• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

The hotel's peeling walls and old musty scent greeted him as he stepped into the tall establishment. Three years this place had been up and running and the crew still hadn't gotten themselves a redeemed soul. Such a pity. Charlie had put a great deal of effort into this place too, but now, after so many advertisements and news ventures and parties, it seemed empty. Dull. Lifeless. There really weren't many other words to describe it. No optimistic ones at least, and Alastor was all about optimism! Even for him however, this was just getting boring. The only soul he was watching fail was the princess', and after a little while it was more just sad to watch than entertaining.

His claws lightly dragged along the wallpaper, leaving tiny indents that quickly repaired themselves as he left them behind, his scarlet red eyes occasionally darting up to the family paintings that lined the wall. His smile thinned at the sight of Lucifer, a strange hate boiling in his stomach.

I should be the one ruling Hell. I could be the one ruling Hell! Had I just gotten my hands on that damned angel, maybe I would be sat on that throne right now, he thought to himself, raising one of his fists and punching a hole into the portrait where Lucifer's grinning face was.

His knuckles splintered the wall behind it, slivers slipping into his calloused skin through his thin gloves and causing him to recoil in discomfort, his eyes still holding a glare. Alastor shook his head free from his rude thoughts and continued his aimless marching down the halls, his smile a simple curved line on his lips. Sadly, his little moment of silence was interrupted by a rather irritated voice. "Where in the nine rings were you!?" Vagatha. A short moth demon that seriously irked him to a dangerous point, but he knew better than to lay an ill finger on the princess' supposed girlfriend. He had learnt his lesson the hard way.

"Ah, good morning, Vaggie!" he greeted and tossed one of his hands up with false excitement. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"To what do you-!? Charlie's been worried SICK! She wouldn't stop crying! Where have you been!?" He shrugged, refusing to show his shock. The princess was crying over him? "I went out to enjoy the view of the halo-bearers. Is that so difficult to believe?"

Vaggie looked as if she were on the verge of tears herself, her shoulders stiff. The stag bit back a snarky comment, simply tilting his head to the side with a smallish grin. "Something the matter?" She shook her head and raised one of her gloved hands to her eye, wiping the barely visible tears from it. "Just... I hate seeing her cry. It really hurts. Please go see her. She's in her office." His brows furrowed together in confusion. Did something happen to the princess? That wouldn't be good. No, that wouldn't be good at all. Nodding, he watched the moth turn and walk away, but she soon stopped and stared at the painting.

"Dude." That was all she muttered to him before continuing on her way, fixing her skirt a little. Alastor rubbed his chin, wincing at the slight pain the slivers gave him as he moved his digits. He then began walking to the elevators so he could take one up to the fifth floor where staff rooms and offices were.

The cage closed over the elevator's entrance before the metal box began moving, the demon leaning back against the wall while fixing his hair out. The encounter with the angels had left him a little frazzled. Not to mention the fact that they had called an Archangel to rescue them. Such pathetic creatures. One thing did leave his mind boggled however. Why would they call me Zandor?

The mechanism let out a cheerful ding and the door opened, allowing Alastor to step out onto the fifth story. It was rather silent, Alastor's ears standing tall and twitching at even the slightest sound as a beetle scuttling underneath the worn floorboards.

This place is well older than I am. He paused in his thoughts. Jesus Christ, I'm old as shit. Shaking his head, his microphone manifested in his fist and he walked to the end of the corridor with his arms held behind his back, his eyelids lowered as he reached Charlie's office and gently rapped his knuckles against the door. Hissing, he snapped his fingers and every little splinter wiggled out of his skin painfully and landed at his feet just as the barrier swung open to reveal the princess of Hell with puffy eyes and cheeks more red than they usually were.