A Deer in Headlights || Alastor the Radio Demon

1 ~ The Woman on the Promenade

"So then, tell me more about yourself? What did you do to warrant getting into heaven?"

(Y/n) sat at a shining table across from a woman many years her senior. "I was an altruist—that's what got me here, I think."

"Selflessness, a valiant virtue," said the woman as she clasped her dark, pampered fingers around an ivory teacup. "I believe that's why I'm here as well."

They both took a pause and simultaneously sipped their sweetened, light colored tea. Setting her cup back down onto the glass tabletop, (Y/n) returned her gaze to the pink haired woman who sat in front of her. "How long have you been here?" she asked.

The woman pondered for a moment, doing the math in her head. She mumbled a bit, asking herself what year it was that she'd died in. "19 years, I believe. I passed away in 1920. And yourself? You said you passed away just a year ago, correct?"

"I did, yes," (Y/n) replied. She shifted her attention to the promenade, glancing at it from her spot, high up on a café balcony. It was so peaceful. Quiet, but not silent. Busy, but not noisy. Just perfect.

"How did you die?" the woman asked, causing (Y/n) to nearly choke on her tea. Her soft, pearly white eyes hardened as the tragic memory began to plague her mind.

The denizens of heaven were gifted with the privilege of forgetting any and all negative memories, save for those associated with their deaths. Every resident of heaven remembered how they died no matter how tragic it was.

"I'd rather not speak of that now. It's unpleasant to say the least." (Y/n) avoided looking at the woman across from her. Her eyes wandered all around the glassy promenade as she made an attempt at distracting herself from the memories.

The pinkette straightened herself immediately. "Pardon my askin', I don't mean to intrude," she swiftly apologized, holding her hand over her heart.

(Y/n) waved her hand, dismissing any notion that she had been offended by the query. "It's no problem at all, don't worry about it one bit, please." Her eyes landed back on the woman in front of her whose pink hair contrasted the blueish themes of the promenade but still somehow managed to fit in. "What about yourself? How did you die, Ms. Alice?"

Alice clasped her fingers together, almost as if she was ready to regale (Y/n) with the tales of her life. "I passed away from an illness with no cure. But I spent my ailin' years in the care of my dotin' son," she said with a smile. That was the thing about Alice: no matter the time of day or what she was doing, Alice always had a content smile on her face.

Another thing about Alice was that she was quite popular around heaven. And everyone who knew Alice knew that the only thing she ever talked about was her son. "Tell me about him?" (Y/n) eagerly asked, excited to hear the stories about the renowned son of Alice.

"Are you sure? Because I could talk for an eternity," she began to laugh, and when she did, it felt like everything in the world was okay. Her laughs were an overture—sounding like gorgeous music played on a harp.

(Y/n) nodded, trying to imitate Alice's signature smile as she leaned in close to hear the stories. With how soothing Alice's voice was, (Y/n) knew she would gladly listen to every word that old lady uttered.

"He was a radio host," she began with a beaming grin.

"Ah! I used listen to the radio while I sewed in my tailor shop," (Y/n) nearly exclaimed. "I wonder if I've heard his broadcast before."

"Perhaps you have!" Alice laughed. She seemed like the type of woman whose many cats would be left to her son after she passed. "My son was a Mama's boy, he never left my side, I swear it! Ah, but he was such a gentleman! I taught him well, I did! He held every door open and had the best manners a person could have. My son was a virtue personified!"