what exactly is causing this little tantrum?”

“I don’t have to tell you shit. Fuck off.”

“Oh, stop with the dramatics.”

Alastor was in a good mood, so all he did was roll his eyes and grab the chain around Husker’s neck, pulling it tight until Husker’s head was pressed against the bar, growling and snarling as he was. The true drama here was on Husker’s part. If he simply opened his mouth, Alastor never would have gone through such extremes. Alastor set his drink down on the bar and let his now free hand reach over and pet Husker’s ears, knowing how much he hated it. Paired with the force of the soul contract keeping Husker in place, it acted as a strong reminder of just who this little kitty belonged to.

“Just tell me what I want to know, Husker.”

Teeth gritted, glaring hatefully, Husker relented. “Angel went with those fucking losers because of your ex hypnotizing him, and I fucking miss him, you psychotic fuck. Now get off of me.”

“See~! That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Alastor cooed at Husker, still petting his ears, knowing that despite everything, Husker did enjoy it. After all, he went through the same. He knew how pleasant the touch was.

For that information, Alastor would even forgive his old poker pal for calling that TV-head his ex. Given his current goal of annihilating the dissonance within Hell for his own entertainment, he saw no reason why he couldn’t extend that to getting back little Angel Dust. After all, taking care of those Vees in such a way that they couldn’t be a problem going forward, and making them walk back their own propaganda against the King — it could be a two-fold solution. And Alastor was quite the fan of expeditious solutions to his problems.

Oh, the absolute joy of having Vincent’s little minions under his contract would be… there were no words for it, but the closest was probably something like: absolutely glorious. It was only a matter of how best to achieve it. Of course, he knew exactly where they were. Vincent was the brains of that particular operation, and with those two not getting along with him (and oh, how enjoyable it had been to make that happen), they had simply gone back to their little tower and attempted to continue on as usual. He would know — he could still feel their broadcasts on the shared airwaves of Hell.

He released his hold on Husker’s chain, ignoring the glare the demon threw at him as he straightened himself out. The faint trembling that ran through Husker’s frame nearly made Alastor giddy. He picked his drink back up and enjoyed the rest of it, made all the more delightful by the backdrop of a grumbling Husker.

Finally, he finished his drink and slid the empty cup toward his dear old poker pal, rising with a flourish of his cane. “Thank you for the information, Husker. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”

“Yeah, you do that, fucking asshole,” was Husker’s response as the doors of the hotel fluttered shut behind Alastor.

Alastor started making his way toward that preposterous-looking tower, taking a look around and noting the changes in Hell since the last time he’d taken a stroll — something rare when one had teleportation abilities. Much like usual, the damage from his fight and from Vincent’s incessant attempts to smite him using Lucifer was almost entirely fixed. Hell worked fast when it came to cleaning up after a disaster, having gotten rather good at it after seven years of extermination.

Interestingly, there were several people protesting — which was hilarious, because who protested in Hell? — holding signs of the King’s face.

Rosie had certainly made her point. Hell was not the biggest fan of the King right now. Mmmm, it would take a fair bit of work to get this all cleaned up. Having the media Overlords under him would certainly make for a good start to getting all of this dressed up like a pretty pig.

Well, unlike what Alastor had told Vincent’s goons when it came to compliments, it was actually Vincent who was both the brains and the brawn of their little operation. So perhaps he should be rather blunt and start with the weaker link: Valentino, and work his way up to Velvette. A shame, really — he had liked her. Still, not much to be said about it. He liked Husker and Niffty too, but that hadn’t stopped him from taking them under contract.

Alastor hummed as he entered the building.

He cast his eyes around at all the employees running about like little ants, stress painted across their faces. Mmm, probably difficult to keep things running when Vincent had been such a large part of the infrastructure. They were impressive little demons.

“Hello, good sir. Could you tell me where I might find Valentino?” Alastor asked as he strode up to the desk.

“Valenti— No, sir, if you want to see one of the Vees, you’ll need to make an appointment well into a month in advan—”

Alastor grinned and pressed in close, power flaring around him as recognition flooded those terrified eyes. Oh, how perfect.

“I think I’ll see him now.”

“Y-yes, Radio Demon, sir! First door on the right! All the way down the end of the hall!” it squeaked.

Alastor softened his look, the flare of power dissipating. “Lovely.”

He didn’t actually need directions after his long stay here, but he was hardly some mannerless cur. He wouldn’t just walk in without checking in at the front desk.

As he made his way down the hall, he could hear Valentino’s calm directions as he barked orders at some sort of performers. The man was professional and proficient in that, though not much else. Alastor felt as an announcement zapped from the front desk to one of the cellular devices in the room with Valentino. How rude.

Alastor quickly shorted the phone out. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. The yelp of pain that followed was really just their own fault for adapting to such technology anyway.

Alastor swung the door open. “Greetings, Valentino, and how are you today?”

The man wasn’t facing him, but he rolled his eyes. “Great, why can’t Voxxy keep you—”

Alastor saw the tension in the man’s shoulders as reality set in. The Porn Overlord snapped his head around to face him. “What are you doing here? Did you finally decide you’ll take part in one of my films? You were such a bore before, but I promise it’ll make both of us rich and faaammoouussss~!”

Utterly incomprehensible.

Alastor gritted his smiling teeth, sharp enough to pinch his gums and draw blood. “Now, now, you know I don’t enjoy such things. Tell me, though — did you think I wouldn’t come around for some payback, Val?”

He said it the same way he knew Vincent would, all static-warped and furious, and watched as Valentino flinched back. Those two were such an odd pair. The way Vincent couldn’t give Valentino the attention he needed because he was so obsessed with Alastor would always be amusing. In return, watching Vincent go ballistic because Valentino would let his eyes wander over to Angel Dust… oh, it was all such a delightful mess.

“Voxxy isn’t anything more than his literal head, and he isn’t even good at that without a throat to go with it, so what do you care at this point?” Valentino defended, crass and clueless as ever.

Was there a point to this conversation? Alastor wondered, before promptly deciding there wasn’t. There was no reason to banter with someone whose best wordplay probably amounted to rhyming something like, ‘Oh yes Mick, truly I love your dick.’

Alastor summoned his shadow, solidified it, sharpened it, and at once everyone in the studio—other than the Overlord—made the wise choice to flee rather than be a potential subject of torment on his broadcast. Smart little sinners and imps they were. Valentino blinked, a hand flinching toward his gun—not that it would help him at all against Alastor, who quickly used his shadow to form a shackle around the man’s arm and—

Pink smoke danced around his shadow, momentarily surprising him. It seemed that without Vox around, a lot of the power in this little trio had been redistributed. Fair enough—it would be boring otherwise. Valentino literally looked as if pink smoke were spilling off him.

“¡Hijo de puta!” He snarled.

Alastor went still. Oh, surely the moth wouldn’t dare to bring his darling mother into this? And just as Alastor had been about to have a little fun. Unfortunately, now he would have to properly punish the Overlord who thought he could besmirch his mother’s name. With a twirl of his finger, Alastor summoned several sigils in neon yellow. They etched themselves immediately onto Valentino’s skin. The power of containment was a funny thing, and sometimes the universe didn’t quite interpret a caster’s intent the way one hoped—but Alastor had never once run into that problem.

The smoke immediately stopped flowing off Valentino, and Alastor’s shadows shackled the man once more.

“Tsk tsk. You really should watch that foul tongue of yours, Valentino. Actually, even better—I think I’ll just take it.”

Alastor strode forward, his shadows prying open the man’s mouth, savoring the way Valentino struggled to clamp it shut, watching muscles spasm and fail, jaw trembling, shaking, fighting and losing. “A bit like one of your gags, isn’t it? So it really should feel familiar.”

To Valentino’s side, still smoking, was that absurdly large pipe the man tended to use. Alastor picked it up, bit down, inhaled, let it flood deep into his lungs—and then blew the choking cloud directly into Valentino’s face.

Eyes fluttered. Pain and low pleasure. A memory of helplessness. And oh, how beautiful it was: a small taste of what this demon had watched him endure.

But Alastor was nothing if not petty enough to raise the goalpost.

Talons sharp, he reached into Valentino’s mouth, humming at how easily his claws slid past sharp teeth—watching the tongue contort defiantly, trying to force itself backward down his throat. A valiant effort, really. But Alastor couldn’t reach what he wanted like this. How inconvenient.

“You’ll put that tongue back in place for me, or I will tear open your jaw trying to get it,” Alastor said, as simple fact.

Because it was fact. Already shadows pulled at Valentino’s jaw, farther and farther, the tendons screaming—until Alastor heard something pop. The tongue flopped obediently back into place.

Alastor ran a single finger across it—lightly, gently—before splitting the damned thing cleanly in two along the middle, savoring the unmuffled scream that ripped out of Valentino’s throat.

“Oh, do be quiet. Surely your Voxxy will adore the skill of a split tongue. If anything, I’m helping you out. The real punishment starts now.”

Alastor grinned and, despite Valentino having been such a good boy and followed directions, he had his shadows tear the man’s jaw free. After all, this was only the beginning. Surely the Overlord hadn’t thought he would get off with just a spliced tongue in reward for his words of blasphemy against Alastor’s mother.

“I’m sure that you, as an Overlord, would hardly want your afterlife cut so tragically short. And do make no mistake, Valentino, I will cut you down if you don’t agree to my terms. You see, I can’t let you leave here not under contract with me — that would be damaging to the reputation of the hotel, and I can’t have that. So you will agree, or you will die. Do you understand?”

As Alastor spoke, he lounged in one of the many rolling chairs of the Vee Tower. He almost felt nostalgic for the damned thing, especially with the lovely new memories he was making within it as he forced his shadows to play with the little moth until he was broken, bloody, and at least a little pliant.

The moth had the audacity to glare. Alastor rolled his eyes and sharply sent one of those shadows to gouge out one of his eyes.

“I’m not sure what you think is going to happen here, but you have no way out of this. Surely someone as pathetic as you can understand that. Now, here is what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me your soul, and you’re going to give me Angel Dust. You’re going to pretend, like the good little porn actor I’m sure you are, that the only thing that happened in here was you giving me Angel Dust because I wanted him back at the hotel. I want no suspicion from your other little partners. And just for a sneak preview — after I grab the other two Vees, you three are going to become a wonderful little propaganda machine for me. After all, I can’t have the hotel looking weak as the Hotelier, so getting Lucifer his reputation back will soon become a priority.”

