Splitting at the Seams (RadioApple)

Part 17

The return to The 'Happy' Hotel was done with far more serenity than the departure had been, if mostly externally. Alastor could admit his mind remained abuzz with swirling thoughts, but without a crowd of gawking onlookers he was at least left alone with them, free to ruminate. It helped to have a destination to aim his feet toward instead of the vague but oppressive 'anywhere but here', letting his body move on autopilot.

Though he paid little mind to his surroundings, an amusement made itself evident. The denizens of the Pride ring had already granted him a wide berth wherever he went, regarded him with alarm and suspicion, but that had now turned to transparent terror. Alastor watched in real time as the path around him cleared out, sinners from down the road crossing over to avoid coming too close, some turning around entirely, clearly forsaking their intented journey just to avoid him. Apparently, his impromptu broadcast had succeeded quite well.

How vexing that it didn't improve his mood one bit.

In the mess of it all, Rosie's voice stuck out, her words from last night.

((The grandfather clock behind them struck for the hour, informing them it had already reached an hour to midnight. The familiar sound, having struck once already during Alastor's lengthy recounting, was much appreciated. These similarities in their tastes in decor and commitment to nostalgia had always contributed to the innate comfort he felt around her and within her walls. They were similar souls.

The tea in his hands had long gone cold, only the dregs at the bottom of the mug remaining, swirling in his loose grip. A distraction, something to look at other than his companion or idly gazing at the wallpaper, nice as it was. Speaking at such length had been both a blessing a curse. On the one hand, Alastor had come more to himself with every word he spoke, feeling more grounded to his body the better he tried to sort out his words and figure what to clarify and what was better left unshared. The problem was, now that he was aware of himself and how he'd acted, he found it terribly embarassing.

Rosie inhaled audibly. He looked up. She did the same.

A moment. And then-

"My sweet, stupid boy." She said. "You've done this to yourself before, don't you recall?"

Taken aback, Alastor flustered. "What-?"

Rosie exhaled with equal volume, raising a hand to cut him off. Her movements were laden with a motherly affect, caring but authoratative. It only deepened his embarassment.

"This thing that you do, throwing up your walls, putting on your masks, acting the way you do. Your whole performance. I understand it, I do. But you have to notice that it's what has gotten you into this position." Rosie told him softly. "Now... I have quite a bit more to say, but I'm going to hold my tongue for a moment and ask. Do you want me to speak to you like this, to give you my honest thoughts and perhaps what I can find in myself for advice? Or do you want me to let it lie?"

Alastor scoffed. "Encouraging."

"Exactly," she agreed "I know you're good for these things, but you're not at your best at the moment. I won't lecture you if you came here for my support."

It all felt very strange, Alastor wondered as he thought it over. It was strange, but kind. He respected Rosie's straightforward honesty, and in truth he did want, deep down, for her to tell him that the world was out to ruin him and he was completely free of liability and then for the two of them to chatter on about literally anything else until his mind could be kept of it.

The one kink in that plan being that he would have to see Lucifer again, eventually. There was little point in avoiding him. Alastor resided at the same hotel he did, at present, and that couldn't be amended unless in person. If he even wanted to amend it.