Chapter Text
Lucifer was so much smaller in person than Alastor had imagined. Charlie was fairly tall; he had expected someone of the same stature to be her father. Someone who would balance out the incredible height that he knew Lilith to be. He was never so glad to be wrong. Lucifer wore his heart on his sleeve; every emotion was written plainly on his face. He was genuine and protective of his daughter, full of a true, wholesome kind of love. He couldn't be farther from Lilith in that regard, as well. Not only was Lucifer small, but he was also slight of build and looked so, so delicate.
It made Alastor’s mouth water.
As he watched Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie come down the stairs to return to the lobby of the hotel, he made sure to take in everything. The way the tails on his coat sway back and forth in motion with his hips, the fluff of his golden hair bobbing with every step, the way his slender fingers curled around the bright red apple of his cane.
It was easy to see exactly why Lucifer was temptation incarnate.
And, oh, Alastor was tempted.
He recalled, less than an hour before, the quips and the back-and-forth he and Lucifer shared. It was made even more tantalizing in that it was done in front of everyone. Alastor found that the king was just so easy to rile up. The flustered blush that colored across his nose to the tips of his ears. He wondered if he could feel the heat of the blush through the fabric of his gloves if he were to cup his blazing face.
He watched as Lucifer took his leave in a mist of red, entranced at the contrast of the bloody color as it enveloped his powder-white skin. So stark and delectable. Alastor wondered if he drew a blade across the length of Lucifer’s face, if it would taste as sweet as it would look, dripping down his cheeks like tears.
“—stor. Alastor!”
His head towards the call with a sickening crack. Husk stood behind the bar, wiping it down with a supremely unimpressed look on his face.
“Yes, Husker, my dear friend?” Alastor acknowledges through gritted teeth, annoyed that he had been caught up so tightly in his own thoughts.
“Well, Boss, I know it’s your bar and everything, but maybe you can refrain from carvin’ up the wood?” Husk replies, head nodding towards Alastor’s hands.
Alastor’s hands, both of which had found their way onto the polished bar top. Both of which had all of his claws dug in deep, curling downward divots as his hands turned into fists.
“I mean, I ain’t no carpenter, but I think your technique could use some work,” Husk continues with a light smirk.
Alastor slowly removes his hands from the wood, fluttering his fingers lightly to shake the tiny splinters that clung to them. He spawned his microphone with a flourish, spinning it around his fingers and placing both his hands on top of it, placing it in front of him on the ground with a soft thump. His mask firmly in place, once more.
“Right you are! Nothing I can’t fix, I assure you!”
With a snap, the bar quickly mended itself, removing the evidence of his internal musings from the wood. Alastor looked back to Husk, smile wide and eyes narrowed, warning him of any other unwarranted commentary.
Husk just shrugged and moved his rag to polish the area Alastor had fixed. Not his problem, anymore.
“Now, I’m afraid I must be off. Tell them not to wait up, hm?”
Alastor felt some tension leave his form before twisting on his heel and leaving the hotel lobby to exit onto the street. He needed to see an old friend for some ideas.
Alastor stood outside of Rosie’s Emporium, looking at the “Closed” sign hanging in the window. He tucked his hand inside his vest to pull out his pocket watch, flipping it open to glance at the time. Perfect, he thought. Rosie would have just started her lunch break.
He pushed open the door, the bell above chimed pleasantly as it signaled his arrival.
A woman’s voice called out from the back of the store, “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. You’ll have to come back in an hour when I—” Rosie cuts herself off as she turns the corner. “Oh, my stars! Alastor, you sneak. Come in, come in, you know you’re always welcome here!”
He grins, wider and much more genuine as he closes and locks the door behind him, lest anyone else feel they are as entitled as he to Rosie’s time and company during off-hours.
“Rosie, sweetheart, it’s so lovely to see you! I truly hope you don’t mind my intrusion?” Alastor inquires, taking her into his arms for a brief hug.
Rosie squeezed him tightly before taking his elbow politely and leading him further into the shop. “Absolutely not! Now, put it out of your mind and tell me what’s the matter. You have the look of a man positively starved,” she pauses, placing her fingers over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. “Not that that’s anything new, of course!”
Alastor beamed, taking a seat when she waved towards the one opposite her own. He settled in to the plush fabric. Rosie was never one to skimp on quality, that’s for certain. He watched as Rosie fluttered about the shop for a moment longer, disappearing around the corner briefly before returning with a tea tray to set on the table separating their seats.
“Always so hospitable, even with nary a moment’s notice! You are truly a divine woman, Rosie,” Alastor says, ignoring her astute observation for the moment. He graciously takes the tea and offers of finger-food, nodding deeply in thanks.