Valentino had one hand over his bleeding eye, his mouth filled with blood, but he held out his other hand, shaking and trembling as it was.

It truly was great to be back.

Alastor took the hand and felt the rush of power that came from having a powerful Overlord become his own. The high of it had his pupils blowing wide. Absolutely delicious. This contract, unlike his hotel deals, surely made quite a light show. Oh well — hardly a bother.

It was about time he took Angel and left.

Alastor turned toward the door and started walking out —

“Oh. By the way, where is my darling Angel Dust?” Stated in such a way only for purposes of properly angering Valentino.

The moth gargled through his blood.

Ah, right. He couldn’t exactly give an answer.

“Oh, never mind, I’ll ask the receptionist. And Valentino? I’ll be in touch.”

“Come along, Angel~!” Alastor called out as he swung the door open. The porn star was clearly drugged out, the very picture of absolute waste sprawled across a pink sofa in one of Valentino’s rooms. There were clear lines of cocaine on the table — both consumed and unconsumed. A rather bad habit. Alastor would know, as he had tried it before. He simply wasn’t the type to fall into addiction like this sinner, however. Hopefully Angel didn’t infest Niffty or Husker with these problems. That would be quite annoying. Perhaps he should simply order Angel to never touch drugs again? Alastor didn’t particularly like doing that — he preferred allowing his souls a little freedom to enjoy their afterlife — but if he must…

“Go… away… I ain’t goin’ back there,” Angel muttered, not even looking at him.

How rude. If this weren’t a situation that required a more delicate hand, Alastor would have pulled on his new soul’s leash right then and there, just to show him who he belonged to. However, he was feeling rather benevolent, so he simply stepped in and tried not to wrinkle his nose as he summoned a few tentacles to pick up the sinner.

“Nononooo… I can’t… go…”

“Your soul no longer belongs to the moth. It is mine now, and I say that you are coming back to the hotel. Husker is acting pathetically without you around, and I won’t stand for it. Now come along.”

There was a hint of fear in those bleary eyes. “My… soul? You?”

Drugged as he was, Alastor wondered if Angel would even remember this conversation and rolled his eyes. “Yes, me. Your contract is mine now. Of course, the stipulations are still there, but the closest rewrite will be that the hotel will be your ‘place of work’ from now on. Now come along, Angel Dust. I have little patience, and I have a great deal of work to do that does not involve sticking around in a dump like this.”

Alastor didn’t wait for further rejection. He teleported them both back to the hotel, directly to the bar. With a wave of his hand, he released the spider, dropping him across Husker, who nearly stumbled to the ground in shock.

“Husker, do take care of this and clarify the general expectations I will have for him, won’t you?”

Alastor turned and walked back toward his room. He had much to think about for his next move.

Chapter Text

“Alastor! Thank you sooooooo much for bringing Angel back! Like, soooooo muuuccchhh, oh my stars I still can’t believe this, like Alastor I really need to thank you like—”

“Yes, my dear, you want to thank me ‘like so much,’ as you have stated for the last few days, for several hours on end,” Alastor interrupted.

Normally, he found himself pleasantly surprised by the level of contentment he felt around Charlotte Morningstar. She was pleasant to be around, a true underdog in her goals, and Alastor always loved an underdog story. However, there were plenty of less pleasant aspects of her, such as the moisture she often left behind when she would pull him into an ill-advised hug while sobbing, or the endless apologizing or thanking, and that changed on any given day.

So yes, normally he was pleasantly surprised, but right now he was unpleasantly annoyed. It had been going on for days at this point, and the last thing he wanted was for all the dissonants within the hotel to think he had grown soft through Charlie’s vivacious claims of him “saving” Angel Dust, when the reality was that he tortured the moth and stole Angel’s soul while taking out a third of the media empire all in one swoop.

It was hardly charity work.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” snapped a nearby Lucifer, who fluttered over all too quickly, and all too sensitive, as the way he had just spoken to Charlotte was hardly notable.

Alastor felt his eye twitch in annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by Morningstars. He had plans today, and dealing with was these two roadblocks was a major time sink. He had places to go, people to see, and troublesome individuals to bring under contract. Having to deal with this was an annoyance he would much rather slip away from, but he knew well that a Morningstar, for whatever reason, did not make that easy.

“Good morning, sire. I hardly noticed you there, my apologies.”

“Yooouuuu…” the King muttered, looking irritated.

There had been some notable differences in the King since Alastor had contracted the dissonance within the hotel to properly pay their respects to their monarch. The small slope to the man’s shoulders had started to disappear, and though there were sparks of distrust in his eyes, it was clearly beyond the Sin of Pride to not fall into the rhythm of people actually respecting him. It was quite interesting to watch, and thankfully, the King would never expect that it was Alastor behind forcing people to pay Lucifer—of all people—respect.

Seeing that level of distrust bring about confidence had become its own comedy. It made the situation that much more enjoyable. But that didn’t mean he wanted to spend any time in the King’s presence.

Still, it would be intriguing to see what more positive reinforcement of the King’s station would do to him. Would he explode from an overextended ego? Why, it was practically a scientific experiment at this point!

Alastor considered just walking off without a word, but that was far too mannerless, and his mother raised him better than that. So, he turned to his King.

“Indeed, me. Now, as riveting as you’ve made this conversation, and interestingly monosyllabic, I think I’ll take my leave. I have a few important things I need to take care of today, and Hell-light is a-wasting. So, Sire and dear Charlotte, I bid you a fair adieu.”

He walked away, ignoring the pause just half a second too long before the King grumbled off, “I’ll show you monosyllabic,” under his breath.

Alastor chuckled—and immediately disliked that he did—but he was unable to hide from the fact that the King and his constant grumbling were a little funny. Oh, not nearly as entertaining as the King was when Alastor thought he could make the man snap and attempt to smite him, but at least more entertaining than he had been while broken and halting after Vincent’s little plan. If nothing else these pathetic contracted Sinners worshiping the ground their King walked on was useful for that.

As for the agenda he had claimed to have for the day, there were a few notable items. One: he did have to check in on how Angel Dust was doing. Considering the new… aspect of their… relationship, Alastor had left the man alone to adjust for a few days, rather magnanimously of him, might he add. However, letting him have too much time would certainly have the poor man coming to the worst sort of conclusions.

Then, after dealing with Angel Dust, Alastor would have to go and see about getting Velvette. Loath as he was, considering his general liking of her, she was going to be problematic if he didn’t deal with her before moving on to the other Overlords who saw fit to side against the Morningstar family during that little debacle. Zeezi, for example, might get a little chatty on social media, and that would be a red flag that put Velvette on warning. That simply wouldn’t occur. No, the smart thing to do was get Velvette first and, consequently, perhaps stash Vincent’s little TV head somewhere amusing.

The most annoying part was first: Angel Dust.

In the interest of politeness, Alastor knocked on the door twice — neither too hard nor too lightly — and waited for the response.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” was muffled past the door.

A minute? Surely not. If he was forced to wait an entire minute, Alastor might have to break the door down. He tried to force back the annoyed, staticky sound that escaped him at having such a delay, but he wasn’t sure if he managed it.

The door cracked open only twenty-three seconds later, and Alastor did, in fact, count. The spider demon peeked his head out, eyes widening in alarm when they met Alastor’s. Immediately, the door swung open and Angel stepped back into his room, making space for Alastor to enter.

He’d much rather have had the conversation in the hallway — who knew what went on in this whore’s room — but he still stepped in, if only so that Angel might at least get rid of that insulting worry on his face.

It didn’t work.

“I wanted to speak with you about the expectations I will have for you going forward. I assume that Husker told you a great deal of what I am like as a contract holder, but do keep in mind that Husker is a little bit of a special case, so I don’t typically accept so much — hmm, what should we call our dear bartender — sassiness?” Alastor tried to convey some sort of humor with the assumption of Husker being “sassy,” when he was nothing more than a drunken grump, but all Angel did was swallow and nod almost painfully.

This was not going to be fun, was it? Well, Alastor refused to further debase himself with humor attempts.

“Down to business then, good chap. As you know, your contract with Valentino had stipulations for the ownership of your soul. Essentially stating that only in your place of work at Vee Tower would you be owned. Obviously, at the heart of the contract lies the intent, and since the deal has been transferred, the location in which you are owned has changed to the hotel. Therein, so long as you remain in the hotel, I own your soul. My only expectation from you is simply to stay at the hotel and continue on as before, attempting to redeem yourself.”

Angel looked confused, but was that a spark of hope in his eye? “You want me… to keep trying to redeem myself? Why da fuck would you want dat?”

Alastor let out a chuckle. “Hnhnnhaaa, quite simple, dear Angel Dust. I want to know what happens if you get redeemed while still on my leash. I think it would be fascinating. It gives you a reason to stay, and it helps improve the reputation of the hotel to have someone as… famous as you attending. It’s a win from almost any direction you look at it, and I do so enjoy a good victory.”

Angel still looked confused, but frankly, so long as he followed the order, his understanding didn’t matter. So Alastor moved on.

“More importantly, as someone under contract with me, you are bound to learn things that I do not want getting out — and this goes doubly so with your rather limiting and codependent relationship with Husker developing as it is — so I want to make something perfectly clear. You are able to do as you please when you are not in the hotel. You can have whatever job you want, live however you want, do whatever drug pleases you. But the moment I hear that you have leaked even one itty-bitty piece of information that I did not want in public view, I will retaliate by forcing you to renegotiate your rather lax contract by fear of death. Understood?”

Alastor leaned in closely, his power flaring around him, though Angel already looked perfectly terrified, so it hardly made a difference.

“Crystal clear, sir.”

Sir? How odd. Niffty called him that, but she was, well, Niffty. He had grown rather fond of Husker’s use of the word “boss”… but somehow “sir” didn’t quite fit from Angel Dust. Well, no use in overthinking it.

“Just call me Alastor. We wouldn’t want people getting suspicious now, would we?”

Alastor hummed as he left the room, mentally checking off that particular problem and ready to move on to the next one.

He entered Vee Tower like he owned it, because, well, he rather did own about a third of it now, didn’t he? Speaking of that third, he was a rather crucial part of the plan, so upon checking in with the still-terrified little receptionist, Alastor made his way toward Valentino’s rooms. The hallway, rather than lit with that vibrant pink, was dark and far more ragged looking, which Alastor wasn’t quite a fan of.

Unlike Angel, Valentino would hardly get a polite door knock. Instead, Alastor pushed the door open unceremoniously and cast his eyes around the room.

