Scars Of The Wicked (Alastor X Reader)

Chapter 8: Details

~~~Part 1: A Hitch~~~
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"You ask a lot about me. Why don't I ask you a few things?"

"What would you like to know, my dear?" He hummed, throwing back the last of his bourbon before setting the glass down on the table. His grin wide as you locked eyes.

"How long have you been in Hell?"

"I believe the year was 1933, when I lost my life and arrived here." He explained.

"That's almost a hundred years ago." You reiterated. "What did you do? For work?"

"I was a radio host!" He said, beaming with a sense of pride. You smirked and nodded, still nursing your drink as you took a sip.

"That explains the voice." You chuckled.

"What, you don't like it?" He teased, fake pouting.

"It's very unique." You admitted. "Did that freak you out the first time you tried talking to somebody?"

"Actually, yes." He admitted, his smile softening and becoming a bit more genuine as he reminisced the moment. "I was merely asking for directions and I startled myself, and the poor fellow I was trying to speak to."

"You kept the cadence by choice, though?"

"My dear, that's just how I speak!"

"No it's not." You smirked, shaking your head. "You dropped the cadence the second you got annoyed with me."

"'My apologies, next time I'm about to harm somebody would you like me to over-modulate my voice just to humor you?" He snickered.

"Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, children of all ages; gather round while I proceed to tear this demon apart violently!" You mocked the idea with a soft laugh, even making Alastor chuckle with you.

"I couldn't leave the showmanship behind, I suppose." He confessed.

"I hear ya." You hummed.

"I'm certain you understand." He offered, waving at a waitress who was carrying a trey of drinks to flag her down before turning back to you.

"I appreciate the showmanship." You admitted quietly. "It's familiar. Reminds me of home."

"Does anything else?" He wondered.

You looked up from your near-empty glass and pondered, your eyes once again scanning the crowd of people. "The lights. Loud music. And, honestly, that little game we played last night."

"Ah yes, I must admit I was impressed. Good game, my dear."

"You're not upset?" You asked with a small smirk. "Here I thought you wouldn't like to lose."

"Fair is fair, darling." He hummed. His attention turning to the waitress who approached, sniffling softly and batting her incredibly long false lashes at the stag.

"How can I help ya, Al?" She practically cooed.

You raised a brow in his direction before lifting your glass to your lips.