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Charlie corners Alastor in the second floor hallway, whirling up to him like an exceedingly cheerful tornado. What an effective ambush predator she can be! He can admire her skill at catching her prey, even if it is incredibly annoying to be caught.
“Hi, Alastor!” she cries, grinning, “We’re doing beginner yoga this morning. I wanted to do a group art project but we didn’t have enough supplies, maybe next time. Join us for yoga, though! C’mon, a healthy body is a healthy soul!”
She shoves a plastic case in his face. He jerks away immediately. The case says “VoxTech Presents — Guide to Beginner Yoga! Trust Us With Your Health!” in a tacky font. Beneath the title is a picture of a smiling sinner bent into a pretzel shape.
Alastor would rather sell his soul to Angel Dust’s pet pig than attend a beginner yoga class, much less one based around a televised tutorial created by Vox’s upstart company.
“Apologies, my dear,” he says, “As much as I’d love to degrade myself with such foolishness, I have business elsewhere today.”
Charlie’s face falls a little, but she must not have had much hope that he would actually stay, because she doesn’t look too upset. Smart girl.
“Well, if you’re sure… yoga’s fun, you know. Where are you going?” she asks. Her tone of voice is so dejected that Alastor has to push back a sudden slight but still inexplicably present urge to agree to join yoga.
Instead, he widens his smile and says, “Cannibal Town! I wanted to thank Rosie in person for lending us her aid.”
Charlie brightens again.
“Tell her I said hi!” she chirps.
“Of course! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back later.”
Alastor makes a hasty exit before Charlie can actually manage to finagle him into yoga. That brief flash of an urge to join was quite alarming!
Truthfully, he wants to visit Rosie for more than just a thank you. He’s hoping she might still have some angel meat he could sample.
The only taste of the divine he’s ever gotten is a lick of ichor from the severed head of the angel Carmilla Carmine killed. And sweet as it had been, it had only been a taste, and from a long-dead corpse.
He had been looking forward to tasting it fresh after the Extermination, but then that sloppy wretch Adam defeated him — the thought makes his smile tighten and the air around him spit static — and by the time he had recovered, Rosie’s people had long since carted away all the dead exorcists. None were left for him to sample.
He’s hoping Rosie might still have some preserved meat for him to try. But Alastor can’t tell Charlie that. Cannibalism discomforts her.
His stroll to Cannibal Town is a pleasant one. The weather is as good as it ever is - the air is thick and dry, and smells like unwashed bodies mixed with drugs and puke, but there’s no acid rain. And there are no crowds. There never are, when he’s around.
Once he reaches Cannibal Town, the air becomes much more pleasant. Rosie keeps her territory in good shape. She would never tolerate such uncleanliness on her streets.
Rosie smiles widely when he arrives at her door. She ushers him inside and into her parlor.
“Come, come, sit!” she says, making shooing gestures to direct him to a chair at a small table. The chair is made of carved bone. The table has a lovely lace tablecloth over it. “How are the princess and that silly hotel of hers doing?”
He sits. She remains standing, rummaging around in a cupboard.
“Quite well!” he says brightly. “She sends her regards.”
Rosie hums in acknowledgement.
“I’ve got these wonderful pickled tongues from a new place down the road, you simply have to try a few,” she says, still rummaging around.
At last, she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls a jar of tongues out of the cupboard. The jar is large, made of clear glass, and tied with a neat red bow. The thick gray tongues inside look lovely, but Alastor didn’t come for that kind of meat.
“Rosie, dear, those look delicious,” he says, putting his elbows up on the table and leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands. “But I admit, I was wondering if you might have anything more… exotic?”
Rosie looks at him sharply.
“Oh?” she asks.
“You see, I didn’t get a chance to sample an exorcist after the battle,” he continues. “I was… otherwise occupied, to my great disappointment. I was hoping you might have some angelic meat left.”
Rosie grins, her teeth deadly and shining. As a master of smiles, Alastor deeply admires her skill. It’s a friendly smile. It’s also a smile that lets him know he’s accruing quite a debt. He still owes her for her aid during the Extermination, and this new request has added to that amount.
Gifts always come with a cost. True friendship is when the costs are neither hidden nor meant to harm.
“I’ve got better than that, hon,” Rosie says brightly. “Just a moment! I’ll be right back!”
She pushes the tongues back into the cabinet and ducks out of the room. Alastor plays a jaunty tune in the air around him while he waits.
Rosie comes back a few minutes later with a large circular tin. It’s decorated with red and white stripes. A paper tag attached to it says “First Man” in neat, looping letters.
Alastor leans forward with great interest.
“Is that…?” he says. The airwaves around him hum with his excitement.
Rosie puts the tin on the table in front of him with a flourish. Then she sits down across from him, perching neatly, hands in her lap.
“Sure is!” she says, “Adam jerky. I made it myself. It’s not every day you get such a prize! Take as much as you like, I have more than just one tin of it.”
Alastor gives her his most charming smile. “Rosie, you are the truest friend a gentleman could ever hope to have,” he says. He will pay her back very well for this!
Rosie laughs brightly.
“And you’re a shameless flatterer,” she replies. “Go on now, try some.”
Alastor opens the tin. Inside are long, neat strips of dried meat. His mouth waters. He selects one and holds it up to admire.
It doesn’t look like much. It’s indistinguishable from dried beef or pork. Nobody would ever look at it and see the father of humanity. Oh, how the mighty leader of Heaven’s armies has fallen!