In the middle was the moth demon, head in his hand, a bottle of Casamigos in the other — a rather expensive brand, considering you needed contact with succubi to get access to human alcohol. Also how odd of him to just straight up being taking sips of that. Alastor was certain it tasted rather rancid. You’d think the man was celebrating if he was drinking something that unique.

Well, at least he had healed and reformed enough to be a key part of Alastor’s next play.

“Hello, Val,” Alastor mocked, letting his voice drop into that same sultry tone he had heard Vincent use with him, and the man’s head almost perked up hopefully, only for those hopes to be dashed immediately. How droll.

“What do you want?” Valentino muttered, something almost lost in his voice.

Alastor almost wanted to pout. No fight? No fun at all. “Now now, Valentino, cheer up! Just think of all the great things we’re going to do together. For example, right now you’re going to have your Velvette come down to this room, and you are going to use your smoke to rip her little mannequin limbs apart for me, haha! Isn’t it hilarious? She will never see it coming! Not after the unity you two showed against Vincent. Oh—”

Alastor paused, noticing the rather defiant look on the moth’s face.

“Don’t look so glum, chum. If you think about it, this will really be bringing the band back together! Then you won’t have to keep secrets anymore. So go on, summon her down here. Do take care not to make her suspicious.”

Alastor sat himself down on the comfortable sofa in the middle of the room, crossing one leg over the other as the moth demon glared but had no choice other than to open his phone and betray his comrade. The truth was, Alastor had learned that these three — even Vincent — genuinely considered one another friends. This, this was one of the many reasons that years ago he had made it abundantly clear: do not make friends in Hell.

Oh well. Perhaps the lesson would finally stick, once Alastor had all of their souls and the Vees had nothing left but a mockery of an empire they were only shadow puppets of.

He didn’t bother listening to the conversation between Valentino and Velvette. So long as she got here and dealt with, that would be enough.

“Alright Val, what the fuck is the problem, you little piss baby—”

It was a sight to see, really. The utterly surprised look on her face as smoke solidified around her and ripped her limb from limb. The idea of a surprise attack when it came to armies never worked — there would always be leaks. But when the planning party contained only two people, and it was truly a surprise assault, the attacker always got at least one hit in. And with abilities like theirs, you only needed one—

Oh my.

Alastor let a delighted grin cross his face as one of Velvette’s fingers yanked through the air, creating a gust of wind that sent all the smoke flying backward. Her body reattached immediately, and she cracked her head to the side unnaturally — and was that what he looked like when he did it? The expressive fury on her face was its own form of entertainment, and oh, Alastor had underestimated her. How rare.

“What the fuck, Val! And what the fuck is the damned deer doing here? We have him banned until Vox gets his fucking shit together! Bad enough you gave him Angel Dust, now this shit?” she lectured, one hand planted on her hip.

Alastor really liked her.

Well. Nothing for it.

Much like Vincent, there was something Alastor could use against all of the Vees — their genuine affection for one another.

“Now now, my dear, don’t blame our Valentino. He really had no choice. You see, I gave him quite the ultimatum. Something like ‘You will sign over your soul to me or die,’ and he didn’t seem like he wanted to die. Imagine that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Cute, but I’m not like him. If that’s your game here, you can give that shit up. I’d rather die. Literally.”

Alastor liked her. Oh, she was an absolute joy. They were so alike, and Alastor was already thinking of how they could someday drink whiskey at the bar, gossiping — he simply needed to stop her frenzied resistance first.

“Yes, I rather thought you would be like me in that regard. However, there is something that we both wildly differ on.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenged.

Oh yes, he mentally replied, grin sharpening.

“You see, whether error or naïveté you’ve made a mistake, you found yourself actually attached to your doltish team. And, you see, I have this one under contract already. So I could tell him to do something like, oh, I don’t know, start randomly sticking himself with an angelic blade until he hits something vital. Or—oh even better—force him to do so to our dear Vincent. Just imagine it. How he would fight against the order, but would simply have to comply. Really, I think you get the picture now.”

Her nose wrinkled, but her eyes were wide with fear. “The fuck is wrong with you.”

“Such a great many things, my dear. But I think you understand now what is at stake. So, shall we make a deal?”

He hadn’t even sat up from the sofa before speaking, but as he said the words, he rose and walked toward her with a hand held high.

She scoffed. “Hell the fuck no. We are writing this whole thing down, and I want to see every little bit of it in writing. And don’t think about pushing me too far.”

Velvette thought she had a choice — and it was so adorable that Alastor decided he would give her one.

“I don’t like this condition.”

“Mmmmm, well, do you want part-time ownership of your soul or not? I already consider such things to be rather messy and unfavorable, and I simply will not do it without such a major concession. Especially considering my concession to not cause physical harm via torture to any of the so-called ‘Vees.’ Besides, other than being my little Kingly propaganda machine, I am letting you quite legitimately do anything else you want. In and of itself this is quite fair. Considering I own all of Valentino and his choices, you and the company itself are practically getting off scot-free.”

She glared. “I don’t like it.”

Alastor chuckled, “I bet he would agree. If you truly have a problem with it, why don’t you just ask for his consent?”

“Because I know his pathetic ass is going to agree, obviously. Something’s fucking wrong with that man when it comes to you. Urgh, I hate men in general.”

She signed on the dotted line.

Alastor laughed almost hysterically as he signed his own name across the page. How was it that dear Vincent had put it? Something about ‘loving to win?’

Chapter Text

Ever since he was quite young, Alastor had known that there was something not quite right with him by societal standards. Compared to his precious mother, it always felt like he didn’t have any light of faith in this world. She was his light. She was his faith. His mother was his guide, his muse. And, well, suffice it to say that he didn’t take kindly to seeing his mother not only disrespected, but also someone had laid hands upon her. Alastor was only fifteen when he killed that man for what he did, and he felt nothing but overwhelming exhilaration in the act. So no, he was never a normal person, and yes, he had been perfectly comfortable with that fact all his life. Comfortable—if not outright delighted by—his own uniqueness.

If there was one person in Hell that Alastor would say was the most like him, like it or not, it would be Vincent. Vox. The Television Overlord. For all that Alastor utterly despised him at times, there was no denying their most simple and fundamental similarities. That, among at least fifteen other reasons, was why he had elected to reject Vincent’s proposal all those years ago.

He had known Vincent was sincere. There was never any doubt of that. But sincerity wasn’t the issue. Alastor also knew—deeply and intrinsically knew—who Vox was. Vox was a serial killer, and his MO was to kill those who surpassed him and replace them. No matter how sincere his feelings for Alastor might have been, they would never override that drive completely. For all Vincent’s self-denial, Alastor knew.

Mmmm, that was besides the point, that was 70 odd years ago. Now? Now a lot of things had changed.

Seeing his old pal reduced to only a head and stuffed into a box… it was a heady feeling. For all the humiliation Vox had subjected him to, seeing the tables turned was admittedly satisfying. And making it so Valentino and Velvette essentially betrayed him and signed themselves—and him—over to Alastor? The ultimate victory, considering exactly what he had told Vincent all those years ago.

“Let me outta this FUCKING box, you asshats!” he heard Vincent’s muffled voice call out from within the box that Velvette had put him into for this little handoff.

Alastor chuckled, “Thank you, my dear. I know it can’t have been easy for you.”

“AL?! VEL?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU BITC—”

Alastor shook the box, chuckling at the muffled complaints that came through, before blocking any sound from escaping. He hardly wanted to deal with the incessant yapping quite yet. He had far more pleasurable company in front of him, for now.

Velvette scoffed, but there was a reluctant downturn to her lips. She had a slightly beat-down look to her attitude—which was valid, since she was now owned.

“Don’t thank me, asshole. Honestly, we could use a break from his pathetic ass anyway. Just don’t forget—”

“Yes, yes, no physical torture, and you have your visitations Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I never forget a contract, Velvette dear. I always uphold my contracts to their letter.”

“Uh-huh, and you breaking out of captivity was…?”

She looked unimpressed.

Alastor chortled again utterly delighted by her, “I said to the letter. Not my fault Vincent can’t write a contract to save his life. And speaking of upholding contracts, on your part—”

She scoffed. “Don’t even think about trying to school me on this shit. No one knows how to do a social media campaign better than me. In life and death, if I’m good at anything, it’s getting political figures popular. You’ll get the perpetual campaign you want—not that I get why the fuck you want to bother.”

Alastor hummed and briefly wondered about this Overlord’s sin, but he had plenty of time to learn more about her. After all, they were under contract. He owned most of her soul, and he had eternity to get to know his new pet project, if he decided he wanted to.

“Do get to work then, my dear.” He steadfastly ignored her interest in the why’s of his actions. All of his actions could be explained by the same want in life: entertainment.

She shot him a glare, and though she was taking this situation rather well, he knew she wasn’t a big fan of even his partial ownership. Alastor had a feeling he would need to watch out for her. The last thing he wanted was her trying to subvert her contract the same way he had done with Rosie.

Still, she nodded reluctantly, and Alastor let himself fall into the shadows.

He rematerialized within his quarters at the hotel, there was something about being here that made him feel quite secure nowadays. Perhaps it was the fact that he had secured his biggest enemies in Hell, or that he now owned quite a bit of the hotel. Frankly, he wasn’t certain he wanted to break that tranquility by dealing with his new found prize quite yet, but he had gone through quite a bit of trouble securing the man, and revenge did sound oh-so-sweet.

Rather uncaringly, he ripped into the box and, with quite a significant amount of disgust and even larger amounts of self restraint, used his hands to rearrange the technological head of his greatest enemy to face toward him.

“Al, what the FUCK is going on, why the fuck did they just fucking—”

“Oh, do be a little more silent about this whole ordeal or I will stuff you back into the box.” Alastor half-wondered why it was he added this contingency in his contract with Velvette at the spike of annoyance he felt at the others voice. Was this what regret felt like?

“Don’t you fucking tell me to shut u—”

“Perhaps I shall ask Baxter to create that rather convenient function he displayed at your little soiree a few weeks ago.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You don’t want to touch some technology I made, never mind something that someone like him would make.”

Vincent was right: the idea of touching technology was infinitely more disgusting when it wasn’t at least made by Vincent’s hands. But that wouldn’t stop him if need be. Perhaps he should prove that at some point, the expression on Vincent's face if Alastor used one of those cellular devices in front of him would be hilarious. Alastor raised an eyebrow until Vincent lost his confident look and frowned.

