Scars Of The Wicked (Alastor X Reader)

Chapter 2: Informal Greetings

~~Part 1: Run, Little Vixen~~
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Shit... This isn't how I wanted to spend my first full day in Hell.

"Oh boy, this is awkward." You smiled sheepishly. "I can explain."

"I'm certain you can!" He chirped. His face was alit with curiosity and delight. Delight for what reason, you weren't quite sure. And his cadence made it quite hard to tell if he was being genuinely optimistic or if there was an...undertone, of something less than harmless. "Would you care to do it outside of the closet?"

"That depends, are ya gonna hurt me?"

He cocked his head to the side, his neck cracking as he did so. His lids narrowed as they stayed fixed on you, and his smile never dissipated. Not once. "Right now the chances are low, but never none." He hummed.

"Mmm." You mused, clicking your tongue. "I don't like those chances. I'd like to get out of this interaction unscathed."

"The chances are almost certain if you don't get out."  He said. His voice dipping a little in pitch, the static sounding like it was on a heavier setting.

"You talked me into it." You chirped. He stepped back -barely- giving you space as you climbed out of the compartment with ease and stood in front of him. He silently admired how you were able to hoist yourself in and out of there with ease, let alone contort your body in such a way and still seem comfortable.

He stood with a very confident gait, shoulders back and chin high. His eyes burned holes into you despite the kindness that his grin mimicked. But you had many an encounter with plenty people who were -or in some cases, thought they were- tough shit. Life on the road meant having to learn how to defend yourself, even if it meant their life over yours. Your strength and agility certainly helped with that, and gave you a sense of confidence; you stood up straight, and stood your ground.

"Speak." He demanded lowly.

"First of all, I'm not a dog, I don't like that shit." You quipped. "Angel Dust let me stay here for the night. I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I took him up on his offer."

"And you chose to sleep in a wardrobe closet?" He asked smugly.

"I was told not to be found." You muttered, folding your arms across your chest in defiance as you looked away from him.

He let out a low chuckle. "You didn't do a very good job."

"Oh, piss off, you-" you snapped, but you were quickly interrupted by the stag grabbing your chin and turning your head to face him. A bit more firmly than you cared for, and you already didn't like being grabbed by someone you didn't know. He leaned down slightly to be at eye level with you. Fire burned in his eyes as they poured into you. His smile everlasting, but absolutely nothing about it screamed 'friendly' or 'comforting'. He leaned in so close that you could smell his morning coffee on his breath, and something metallic.

"You do not address me like that, my dear."

"Don't. Touch. Me." You growled, gripping a hand around his wrist and yanking it downward. Making him let go of you. The room went cold the second your fingers wrapped around his wrist, tension hung so thickly in the air that it was unignorable. It was a stare-down for maybe a couple of seconds between you two, waiting to see who would make the first move, before the proper resident of this room entered through the door. Angel Dust threw his room key onto his dresser and then looked up, halting right where he stood. Shocked to see Alastor in his room, let alone the confrontation that stood before him.

"Well shit. Toots, ya had one job!" He scolded you. Folding both sets of arms across his chest in annoyance. "Now we're both in trouble."

You couldn't help the look you threw Angels way, it was one of deep annoyance. "It's not like I put a Christmas bow on my head and opened the fuckin' door for him, he was looking for you." You sighed and straightened out your shirt. "Well, Angel's here, and I know when I've overstayed my welcome, so Ima head out-"