Alastor pops the strip of meat into his mouth. It’s rich and flavorful, of course. Rosie knows how to make good food. It would have been better fresh, but the sweet satisfaction of eating what remains of that pompous fool far outweighs anything so unimportant as taste.
“Well, what do you think?” Rosie prompts.
“This is by far the most pleasant Adam has ever been, dear,” Alastor answers. “And of all the delights I’ve sampled at your table over the years, this one is my favorite.”
Rosie laughs.
“I’m glad you like it! Now, I just have to tell you about what’s been happening here in town lately, you’ll never believe it…”
They spend a pleasant hour or so chatting. He learns quite a lot of gossip about the residents of Cannibal Town — who’s courting, trying to eat, fighting with, or starting a new business with whom. He plays laugh tracks and canned applause at the appropriate points during her stories.
In return, he shares information with her — who has a weakness she could exploit, who might be willing to make a deal, which territories are less strongly defended than they appear. It’s a start on paying back what he owes her. It’s also just lovely to catch up with a friend.
Afterwards, he strolls out the door with a large helping of the tin’s contents in a paper bag. He starts on the path back to the hotel, snacking on the jerky as he walks. Sinners scurry out of his way as they see him coming.
Halfway back, he spots an art supply store. Usually he wouldn’t be interested, but hadn’t Charlie mentioned needing new art supplies?
Alastor walks into the store with a bounce in his step. A cheery jazz tune plays in the air around him. He pops another piece of jerky into his mouth as the demon behind the counter looks up.
“Oh, shit,” they say, shrinking away from him in terror.
Alastor’s good mood improves even further at being recognized. Seven years away have degraded his reputation to frankly deplorable standards. He’s been doing his best — worst? — to return it to its previous height, and his efforts appear to be paying off.
“Oh, shit,” the art store employee repeats, their slitted eyes wide with panic.
“No need for vulgarity, chum!” says Alastor, coming up to the counter. “Say, could you point me towards your crayon selection?”
He knows Charlie is fond of crayons. She writes and illustrates most of her lesson plans with them.
The art store employee gestures to their left with a shaking hand.
“Um. That aisle, sir,” they squeak out. Their fur is puffed up in fear.
Alastor strides off to the indicated aisle, which does indeed have a wide selection of crayons. He stands there for a few moments, rather overwhelmed. He never realized how many types of crayons there were. Would Charlie prefer 12-packs or 64-packs or 100-packs? Would she like glow-in-the-dark crayons? Glitter crayons? Scented crayons? Whatever ultramax supreme crayons are?
He ends up taking some of each type. Then he goes back to the counter to inquire about the locations of other kinds of art supplies, but finds that the employee has fled the shop.
Ah, well. At least he doesn’t have to pay. He can find the rest on his own.
Alastor leaves the store laden down with everything one could ever want for a group art session. He’s an artist of audio, not visuals, so he wasn’t quite sure what to get. He took some of everything. The result is that there are far too many bags to carry all the way back to the hotel. He’ll have to travel via shadow instead.
He rearranges the bags in his arms, securing them more firmly so that they won’t be torn away by hungry darkness as he travels. Then he slips into the inky blackness and lets it carry him away.
Alastor rematerializes in the hotel lobby. It is unoccupied except for Charlie and Husk. Charlie is sprawled across one of the couches, going over lesson plans. Husk is in his usual spot behind the bar.
Alastor wonders what Charlie would taste like in comparison to Adam. Surely the fresh meat of Lucifer’s own daughter would be infinitely better than the dried remains of an angel who was born a mere human.
Charlie and Husk glance up when they hear the hum of static which heralds his presence. She smiles when she sees him. Husk, on the other hand, frowns and takes a swig from a bottle.
“Alastor! You’re back! How was your visit with Rosie? Ooh, what’s in the bags?” Charlie chirps.
Alastor strides over to her, saying, “My visit was lovely. I passed on your regards as you requested.”
He pauses for dramatic effect.
“As for the bags… I stopped at an art supply store on the way back. I bought some supplies for the hotel,” he finishes. He drops his many bags onto the floor.
Charlie’s eyes widen in excitement. She drops off the couch and onto the floor at his feet in order to examine the bags. One by one she pulls out the crayons, acrylics, oils, watercolors, pastels, charcoal, brushes, modeling clay, colored pencils, and markers.
Alastor’s shadow furtively snatches the bag of jerky and slips away with it before she can open that one, too.
She makes little noises of excitement and delight as she empties each bag out onto the floor in front of her.
“Oh! You — oh, wow!” she says when she finishes with the last one. She looks up at him and grins. “Thank you so much, Al! This is amazing!”
“Of course, my dear,” he says fondly. It’s nice to have the Princess of Hell sitting at his feet like a loyal dog.
“Husk, come see what Alastor got,” calls Charlie, wanting to share her excitement.
Husk sighs and trudges over. Dutifully, he crouches down to examine Alastor’s purchases as Charlie waves them wildly in his face.
Husk grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, just tell me you won’t make us finger paint. That’d be hell to clean outta my fur.”
“I won’t, I promise!” she says.
Charlie stands up and looks at Alastor with an expression of pure grateful happiness.
“Thank you so, so much, Al! This is incredible!”
She leans forward to hug him. He lets her.
“It’s nothing,” Alastor says, ignoring how unpleasant the pressure of her arms around him is. He carefully reciprocates the hug, putting one arm lightly around her back.
“After all, what’s a gift between friends?”