Ah, sweet silence.

“Why am I here, Al?” Vincent sounded rather pathetic. He always did, of course, but this in particular was a defeated tone that Alastor had never heard before. How beautiful it sounded coming from him.

Alastor hummed and snapped his fingers, creating a tentacle to hold Vincent’s head at eye level. Alastor loved being animated when talking, and having to carry around the object of conversation put a damper on that. Taking a rather jaunty step backward once Vincent was set up properly, Alastor took a bow.

“You are now looking at the owner of roughly one and a half thirds of your little company. You see, I took it upon myself to break apart everything that you cared about and smash it all before your very eyes. Ahhhh, just thinking of how you might view this win of mine… Absolutely spectacular.”

Of course, Alastor technically was not focused on Vincent at all when he started making this plan. It wasn’t much more than a convenient side effect—but revenge was always on a slow simmer for him, and he had been willing to wait quite some time. It simply came about quicker than he had originally thought it would.

“I—what? Pffft, they would never do that!”

“Oh, but they did~!” Alastor teased, and a delightful thrill ran through him. He stepped forward, running a finger across Vincent’s screen. The needy, longing look that came from the man was just as utterly moronic as it ever was.

“And it was laughably easy at that. Turns out that actually caring about your little crew was just as much of a downside as I thought. Oh, to see you suffer, Vincent—”

“WHY?!” Vincent suddenly yelled, something crazed bursting out with him. Wires exploded from the head before immediately warping back, unable to stabilize without the rest of his body. “Why the fuck do you hate me so fucking much, Al? I just wanted to be your—”

Even after all this time, did he still not understand?

Fine. Alastor was in a good mood from his recent victories, so he could explain just this once. Somehow he doubted Vincent would actually take his words into account, but that was his own problem.

The finger that had been gently running along the edge of Vincent’s screen pressed inward. A small shock rattled Vincent’s head, a burst of static laughter crackling out before it normalized.

“Tell me, Vincent, do you feel my finger right here?”

“Wha—yes?” He sounded so moronic.

“Do you know what I want to do when I have my hands on you like this?”

“The fuc— I don’t know, Al. Probably fucking kill me. I get that part.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. Absolute simpleton. Did he even know a word other than fuck?

“Yesssss. To kill you would be one of the greatest pleasures of my life, Vincent, and I have been resisting the urge to do so for seventy years now. I believe your partner would refer to this as a form of edging. That is probably the closest I can come to explaining it. Vincent, I am a serial killer. I will always—always—want to kill rich and abusive white men. To be crass, and simply put it in terms a dullard like you can understand: the closest I have ever come to an actual orgasm was the moment I felt the blood of my mother’s abuser running down my face. Killing you, Vincent, would be the greatest pleasure of my afterlife.”

Alastor smiled, and it was a bitter thing.

“However… unfortunately enough, I actually sometimes find myself enjoying your company. Do you understand now, or do you need it spelled out more clearly?”

It was a rhetorical question. Alastor was done speaking on the subject. It already felt like he had gutted himself speaking so plainly. Vincent looked similarly gutted, and Alastor wasn’t sure what to make of the look on his face — but he committed it to memory, like he did with most of Vincent’s entertaining expressions. The one with a tear running down his screen had been equally as pleasant.

Alastor released the head of his greatest enemy and greatest entertainment and waved a hand, placing the head on the wall, mounting him as if he were a trophy to be won, because that was what Vincent had reduced himself to.

“Regardless, the deal that I have with Velvette does stipulate that you are allowed back to the Tower. But I assure you, sooner or later, you will want to make your own deal with me. You are going to want to stay solely with me, and I’ll let you — at the small price of every soul deal you possess being transferred over.”

The poor thing seemed overwhelmed by all that information. His screen flickered with static as his words caught somewhere between horror and fascination.

So Alastor simply trotted his way outside, humming to himself and letting the door to his rooms shutter closed behind him. No rest for the wicked, and he still had plenty of time left today to get more work done. Plus, a celebratory drink wouldn’t be amiss, not with the mounted head of his longest-term enemy now adorning his wall. Perhaps Husk had some Lagavulin on hand. The idea of drinking Vox’s favorite whiskey as a celebration had an amusing appeal.

It didn’t take too long to arrive at the bar, though as per usual Alastor took a moment to feel a pang of regret for the loss of the original hotel’s bar, which had a certain appeal to it. Angel was conversing with Husk as Alastor approached.

“—weird that they’re goin’ that route. Those fuckers must be up to somethin’.”

“And what are we chatting about, my good fellows?” Perhaps he would find his next target after this conversation.

“Oh, just some social media bullshit. Yah wouldn’t care for it, Smiles.”

Angel, for all that he was wasted on the porn industry, was actually quite the actor. There was nothing in his demeanor as he looked at Alastor that would give away what had occurred between them. Husk, on the other hand, looked confused and a touch angry, which was quite annoying considering the lengths Alastor had gone through to procure his Angel Dust. Yes, it had been a byproduct of what he was already doing, but that didn’t change the fact that Alastor had done it. Of course, he hardly expected a thank you from Husk anyway.

“Mmmmm, why don’t you tell me anyway,” Alastor said, feigning annoyance just a little, watching how Angel swallowed back his fear to keep up the act.

Oh, Valentino. What a waste you made of such a remarkable actor.

Angel shrugged with practiced nonchalance and pulled out his cellphone, flipping it toward Alastor to show Velvette’s work. The post itself was a video from Valentino — which made sense, as Velvette was already working to push past the memory of Vox by focusing on building up Valentino instead.

“Now that things have calmed down, I don’t know about you guys, but when Lucifer showed up to interrupt Vox… was I the only one who thought he was pretty fucking hot? Like, okay devil daddy~!” As he spoke one of his nails touched a grinning tooth in an almost coy way? When he opened his mouth, Alastor could see the now slit tongue that the man sported, which made this little show quite a bit less annoying to listen to, "I got to admit, I totally would. Gotta know if that dick was really worth eternal damnation, but honestly, I bet he's more of a mouth than anything."

… It wasn’t what Alastor had intended as the first step of their little propaganda machine, but this was Hell. This would absolutely work. Obsession between violence and depravity of a sexual nature was practically the city’s life blood. Of course, Alastor had heard about Lucifer interrupting Vox — he’d heard snatches of the confrontation through Vincent’s incessant bragging — but he hadn’t seen it himself.

Now he found himself curious. What exactly had been “pretty hot” about the little “devil daddy” in question?

“Angel, could you show me a recording of their confrontation on this annoying frivolous technology?” Alastor requested.

He got a raised eyebrow for his efforts, but Angel turned the phone back toward himself and began tapping. “You didn’t see it? Thought Vox would’ve shown it to you. Seemed like somethin’ he would do.”

Alastor quite agreed. Verbally, Vox bragged and bragged, but he had never actually shown the footage. Which was out of character. Perhaps something unseemly happened and Vox wanted to hide it?

It didn’t take long before Angel had found the video and flipped the phone back toward him.

It was spliced together across several clips. Lucifer put on a masterful show, and Alastor knew that if it weren’t for Angel discovering the King’s current inability to harm sinners, Vox would have likely fizzled out and scurried off the stage to lick his wounds. Because Lucifer—even powerless—was nothing if not an A+ showman. This… this was entertainment. The way he worked the crowd was masterful. It would have worked spectacularly.

Then, the video continued… and Alastor couldn’t help but laugh.

Of course Vincent never could have shown him this. Alastor would have clocked him immediately as the fraud he is. Nothing original had ever left that man’s throat. The way he immediately copied Lucifer’s style to intimidate the angels did nothing but reveal that he had actually felt threatened. After all, why imitate something ineffective?

Alastor was practically salivating at the future teasing he would be giving his mounted prize later.

The laugh left both Angel and Husk looking somewhat taken aback, which only made Alastor chuckle harder.

“Oh, I needed that. Thank you, my good fellow~! Now, Husker, do we have any Lagavulin on hand?”

Husker blinked, before he grinned. “Oh, I know what that means. Did you score something against Vox?”

Alastor wasn’t surprised. Husker had been with him through many of his interactions with Vox in the past, and this was hardly the first time he had requested Lagavulin. Alastor was never one to resist bragging.

“Complete and utter victory, my dear Husker. Nothing less than complete and utter victory.”

He sat at the bar, drinking a freshly poured drink on two rocks and looked out to watch the people of the hotel going about their day. And there he was. Lucifer. He was weaving through sinners who were shooting him interested looks. The man looked disquieted by the attention. Alastor might owe something to Velvette. He hadn't considered that this type of attention would disquiet Lucifer in some way, and even if it was only temporary for the newness of it, he should pay her a little reward. Perhaps she would like some information she could use, Alastor was always rather good at picking up on information from other rings, something he knew stung Vincent as he had never managed it. That would be fitting enough, surely. After all, seeing the King bumble along... 

Oh yes. This was entertainment.

Chapter Text

Lucifer Morningstar had a few defining traits (other than the ever-burning pride that simmered beneath his every move). One of them was his daughter, which wouldn’t normally count as a trait, except for how enormous a part she was in almost everything he did. Almost every action he had taken since her inception was for the sake of making her happy. When she had been taken from him all those years ago by Lilith, he had fallen into a depression that could only be eased by Charlie calling him, speaking to him, showing him that she still cared, even a little.

His second defining trait—one he tried his best to hide around Charlie—was his absolute hatred of sinners. It wasn’t an exaggeration, though it hadn’t started that way. He had truly wanted to prove to Heaven that even a soul damned to Hell could change. He worked with souls, guided them, tried to help them improve. Then, one day, one of his sinners massacred the others he was trying to help. Not just massacred—ate them.

ATE THEM! The people that sinner had known for months at that point, people they had worked beside and lived with, and just… And that was only one example of sinner cruelty. There were millions more in the ten thousand years since humanity had been given free will by him. Admittedly, some souls were fine, fine being a relative term, considering their sins were so small they probably should have gotten into Heaven. A few people here for prostitution, for example. Utterly ridiculous that they hadn’t been allowed to rise. But they were far and few in between. The vast majority of sinners were senselessly greedy people who would kill at the drop of a dime.

It took about five thousand years for him to reach the point where he wished he could simply kill a great many of them.

Another five thousand years for the solution to land on his doorstep.

