Ɽ₳ĐłØĐɄ₴₮

who?

ωαяиιиg: ¢σитαιиѕ α∂υℓт ¢σитєит!! νιєωєя ∂ιѕ¢яєтισи α∂νιѕє∂!!

Angel

We get to the hotel and Vaggie flops onto a dusty old couch, facing the wall, and doesn't say another word. Hungry from all my exertions today, I rummage through the unplugged fridge, but find only a box of popsicles. Correction: a half melted box of popsicles.

I start sucking on one as Charlie sits down on a huge crate. "It's prolly a good idea to get some real food in this place," I say. "You know, to feed all the wayward souls you got in here," I grin. I laugh, but it peters out. For some reason, making fun of this mess doesn't seem appropriate right now. 

I start to reach an arm out, but think better of it. She probably doesn't want my comfort anyway. I'm the one who got her in this mess. Instead, I walk off and gnaw on my freezer-burned, half melted popsicle.

Charlie goes outside and shuts the door, for what reason I don't know, but I'm glad. Just looking at her forlorn face makes me feel guilty for something I shouldn't feel bad about. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I don't notice when she comes back in, but all of a sudden, she's calling Vaggie's name, and she sounds kind of panicked. "The Radio Demon is at the door..." She says, unsure of what to do. Vaggie bolts upright. "What?!" 

I stop sucking on my popsicle for a second. "Uh, who?" I ask, but no one pays attention to me right now. "What should I do?!" Charlie groans, dragging her hands down her face. Vaggie scoffs. "Well, don't let him in!"

Charlie pauses. Looks at the door doubtfully. And then goes and opens it. 

The mystery Radio Demon whirls in, introducing himself. "Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart! Quite a pleasure! Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn't resist! What a performance! Why, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929! So many orphans..." he says, laughing and playing around with a mic staff that looks very old. 1930's, perhaps?

Vaggie steps into his path and shoves a harpoon at his neck. He freezes. She curses in Spanish through gritted teeth and proceeds to talk shit (in English this time) straight to his face. "Stop right there! I know your game and I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone here, you pompous cheesy talkshow shitlord!!"

Then something absolutely creepy happens. He laughs, "Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here..... I would have done so." And then reality itself seems to glitch, to fold and wave in on itself. His eyes turned into spinning radio dials. Different colored patches appear in the air. Glowing red symbols appear. I hear static. But then he snaps back to his more jolly form. "No, I'm here because I want to help!"

Him and Charlie begin talking, and I take in his appearance. He's shorter than me, about seven feet (which is still tall, I'm just taller at approximately 8 feet tall and two inches), and is very thin, with the slimmest waist I've ever seen- mine included. His teeth are very sharp and pointy, and yellowish in color. His skin is pale grey, and his hair is red with black tips. Looking closer, I see small antlers on top of his head, and notice two tufts of hair stand straight up, resembling deer ears. His eyelids are maroon, and what would normally be the white of his eyes is bloodred. His irises are bright red, and he has small, black pupils. Everything about him is some shade shade of red or black except for his skin and teeth. 

His clothing is very old, too. He must have died in the Thirties. His dark red pinstriped suitcoat (with padded shoulders) flares at the bottom (haven't seen something like that in ages). Under that is a bright red dress shirt with a black cross on the chest that shows between his lapels, and he has on long deep red dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. His knot of bowtie is red, the actual bow black, his gloves burgundy, and he has on black pointed-toe boots.