“Not too divine, I should hope,” she replies with a small laugh that Alastor joins in with. She settles into her chair, brushing her hands across her skirt to flatten it out precisely before locking eyes with Alastor again. She claps her hands together softly. “Now! Tell Rosie all about it, mister. This is quite an unusual event and I’m just dying to get the juicy details!”
Alastor takes his time with a long, silent sip of tea, enjoying the way Rosie was practically vibrating out of her skin at this new development. He briefly wishes that she was a little less intelligent, a little less keen. He would have liked to maintain an air of mystery and not be so transparent, even around his closest friend. Not that it would have mattered much. He’s here for her advice either way, she just happened to know the general subject with nothing but a glance.
“Yes, indeedy! I’m afraid I am quite starved,” he responds, radio static buzzing with energy around him. “And quite out of my depth, too, if I may be so helpless in my dearest friend’s company.” He attempts to demure, not that Rosie buys his performance for a second, judging from her slowly arching eyebrow.
“You’ve never been helpless a day in your life, Alastor, let’s be honest.” Rosie leans in conspiratorially. “Of course, you’ve never come to me for matters of the heart before, so that’s certainly something intriguing. What’s changed?” She takes a moment to pop one of the fingers into her mouth, bones crunching quietly under the grind of her teeth.
“Well, there never has been a matter of the heart to be brought, before,” he admits, shaking his head softly. He looks at her from beneath his hair. “Did you know the King of Hell barely reaches to my chest?”
Rosie stops chewing. Alastor’s grin broadens. She swallows with a gulp that echoes against the static radiating in the room.
“You jest, Alastor, surely.”
“Not at all.”
Rosie lets out a long breath, leaning back in her chair to look at him critically. “Well, you don’t start small, do you? From zero interest in anyone before and beyond death to courting the King of Hell, just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers in emphasis.
She’s right. Never once had he been so captivated by another beyond what their viscera would look like on his hands, what their meat might taste like on his tongue. It is completely new to him to look and be interested in the person beyond the picture he could paint with their blood or the meal he could make from their parts. Not that he isn’t interested in such an activity with Lucifer, too.
“I’ve certainly never been accused of aiming too low,” he finally replies. He takes a moment to wink at her before continuing, “Except for now, of course.” He draws a clawed finger across his collarbone, about where the king’s head reached.
The bark of laughter that escapes Rosie is loud and rapturous and he cannot help the canned laughter that plays quietly though the static, incredibly proud of himself.
Once she regains her composure, taking a moment to re-adjust her already perfectly placed hat and collar, she speaks again, “First thing’s first, then. How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, not long,” he says, to her confusion, “about an hour or so.”
Rosie stares at him blankly. “Alastor.”
He just smiles at her, loving her reactions that she usually is too disciplined to let slip.
“Quite.”
She sighs and takes a quick sip of tea before continuing her line of questioning. “Alright, then. You’ve spoken with him, yes? Gauged his interest in being courted in the first place?”
Alastor’s ears twitch. He busies himself by breathing on his monocle and cleaning it off with his sleeve. “Not… explicitly.”
He glances at her and sees another quirked brow and gives her a little more. He pretends to check his claws, flexing them this way and that.
“We argued. Extensively. In front of his daughter. There were so many buttons to push. He’s so easily ruffled, it’s simply delightful!” He sets his monocle back in its rightful place, choosing instead to fidget with his microphone. “Of course, I do understand that, even with my lack of experience... This is not, exactly, ideal… So, I’ve come to you, my dear friend, in hopes of hearing your thoughts and getting your expert advice in this matter so I may make him my own.”
It was quiet in the shop for several long moments, Alastor’s static feedback getting gradually louder as he became more agitated from her lack of response.
He opens his eyes when he feels Rosie’s hands cover his own on top of his microphone, ceasing their inane movements that were so unlike him. She looked genuinely taken aback by his confession, but not horrified, which was a good sign.
“Alastor, I’ve gotta admit, you’re really giving me a run for my money,” she tells him softly.
His ears lower themselves closer to his head, his grin becoming a little more strained as he waited for her to finish her thought. Instead of a gentle rejection, she shoots to her feet.
“But, I think I’ve got just the thing! Close your eyes now, darling, close ‘em!”
Surprised by her enthusiasm, he closes her eyes and waits patiently, hearing her move around the room once again and what sounds like an opening and closing of a drawer.
“Put your hand out, now!”
He places his hand out, palm up and ready to receive her ace in the hole. He follows her lead when something is placed in his hand as she closes his fingers around it. She manipulates his arm so he is holding it right in front of his face.