He had pretended it was a difficult deal to make. He pretended that allowing the Exorcists to kill sinners was some terrible price he had to pay to keep his Hellborn safe. But it wasn’t. Each one of those seven years, Lucifer would summon up a quasi-portal, the same type used in Heaven to watch trials, and he would watch sinners die by an Exorcist blade with sharp interest and a sharper grin. So many times he watched a blade sink in and thought about how he wished it could have been him delivering the blow. Especially with the cannibals. There was something about watching those black eyes flicker shut for the last time with twisted pain that felt like the karma sinners truly deserved.

So yes, Lucifer had many defining traits. And yes, two of them clashed so badly it was like trying to wear neon green with burnt orange. In order to satisfy his desire to be with Charlie, he needed to actively work against something he was personally a huge fan of.

Still, Lucifer would do anything—anything—for his daughter. So he smiled tearfully and murmured a “thank you, honey,” and got her a Heavenly meeting. He ignored the sinners, pretended he cared, and tried his absolute best to carefully watch the bellhop and make sure he didn’t ruin her plans. The cannibalistic bellhop. No, the last thing Lucifer would allow was history repeating itself.

But mistakes are made in Hell.

When you are around for a few thousand years, you learn that a major mistake will happen every few hundred years, but this mistake took the cake. A sinner learned that he couldn’t harm them, and then another learned it, and eventually all of the Pentagram knew. News spread fast in this day and age, and it wasn’t long before the Sins were trying to make contact, to learn more.

It wouldn’t have been a problem if he had been able to kill the one swho figured it out. But not only was it physically impossible for him to do so, Charlie would disagree with it, and he couldn’t have that.

One of his most defining traits had taken a huge hit because of all this. His pride.

The way sinners—mouthy, selfish little mortals—had begun speaking to him, as if they weren’t the problem with Creation itself, as if they weren’t the ones who had proved him wrong and let him down, as if it wasn’t all their fault… it disgusted him. As much as it made him curl inward and want to never leave his room again. But slowly, it started to change. That one disgusting sinner he bumped into the other day, and what a show of self-control it was for him not to show his disgust plainly on his face when that happened, came up to him and practically kissed his feet while apologizing. People were bowing to him in the hallways of the hotel. People were glancing at him with blushes on their faces, and he hadn’t gotten to be as old as he was without recognizing the wanton lust flooding off of them. It just continued, spread like a virus. Out of all the sicknesses that Lucifer had watched affect humanity over the years, this was one he much preferred.

Lucifer knew there had to be something causing this. At the same time, he didn’t hate it, especially after his pride had been so slashed, and he hardly wanted it to stop. He was willing to leave his room more often, wanting to see the look in those sinners’ eyes. To be specific, they had fear in their eyes, and Lucifer knew it couldn’t have been fear of him, but he didn’t care. It felt good.

“Daaaaad, do you think you could do me a favor?” Charlie was batting her eyes at him, those puppy eyes he had never gained the ability to resist.

“You only need to ask. What can I do for you, Charlie,” he said. He wasn’t desperate. He wasn’t.

Did she forgive him yet? Did she hate him? She never really said. She just walked back in one day and pretended like it had never happened and—

“Earlier today I was talking to Al and he said he had to do something and I am so trying to work on following other people’s boundaries but also he said that he had to go meet with three Overlords today and he said he wouldn’t bring anyone with him so I was reallyhopingyouwouldgoandjustmakesuretoportal him out if… anything went wrong? I KNOW YOU TWO DON’T GET ALONG BUT—”

He held up a hand and leaned on his staff, reaching forward and touching her cheek. It was so easy to forget his distaste for sinners when she was looking at him like that, “Of course I will, sweetheart. Nothing will happen to that red guy on my watch.”

She smiled, but it looked a little strained, “I think you should call him by his name though, Dad…”

He did know it. After all, Alastor had surely annoyed his way into Lucifer’s brain if nothing else, but using it felt like defeat. Thankfully, he didn’t mind defeat if it was for his daughter, so he nodded his agreement, “Did he say where exactly he was going?”

She shook her head, “No, just that he would be leaving in a few hours.”

Lucifer nodded again.

Hopefully that bellhop wasn’t doing anything counterproductive to his daughter’s dream. It would be annoying to have to summon up a Goetia, or, well, maybe a bigger hitter would be needed for Alastor. Lately the deer had been growing stronger. It was a drop in the bucket compared to Lucifer, of course, but still quite a bit for most demons. Perhaps that was what the bellhop was having a meeting about. Either way, better to make sure he wasn’t up to anything. (And to make sure he followed his daughter’s wishes, of course.)

Lucifer had the ability to shape-shift.

Really, he could shift into just about any animal in creation, because he was the one who mapped out pretty much all of them, knew them down to the smallest string of amino acids. So he was unmatched when it came to following after someone. That didn’t mean he didn’t need to take precautions, however. Especially when you become familiar with someone, like, you know, living in the same house as them for something like a year, you learn to pick their energy out in a crowd. So even though Lucifer made himself a rather regal fly (you know, so that he could be the fly on the wall, hahaha, he thought it was funny at least) that didn’t mean he could get too close. Alastor was especially good at that sort of thing, being stronger than the average human soul down here by a mile.

Still, he did have a lot of eyes, so he gathered plenty of information about Alastor and the effect he had on his surroundings as he moved through the Pentagram.

Human souls ... If he had the ability as a fly, he would shake his head in disappointment. 

The way they scrambled out of Alastor’s way, seemed so terrified of him, some of them actually bowing before him… and Lucifer noticed the way that smug, fuck-ass grin widened at that. It was odd. It was something Lucifer hadn’t really seen before. Granted, he didn’t exactly leave his office much. It just felt suspicious, okay?

Honestly, Lucifer was a little surprised that Alastor didn’t just use his shadows to get to the location he wanted.

Then another person practically kissed the pavement in front of the Overlord in question, and just like that, Lucifer understood why he didn’t bother. This egotistical bastard absolutely reveled in this.

Alastor stepped into the shadiest-looking alleyway possible, but thankfully it was quiet enough that Lucifer could hear what was going on without getting too close. He found himself a nice little spot on the wall and stuck himself there, watching. It didn’t take much longer before a few individuals came out. They were odd-looking sinners and frankly weak as hell compared to Alastor, but they were stronger than the average person on the street from what he could sense. Were these guys Overlords? Why were they so fucking weak compared to Alasto—

“We want to make the deal.”

He watched with five eyes and thousands of lenses in each one, and it was remarkably easy to make out the unimpressed look on Alastor’s face. “Really? The three of you, Overlords in your own right, want to make a deal with me? Hmmm, this used to be far more difficult.”

What a subtle way to call these guys pathetic. Which, they were, being sinners and all, but it still took the cake.

If anything, Alastor’s words seemed to renew their determination. “We aren’t waiting until you come around to us and torture us until we agree. We know what we did was wrong and we are willing to take the deal. We’ve heard the whispers, we know the terms.”

Alastor’s smile twisted up a little more. “And who, exactly, did you hear those ‘terms’ from? Last I checked, those making deals with me should know better about keeping their mouths shut.”

A brave one spoke up. “You can’t exactly expect that many people to stay silent when you’re dealing with hundreds of—”

Alastor waved his finger, tutting, “Do have the respect to not mention another man’s numbers. It’s enough to make one feel naked. Now, you do know that half the fun of this is the opportunity to have my fun before I put you traitorous rabble in your place, but I suppose I do have a busy day. So we can make the deal with my, hmmm, normal terms. Additionally, you will find that information leak for me. Sound like a deal?”

The sinners—Overlords—nodded far too frantically.

Lucifer frowned as best he could while being a fly.

He was more confused than ever by this man, confused and suspicious. He would keep a closer eye out. No way in Hell was he going to let some fuck like this mess with his daughter’s dream.

Chapter Text

If Alastor was one thing, it was thorough. He was someone who carefully thought through his moves before he made them. Someone who would wait seventy years in order to free himself if need be. He did not make mistakes. He was not that kind of creature, no. He was not sloppy with his secrets. He never had been, and he never would be. That was why, when he told his new Overlords to go and look for the leak of that information, he already knew exactly who the culprit was.

He just needed to find out who had been informed, and deal with them.

When it came down to it, there were really only two options. One person who he did not currently have under contract who actually knew this information, and two people who were under half a contract. One of those people was already truly sworn to secrecy under the fine print of their deal, so it wasn’t Velvette. That left two options, and only one of them was actually likely to be the face of the leak: Vincent, or Angel Dust. Angel Dust was only in consideration for two reasons. One, he was shockingly competent and shouldn’t be underestimated. Two, Alastor was nothing if not thorough. The true answer was clear from the moment Alastor realized there was a leak, even if he would clear all leads.

The only surprising part was the fact that the TV had done this so quickly, recklessly. Actually, that wasn’t surprising at all.

Vox. Vincent—That fucking TV.

Oh, how Alastor wished to tear him apart with his teeth, wished to taste him, wished to complete his revenge so utterly that Vincent wore that teary face once more. No, it was definitely Vincent who had done this. In a way, Alastor couldn’t blame him. One does not blame the headless squid for its tentacles still flailing about. The man simply hadn’t accepted his inevitable defeat, and thus Alastor would have to teach him a valuable lesson.

However, the reason why Alastor had been able to free himself from the confines of a deal, and why Vox would never be able to free himself from Alastor, was simple. Alastor was willing to wait for the perfect moment to strike against the TV. So it wasn’t time, not quite yet. First, he would prove what he already knew to be fact, and then the planning stage would commence.

Time to cover his bases.

He materialized within the hotel and cast his eyes around. The disgusting hues of pink reminded him quite a bit of Valentino, which was hardly a surprise after how many years the two had spent together. This was the second time he had been within the room, and it was just as unremarkable this time. The difference was that the pig and his master were in the room as well. Laid upon the plush blankets was Angel Dust; over his head were headphones (a word he’d picked up around town, one could hardly be ignorant) that must have blocked out the pig’s sudden squawking at Alastor’s appearance. Additionally, the spider demon’s eyes were closed. Alastor leaned directly over his face and still got no reaction.

Time to fix that.

He summoned a tentacle and used it to poke the demon, intending to gently get his attention.

“FUCK!”

Alastor blinked as Angel Dust jumped up. Alastor immediately leaned backward to avoid the demon, who continued cursing up a storm and clutching at his chest.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite done?”

Angel glared, but his resolve weakened as he came back into awareness of who exactly he was glaring at. “S-sorry, sir, I mean Alastor, what did yah need?”

Alastor tilted his head. The demon seemed all too worried; Alastor didn’t know if it was because of the way he would naturally treat Alastor or if it was because he was worried about getting caught. Actually… no. If he was worried about being caught, the spider would surely have put on a better act than this.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully and figured he ought to just make sure. “Tell me, Anthony— Can I call you Anthony? It’s certainly much more refined than your chosen name.”

“I’d ratha yah didn’t,” Angel muttered.

Alastor widened his grin. “I’ll keep that in mind, my dear Anthony. Now, I made a point a few days ago to remind you what would happen if you were to betray my secrets. Do you remember what that was?”

The spider demon swallowed and put on a semi-competent confident front. “That yah would force me to renegotiate our contract on fear of death. Thankfully I ain’t done that, so I ain’t gotta worry ’bout nothin’.”

Quite convincing.

“I see. Well, let me just adapt those words a little so that you truly understand the full scope of it. If I find that you are lying right now, or that you ever sold out one of my secrets, not only will I follow those original terms to the letter, I will do so after I have utterly skinned our favorite kitty in front of you. Do you understand me, Anthony?”

“Understood, sir.”

The threat was a lie, of course, but Angel had no way of knowing that. The severity of what was at stake settled across his face, and the spider demon actually glared at him. Alastor almost smiled. Good to know whatever was going on between his old poker pal and the spider demon was hardly one-sided. If only because it made both of them easier to control.

At this point Angel was cleared. The demon clearly wouldn’t risk Husker.

“Now now, Anthony, no need for that expression. I just had to make sure you weren’t my loose end here. Do remember to call me Alastor, none of that ‘sir’ malarkey,” Alastor assured, taking a step back, all non-threatening smiles and twirling-staff showmanship.

“Sure, Alastor…” He looked hesitant, the name coming out more like “Alastah” with Angel’s accent.

Well, that was a lot less fun than how Angel used to be around him. “What exactly is the issue?”

Angel looked around. He looked nervous, and it was somewhat frustrating, because Alastor was sure the sinner didn’t act like this around Valentino. Surely he wasn’t worse than that man. On that thought, Alastor wondered if perhaps some revenge against his past tormentor might give Angel some peace of mind. Something to consider, at least.

Still not having received an answer, Alastor moved closer, lengthening his neck and staring directly into Angel’s eyes.

“Fuck, okay! Why the fuck do yah think I’m uncomfortable? You’re scary as shit. I just opened my eyes and looked up to yah standin’ over me like a creep and makin’ these threats. Who wouldn’t be scared?”

“Oh, well, thank you!” Alastor stated cheerfully, looking quite pleased.

“… You’re thankin’ me for that?”

“Well, you complimented me, did you not?” Though he hadn’t realized Angel was quite so sensitive. How hilarious. He certainly wouldn’t be changing his actions, but it was still interesting to note. “Well, off I trot! I have some, hmmm, punishment to dole out~!”

Finally, finally, a familiar smirk came to Angel’s face. “Punishment, huh?”

Rather than give an answer, Alastor gave a jaunty laugh and marched out of the disgustingly pink room, ignoring the snickering from the demon behind him. After all, judging by how scared Angel was of him in general, this would hardly be a problem for his reputation. The poor dear was terrified by just the sight of him.

Humming as he walked down the hallway, he carefully checked through the eyes of his minions, making sure there was nothing in the hotel that demanded his immediate attention personally. But especially now that Vaggie (oh, to name yourself something so embarrassing, Alastor would never understand) had stepped up more, there was hardly anything for him to do other than fill the odd hole in the floor caused by Cherri Bomb.

“Alastor~!”

Alastor blinked and turned around, bending at the hip as Niffty approached him, scurrying on her tiny little legs. “Hello, my dear~! How are you today?”

She cackled, and it made Alastor want to as well. No one made him laugh quite like Niffty, but he withheld as she continued, “Today, me and Baxter set up tons of listening devices. We’re gonna spy on ALL of them hehehehAAAAHAAAA. I told him that was my job other than the bugs!” Alastor wasn’t the biggest fan of her being so open with her little partner, but he always gave Niffty as much leeway as the little darling needed. “And we heard something good. The ultimate bad boy! HeheheeehAAAHAAAA.”

Lucifer? Hmmm. “What about the ultimate bad boy, my dear?”

“Charlie sent him to watch out for you earlier today!”

There was a screeching radio sound that he didn’t bother to stop. Oh, how interesting. Charlie was still as much of an adorable hypocrite as ever, though he expected such from her. Her father, however… yes, it was no wonder he hadn’t felt anyone watching him. Lucifer would be nothing if not careful to stay out of Alastor’s range of senses.

From what he remembered, they never went over the exact wording of any deals, so it was unlikely someone as doltish as Lucifer had pieced everything together. But how frustrating. Well, it seemed he should expect further company on his outings. Perhaps he would teleport to them instead. Though it meant missing the sight of the full brunt of his actions and the respect he had begun commanding, it was certainly better than his little game getting found out so early into his first moves.

Alastor reached over and patted Niffty’s head, the girl practically shaking with the force of her energy at the contact. “Good work, my dear. Do keep it up.”

She nodded, heaving with her breaths before scurrying back to her Baxter. Really, the fish had best watch himself. If he so much as made Niffty frown, Alastor wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the hotel’s reputation in mind before he ripped the little angler demon apart.

So, three issues. One, stopping the person Vincent leaked information to. Two, shutting Vincent up and continuing his revenge against the TV headed demon. Three, Lucifer was apparently on his trail in some capacity.

It seemed, at the very least, that life was quite interesting at the moment.

Lucifer huffed as he sat down at his desk, crossing his arms as he glared down at the metal tools he used for the fine details on his ducks. Knowing that Alastor was up to something, but not knowing what that something was, frustrated him. Thankfully, after ten thousand years of feeling constant frustration about his current standing and punishment, he was used to frustration and pushing passed it. That didn’t mean he liked it.

What he needed was more information.

Alastor, for all his overly prideful opinion of himself, was careful. Lucifer wasn’t going to follow around a sinner all the time, he wasn’t fucking pathetic. There was only so long he could stay a fly. So he needed another way… Alastor was surely already warded against the eyes of Heaven and Hell. So, rather than using those sightseeing portals Lucifer was so fond of, he elected to do something a little more unexpected. A little more powerful. A little more devilish.

He ran a claw across his vein, collecting the golden blood within.

Lucifer cackled and got to work.

Chapter Text

Creation was delicate work.

For one, you had to actually know what you were creating down to each element. It was different from just conjuring, or even creating a realistic illusion. You had to know the science behind it as you went. Of course, creating something like, for example, a rubber duck was relatively easy when you understood how to make rubber on an atomic level. However, when you wanted to create something a little more complicated, a little more magical, well, not everyone could do that. In fact, Lucifer was probably the only one in Hell who could do that. Sure, someone like, urgh, Alastor, could make little creations that were autonomous, but that was completely different. This was a work of art.

Linked in with Lucifer’s own magic, his own blood looping through its little body like a lifeline, like veins, this creature was nearly indestructible. Completely indestructible to anyone in Hell other than himself, of course. That wasn’t enough, though. There needed to be more. There needed to be a way for this little thing to follow Alastor if he caught on and decided to start teleporting instead of walking to his destinations. The issue was, and this was reluctant to admit because the last thing he wanted to do was give that sinner any credit, but Alastor’s abilities were rather unique. That is to say, Lucifer couldn’t replicate them, and if he couldn’t, no one could.

Which meant he needed to find a repository for Alastor’s power, use that to create his little spy, and go from there. Thankfully, and with great consideration, the red guy left them all around the hotel. Really made things easier.

Grabbing one was easy.

They were all over the hotel, but the best place to find one without too many watching eyes was the kitchen. Picking it up by its arm, the grey-scaled little minion fell limp and dangling, like a puppet with its strings cut the moment Lucifer made contact. Its eyes glowed red and blank as it looked up at him.

Lucifer grinned down at it. He wondered if the bellhop was currently looking out of this thing’s eyes. “If you want me to stop, bellhop, you should probably come tell me so.”

It wasn’t as if Lucifer was going to wait around for a response. He made his way back to his rooms, not bothering to dodge the sinners who gave him deference, and it almost felt like he was floating. It had been too long since he did something like this. Yes, getting this job finished and having something to watch Alastor while he spent time with his daughter was the perfect solution to his problem.

“Dad! Hey I was looking for you!”

The second he heard Charlie’s voice Lucifer spun around and hid the little thing behind his back, trying to put on a rather convincing smile and not flinch as she got closer. Could she see the little thing? She was so much taller than him, it wouldn’t be surprising if she could see it from her angle. What was he thinking, he should have just teleported back.

“Charlie~! Charchar~! Ehhhh, what can I… do for you?” He managed through smiling teeth. He wanted to swallow with the force of his worry, an entirely human response.

She didn’t seem to catch on to his increasing nervousness, which was good, because the idea of losing her because of her disapproval of him trying to spy on that red fuck would have been so unbearable he would have to summon a meeting with Heaven just to get an exception made specifically for Alastor.

“Nothing! I was just wondering if you would come to dinner with me and Vaggi today! I guess, well I just thought, you know, it might be nice for my dad and girlfriend to… get to know one another a little more? ONLYIFYOU’RECOMFORTABLEWITHITOFCOURSE!”

Lucifer couldn’t help the way his eyes widened, “Of course, honey! I’d love to have dinner with you and… Vaggi!” Damn, that name sucked. Lucifer was certain he had given her like ten better ones in their interactions. She should have changed it by now. Probably… was that mean? He better not say that out loud, didn’t want to upset Charlie.

“Oh my god THANK YOU! Urgh I was sooooo nervous about it but Vaggi said you would agree!”

Ah, maybe he owed her something… Maybe he should give her a few better names then? No, maybe something else. Oh, yeah, that would be PERFECT! He would gift her that during their meeting. Charlie would absolutely love him for that.

Charlie skipped away as if she had never been there, not even a moment later, with staccato-like thank-yous as she moved on to her next project. Lucifer watched her go, unable to hide the softness in his eyes. He really had created the perfect daughter. She was everything he hoped she would become, and some things he never dared to dream.

He made the rest of the way back to his room relatively unmolested.

He chuckled as he sat down at his desk and set his little captive upon it. Actually… If he cut the his creation along the chest he could probably… Oh that would be PERFECT! His eyes half closed as he imagined Alastor’s reaction to his new little friend. Yep. Perfect.