“Aaand, open!”
Alastor blinks a few times to get his eyes to adjust before settling on what Rosie gave him. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t a mirror. He takes in his own outwardly confused expression with apprehension.
“Rosie, dear, it’s a mirror.”
“Nothing gets passed you, Alastor! Of course, it’s a mirror,” she says, exasperated, stepping to his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Now, I’ve never seen you in such a state. Fidgeting and obfuscating and the lot! What you’ve told me is this,” she pauses to take a breath before continuing, “You met a man and was so enamored with him that you couldn’t help yourself but to get under his skin so badly that you hoped to stay there with him long after he was gone,” she stops to circle back in front of him, gently lowering his hand holding the mirror so they could speak facing each other again. “He also must have matched you quip-for-quip, too, if you’re interested in him. So, it tells me that he finds you worthy of his attention, of his time, and of his energy.” She counts off each item on her fingers, then sits down again in her chair, taking her teacup in hand once more. “There is no ‘secret ingredient’ for you to woo him, Alastor—you’re the secret ingredient. Actions speak much louder than words ever could, darling, so give as good as you get, and you’ll have the very King of Hell eating out of the palm of your hand in no time!”
Alastor places the mirror on the table gently, grin feeling less and less real.
“Rosie, for all my lovely qualities, and there are many, I am aware tact is not one of them. However, I was truly hoping for something more…Hm, groundbreaking than ‘be yourself,’ if I may say so,” Alastor says, placing both his hands back on top of his microphone instead of risking shattering the porcelain teacup.
Rosie’s too-sharp teeth were on full display as she regarded the other demon. They sat there, smiling at each other, wide and deadly for several beats before she finally responds, “Darling, when someone pays for my services, most of the time they’re paying me to tell them the obvious stuff. And, you know what? It’s successful. It works. Every time.” She places her teacup down delicately and points towards the table. “You pick up that mirror, mister, and you look at your winning smile and you tell me, exactly, what you have left if you don’t have you. He finds you interesting enough to look at more than once. More than a second, even! Interesting enough to fight with and enough to take your words to heart enough to get flustered by.”
She gets up coming into Alastor’s personal space, fluffing his hair and adjusting his ears, straightening his collar with a flourish. Alastor tilts his head up to begrudgingly accept her pampering. One of the only people that can touch him like this and still have their fingers attached after the fact. Once she was done, she lifted up his chin with a clawed finger, looking at him sternly.
“So! You are gonna leave here and you are gonna intrigue him and dazzle him and take a huge fucking chunk out of him with those beautiful chompers of yours when he gets close enough to let you,” she sing-songs to him pleasantly. “You’re the only one in this God-forsaken town with the absolute gall and the razzamatazz to take on the task of courting the King of Hell and you are gonna do it.”
Alastor takes her hand from her chin, bringing it to his mouth to place a polite kiss on the back of it. He stands up before her, twirling her once before setting her back down in her chair. He regards her with a true, beaming smile. “You are a delight, my dear. You do know that I love it when you butter me up.”
“One more thing, Alastor!” She rises from her chair and brings him by the arm to the front of the store. “Do not forget, he is the King of Hell for a reason. And you are in Hell for a reason. Don’t be afraid to be hellish, darling. Everyone else would be far too scared to act anything other than perfect towards him. Be different. Be you. And you’ll have him in no time flat.”
The static surrounding Alastor buzzes with excitement and inspiration. He hums delightedly, checking his pocket watch quickly before placing it securely back into his vest pocket.
“Well, my dear, I must admit… You have given me just the pep in my step that I needed to take the bull by the horns!” Alastor exclaimed, swinging his arm jovially. “Or goat! As the case may be,” he adds, canned laughter adding to Rosie’s stifled giggle. “Now, I know I have taken up far too much of your valuable time, my darling girl. I’ll take you out for a very special dinner when this is all over. Simply choose your blood type and I’ll make sure it’s served warm, hm? Nothing but the best for you, Rosie,” he coos, pulling her into another close hug in parting.
“Oh, you flirt. Don’t let your man hear you, I don’t wanna be on the King of Hell’s shortlist, you hear me?” Rosie teased, opening the door for him gracefully. “See you soon, dear. Oh—!”
Alastor turned to her in the doorway, watching as she grabbed something then hurried back to him.
“Take this as a reminder. I know how in your own head you can get!” Rosie says, placing the mirror in his hand and curling his fingers around it, just as before. “Now, shoo!”
Alastor, door closed firmly in his face, looks down at the mirror. He turns his face this way and that, smiling ever wider. He places the mirror firmly in the lining of his suit jacket and walked back onto the street.
Showtime.