“You know, Vincent, I do lack faith in your intelligence, but I had thought you knew better than to try something so quickly,” Alastor muttered. He sat down in his chair, looking up at the mounted trophy through his eyelashes, watching as Vox’s face pixel-twitched into that familiar hungry stare. He truly was too easy.

“Oh c’mon, Al, you can’t expect me to not—”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, tone low and needlessly condescending. “Hmmm, how would you put it? Let me make this absolutely clear in simple words you can understand. You can squirm and struggle, Vincent, but it will do nothing. You will remain here, with me, unless it is a day you have visitation with your little teammates. You belong to me. You gain nothing from angering me, Vincent.”

“Oh, I don’t know about nothing.” Emphasis far too obvious.

Alastor’s smile widened, breath hissing between clenched teeth. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order. After all, I am not allowed to physically torture you, but surely there is a—oh, what would it be called—a safe mode to put you into. Hmmm…”

As he hummed in thought, shadows lifted Vincent off the wall and floated him into Alastor’s waiting hands. Alastor flipped the Television Overlord around, inspecting the ports and casing, hunting for a seam he could pry into. Ah—there. A little panel with screws, how interesting.

“Woahwoahwoah, Al—Alastoooorr—Allie, let’s think about this. You know you don’t want to go poking at modern tech. That’s really not your thing!” Vincent’s voice pitched high with panic.

Oh. So there was something worth finding. And this fear in Vincent's voice was certainly most pleasing as well. Alastor felt a shiver run down his spine, oh how he wished in this moment thta he hadn't made that deal with Velvette, because the chance to see Vincent bleeding as he took that tone of voice would have been divine.

“And here I thought you wanted my hands on you. Surely it won’t be that unpleasant, Voxxie.” Alastor pushed the shadows into the shape of a screwdriver. He carefully removed the back panel, mindful of the clause against physical harm. Underneath, circuitry pulsed with visible electric current, jumping and sparking in a way even Alastor, born decades before home lightbulbs, knew was not how machines were meant to function. Intriguing.

He extended a finger and pressed it lightly between two arcing lines of energy.

Vox’s screen cut to black.

“A-A-A-Alastor d-don’t d-do that you—”

“Hmmm. I thought it went without saying that you are not to speak about my little project, yet you did so freely. How odd that you would ask me for something after wronging me so. Oh… what is that?” Alastor's grin lit up at the sight of a tucked-away button labeled factory reset.

“Al, I know what you’re thinking but you don’t want to press that. Think about how—”

“Oh please. Surely you have backups of your memories. A little experiment could hardly be the worst thing. And I rather think it would be adorable, the way I could play with you if you lacked them. Oh, the things I could do~”

“Wait wait wait WAIT—C’MON AL—what the fuck is that thing?”

“Come now, Vox. Surely you don’t expect me to fall for distract—”

“No, I’m fucking serious, Al. What the hell is that? That thing looks wrong. Is it—what? A goddamn duck? A deformed duck?”

A duck?

Alastor paused. Slowly, he turned his head toward the item perched in the corner of the room, something he distinctly did not remember placing there. He allowed his shadows to return Vox to the wall, ignoring the complaints and static-choked protests as he hung his trophy with less care than before, interest having moved away from getting answers out of his ‘old pal’ and onto the fact that duck meant Lucifer, and Lucifer meant entertainment.

The moment he looked away, the thing had moved — Alastor wondered if he ever even saw it at all. Did Vincent actually manage his hypnosis? Surely not, he never had before…

Eyes cast carefully around the room, looking for the aforementioned duck. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his belief of Vincent’s words, but they had rung so true in the moment and Alastor was quite good at recognizing when his old pal was being truthful or not. In that moment all signs had been pointing at him being truthful, so then where was the aforementioned yellow thing that should be within sight.

Alastor spent another fifteen seconds looking and found nothing, so he turned his glare toward the now mounted TV for his insolence. Perhaps he would need to change a few things about his plans for Vincent if he thought he could get away with not only leaking information, but also successfully lying to Alastor. The first part was to be expected, the second part was unacceptable if only because Alastor refused to fall for a lie from Vincent of all people.

Apparently Vincent had fully gained back whatever braincells had fritzed when Alastor had been pressing around in his head, because he frantically shook his face within his immobile frame as if to shake his head no, “I’m not lying you fuck! Over there on your bookshelf, it’s white and weird as hell but it’s definitely a duck!”

Again, it didn’t sound like a lie. If Alastor turned around and found that it was one, he might have to kill Vincent for this, despite the major loss of Velvette being a substantial blow to his current entertainment goals. Still, he turned around and looked toward his bookshelf, and sure enough, there was… something there.

What is that thing?

Alastor strode over toward it. Its mouth was spread into a grin that reminded Alastor much of his own, and as he got closer he could feel his own energy seeping off the… ‘duck’. Though could it really be called a duck when it had a mouth instead of a bill? More details emerged as he got closer, the glowing grin having hidden from sight the red cheeks, and what was that, three sets of wings on it? On its chest was an injury stitched closed with green magic that hummed just like Alastor’s own injury had. Even as it sang with Alastor’s magic there was something else there, something disgustingly holy. It was clearly a creation of the King, and as if sensing his completed realization, the duck itself grinned wider. Then the inclusion of a chest wound carefully stitched shut was a mockery — Oh how the King was entertaining as much as he was absolutely infuriating. He had not a subtle bone in his body. How one went around being a king lacking that particular skill, Alastor would never understand. Thankfully, it was usually fun to watch him bumble, especially with his currently unearned flood of praise. Usually, being the operative word, because as of right now there wasn’t a singular thing that he was finding particularly entertaining with this annoyance in front of him.

Alastor scowled at it, his smile disappearing into something less toothy and more sharp.

“Hey, doesn’t the King have a duck fetish or something? Heard that much from Angel. He a fucking voyeur too?” Vincent posed.

How crass. For his day and age Vincent hadn’t been allowed to use such language while being on the television, and Alastor theorized he only used it now as a way to overcompensate for the fact that soon, he too would be running into problems being as “obsolete” as radio in the face of computers becoming the new way of media. This was something Vincent wouldn’t know how to deal with, and so he tried to adapt to his time. It was — as some of the newer souls might say — a skill issue. For a moment, Alastor considered speaking that aloud, if only to see the expression on Vincent’s face, but the lack of knowledge on the how and why’s of the ‘duck’ companion put a damper on that.

Alastor reached toward it, hand outstretched toward his bookshelf, and just as he was about to make contact, the thing exploded into a view of black shadows interlaced with red and gold glitter — reappearing atop Vincent’s face.

“Hey, get this weird thing the fuck off of me.”

Alastor could feel his eye twitch, “Do shut up, Vincent.”

For a second, Alastor contemplated whether or not the duck was actually Lucifer himself in disguise, but thought better of it. Such wouldn’t explain his own magic being so interlaced with the creation. Still, it was rather impressive that it seemed to have some sort of conscious ability to avoid Alastor, using the ability to teleport as a means to do it was just the icing on top of the already impressive cake.

Calling it internally impressive annoyed Alastor even more, for the unwilling compliment toward the King.

“Al I’m not kidding get this thing the fuck off me, it feels weird I don’t fucking—AL IT JUST LEAKED SOMETHING DID THIS THING JUST FUCKING SHIT ON ME? ALASTOR GET IT THE FUCK OFF—” If only to shut Vincent up, Alastor attempted to send his summoned tentacles toward the duck, only for a golden aura to encompass it and disintegrate the tentacles into scattered shadows effortlessly. As if to mock, its three sets of wings flapped and—

“AL IT FUCKING DID IT AGAIN—FUCK THAT’S GROSS!”

Surely the King didn’t send him a shitting flying chicken that was simply immune to his power just for fun. Rather, it wasn’t that Alastor thought the King incapable of such petty behavior, but no, there was certainly something more interesting at play here. The question is what should he do now…

“Al, ALASTOR PLEASE! Jesus fuck get the fuck OFF YOU SHITTY FLYING RAT!”

Mmmm, well, he could certainly think about it after watching the little thing annoy Vincent. After all, he couldn't hurt the man, and the threatening mood he had managed to obtain had all but left with the sight of this weird creature, so this would have to do. Still...  He would hardly thank the King for this little gift, in fact he much preferred that the King never got word of his enjoyment, however he wasn’t one to not enjoy the entertainment life provided to him. Alastor waved a finger and so appeared a glass of whiskey.

Vincent blinked at him incomprehensibly, “D-did you just summon a—ALASTOR WHAT THE HELL!”

“Oh do quiet down, I’m watching television.”

Alastor thought he saw the duck laugh as well, if only for a moment. He certainly hadn’t thought ducks could do that.

Chapter Text

The entertainment that the demonic, angelic, diabolical little duck creature had given to him had faded off swiftly.

It had been hilarious to see it defecate on Vincent, and in fact it had done several other things such as banging its head into Vincent’s screen in an attempt to annoy the demon, and all manner of other little things, that however did not make up for the annoyance of the damn thing being utterly impossible to lose. Alastor had been testing different aspects of his powers for the last hour or so, attempting to get away from the damned creature, and each time it somehow found its way right next to Alastor.

If Alastor attempted to grab it with his tentacles, an angelic aura would deploy around it, stopping that from occurring.

If Alastor attempted to physically grab it, it would teleport away using Alastor’s shadow abilities.

If Alastor attempted to leave, it would follow after him like an ugly duckling follows its mother.

It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous either. The duck didn’t bother to be subtle, it just watched, and at times looked slightly too amused—in those moments, it was mainly the angelic aura that shined through. Alastor had to assume that Lucifer was actively controlling or watching from the duck in those moments. It was easier to stomach than the idea that this little creature had some sort of active sentience.

It did not escape Alastor’s notice that if Lucifer was able to see through this little monstrosity, then he knew Vincent was inside of Alastor’s rooms. Surely that would be a good way to know if the creation was there for annoyance, or for monitoring Alastor. If Lucifer somehow showed he knew about Vox, then that would surely give away a secret of this creature that Alastor so longed to be rid of, even after naught but an hour. More clues to the abilities of this little thing would also be useful, but there were things Alastor didn’t want to attempt until he knew of Lucifer’s ability to experience through the little thing. It would hardly do to be sloppy with his secrets, after all. He was nothing like that useless mother-ducking king. If Lucifer thought he could try and leverage this information, Alastor was more than willing to leverage the fact that Lucifer was purposely spying on him in return. Charlie would not appreciate that. Really, the thing had created a trap of his own making with this little move. Let him struggle in Alastor’s web. It would hardly do the little King any good.

Alastor couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of it. Oh how interesting it was, piling all this power onto Lucifer’s doorstep, the man being suspicious, but not being able to do anything about it. His reactions really would be amazing. That, however, did not lessen his irritation at the fact that he was being followed. Oh, of course he had plans for what to do if Lucifer tried to use the knowledge, but it didn’t make it any less irritating to be followed around. Unacceptable, really.

Hmmm, his irritation was starting to prick at his skin. With the King’s eyes potentially on him, he couldn’t even do what he had been doing for the past however long it was, torturing sinners into being faithful followers of the King, so what was there to do when one had to behave themselves? After all, his plan to tell Charlie about her father’s spying would only be worth attempting if Alastor wasn’t doing something worse than her father’s attempts at spying. If he was torturing people, it would prove that Lucifer was right to spy. Couldn’t have that. So, Alastor would have to fall back on other sources of entertainment. Time to annoy Husker and Angel Dust whilst looking for more information on where the thing was and what it was currently doing. Hopefully, if he made himself known in the main lobby, Alastor could get a glimpse into the man’s eyes and at least get some sort of hint.

He steadily exhaled.

He would not let the King take his current source of amusement by sticking his nose into things.

Alastor had definitely been busy. Lucifer wasn’t quite sure what to make of it yet, but he was up to no good, no fucking good. He had that TV guy in his bedroom. Of course, Lucifer did enjoy the opportunity to get some revenge on the TV-head demon, and it had been objectively hilarious. Alastor finding it funny did not add anything to the situation, of course. And make no mistake, Alastor had found it funny. He watched with a smile that was clearly a smirk as he sipped his drink for quite some time.

Sadistic fuck.

The question was, now that he got some revenge, and now that he knew at least a little bit more about what the red fuck was up to, what should he do with the information? It was a question he pondered as he continued to monitor the cannibalistic demon while he tested the bounds of Lucifer’s creation. Of course, Alastor never managed to actually escape it. Of course he hadn’t. Hopefully he was admiring the craftsmanship. It was a work of art that wasn’t something anyone could recreate. A perfect mix of both their abilities, curated specifically to follow Alastor, to be indestructible—a masterpiece.

He had more important things to worry about, however. He had dinner with his daughter, and that was far more important than anything to do with Alastor. They were going to have a great dinner, and he was going to learn about her little girlfriend, and Charlie was going to love him and not want him to leave because he was going to be the best dad ever and she finally wouldn’t fucking hate him for ruining her lifeandbeingauselessfuckwho—

He felt air getting caught in his throat and gasped out a few careful breaths, trying to calm himself. He didn’t, didn’t, panic like this. Unless his daughter needed comfort for her own panic and needed to feel like she had someone who understood. If that was the case, then he could admit this probably happened like, what, three times a day?

He looked through the eyes of the Al-Duck (maybe he should name it?) in order to distract himself.

Alastor was in a staring competition with it. He looked like he wanted to rip it apart.

That was actually hilarious.

Another deep and steadying breath had him straightening up and ready to face the day. Or, well, the night, in this case. Since it was dinner time, and hopefully he wasn’t late, did Charlie say what time? Fuckfuckfuck he was going to be late, wasn’t he? Okay, Lucifer, calm down. If there was no given time, then she couldn’t hate him for being a little late. Plus, he was the King of Hell. He could arrive to things whenever he wanted. Right?

With a wave of his hand he freshened himself up, straightened out the lapels of his suit with a little too much care, considering he had just magicked himself perfect and there was no way for said lapels to actually be anything other than straight. Double-checking never hurt anyone. Another snap of his fingers had his staff in hand. He started making his way down to the lobby, eyes darting around for his daughter, easily ignoring the sinners. They moved out of his way now, eyes cast down with respect, and it was almost as if it was still spreading, in favor of finding his little girl.

Turning the corner from the stairs and toward the front desk of the lobby, he couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across his face as he saw her. She was wearing a beautiful red dress that cut away to show some sort of pant leg, similar to what she had been wearing when he saw her after he escaped the place of pain that the TV demon guy had put him into. He easily pushed aside his bitter feelings toward her actions of not paying attention to him that day, because she was his daughter. Not only did she deserve his forgiveness, she didn’t need it, because she could do no wrong in his eyes.

“Charlie! I hope I’m not too late, honey!” he called, practically dashing over to her.

Vaggi was actually by her side, though Lucifer hadn’t been paying much attention. She looked nervous, her weight shifting from foot to foot. And she should be nervous. See, unlike the rest of the sinners in this godforsaken place, if Vaggi took a step out of line with his daughter, he could actually completely and utterly fucking destroy her—

His horns itched beneath his skin, so he forced his gaze back to his beloved daughter before he said or did anything he could come to regret. Something that Charlie would hate him for.

“Dad! No, you’re not late! Actually, I think I got so excited I forgot to tell you a time to meet up anyway,” Charlie said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously and laughing as she looked off to the side.

She shouldn’t be nervous. What was there to be nervous about? “That’s fine, honey! So long as I get to spend time with you, I don’t really care what time.”

“And Vaggi!” Charlie added, gently hugging her girlfriend’s waist and pulling her closer.

“Yes, of course. And Vaggi.” Not nearly as important as his daughter, but if it made Charlie happy, then Lucifer would absolutely include her.

Silence lingered for just a moment too long. Vaggie was the one who broke it, clearing her throat and gesturing toward the door. “Should we get going? We do have reservations in about thirty minutes.”

“Right! Right, of course! Yes! Let’s go~!” Charlie sang the last note and took a confident step forward. His little girl really had grown up so much. You blink and you miss it, huh? Lucifer blinked back the moisture in his eyes.

“Oh my! And where are you three going off to?”

Lucifer stiffened like a board, the step he was about to take half-aborted and causing him to stumble slightly—not that it showed. He immediately straightened himself out, and obviously it was as if it had never happened.

“Alastor! We were just leaving to have dinner with my dad. You’ll be okay watching over the hotel for a few hours, right?” Charlie sounded far too happy to be talking to that red guy. The one who had hosted the bastard that tried to rip apart her reputation in his own rooms.

Lucifer knew, however, that no good would come from making a scene. Not when he was so close to leaving and spending time with his daughter. No, he wouldn’t ruin this now. It was tempting, though. So tempting to throw that information into the red guy’s face.

“Why of course! It is quite important to try and bond with one’s parents after such a long period of estrangement!”

Lucifer clenched his fist at his side, struggling not to turn and glare at Alastor. He knew that if he did, it would result in a verbal argument, which would result in Charlie getting mad, which would result in him fleeing back to his rooms in a fit of depression. No, there were more important things. Think of the small revenge that came from not giving in. The revenge that came from spending time with his daughter. The revenge that came from the little duck annoying Alastor.

He had plenty of wins against the radio demon. He didn’t need another one right now just for the sake of winning an argument. And make no mistake, he would have won the argument. He was a fallen angel. He was Lucifer.

In fact, he was fucking Lucifer. He could look this guy right in the eyes, give no reaction, and move on with his amazing day with his daughter and the other girl, and he would fucking like it. He swung his gaze right into the other demon’s eyes, ready to stare him down—

Those eyes were burning.

Burning with curiosity, with amusement, just fucking burning. Was this Hell? Lucifer felt the air catch in his lungs for a second. He sputtered out a cough. “Right, yeah. Glad you can watch the hotel for my daughter. Let’s just get out of here, Charlie. Like, right now. I’m super hungry. I want to go. Let’s not waste any more time dallying here!”

Lucifer pointed his staff toward the door and dashed out. He wasn’t fleeing, of course. But there was something to be said for a little strategic retreat in the face of Alastor’s eyes burning like they were Hell itself when they met Lucifer’s. There was something really fucking wrong with that guy. No one in Hell should have eyes like that. Maybe he had some weird, freaky deal with someone that made his eyes look that interesting—

Lucifer cleared his throat, and after a minute or so of frantic walking, he looked back at Charlie and Vaggie, who were trailing behind him and looking almost lost for words.

“…So… where did you say we were going?”

This was embarrassing. Well, at least he was no longer under the freakish gaze of Alastor. That was something he would need to avoid as much as possible.

How… intriguing.

Lucifer had scurried out after meeting his eyes as if Alastor were about to chase after him like a charlatan salesman hunting for a soul. Or perhaps the saying would be that he fled like a bat out of Hell? That was a saying, yes? Either way, the man was clearly fleeing for reasons beyond Alastor’s understanding. Though, from that brief glance into those eyes, they definitely knew more, and though it was still an assumption, Alastor would move forward with the certainty that their little ugly duckling granted Lucifer the ability to share memories, or at the very least, share sight.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Angel drew Alastor’s attention away from the door that had shuttered closed behind the royal family.

It was the duck.

...Had it hidden itself away so that Charlie wouldn’t notice it? Now that was an interesting oversight. If it wouldn’t show itself around Charlie, then there were suddenly far more reasons to be around the more delightful Morningstar. Alastor couldn’t help but cackle. From somewhere in the vents, he heard his darling little Niffty join in, not that she had a reason, and not that she ever needed one.

Oh, this would be fun. It had been going too easily. Finding a way to frustrate the King while simultaneously acting as his biggest advocate would be just as entertaining as watching the man stumble. Both physically, as he had stumbled upon Alastor’s entrance, and mentally, as he fumbled through every interaction like the awkward little pissant that he was.

“Alastor, you’re scaring Angel,” Husk said, breaking through the laughter with a gruff complaint.

Alastor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Husk was never any fun unless Alastor forced him into it. He had hoped that the inclusion of Angel into their little trio might improve the man’s mood, but that remained to be seen. Still, he stopped laughing. It wouldn’t do to give the poor spider a heart attack. Really, though, Angel would need to get used to it. They had something of an eternity together, after all. There was no point in remaining a terrified, meek little thing forever.

Either way, Alastor knew what his new focus would be.

Yes. Time to really cement himself as Charlie’s other father. After all, he was already the reason behind a resurgence of the King’s popularity. Why not continue to make himself utterly indispensable? Just the thought of Lucifer realizing there was nothing he could do, that he was already too late, that his entire life was absolutely pillared around Alastor, from the respect of the people down to the love of his very own daughter, oh, it was perfect.