Hazbin Trashcan

Call Me Bea

She was a little nervous, to say the least. She kept squeezing her own fingers, staring up at the intimidating door that she’d been warned more than enough times to stay away from. It was a mystery; she’d only been in the room a few times and it had only been because she’d gotten in so much trouble that even her own mother couldn’t decide what to do with her. So she hadn’t really paid much attention to the surroundings.

It was a pretty door, all decorated with reds and swirls of black. It reminded her much of her father, which made sense. Something in her told her to just back off; she could talk to him another time. But, then again . . she hadn’t seen him outside the office all of yesterday.

The girl took a deep, stabilizing breath. If he saw her acting like this, anxious, he’d probably chatzise her. She let a natural grin spread across her face and raised her hand, knocking meekly on the wooden door.

There was silence for a few seconds, and she let her hand drop. He had good hearing, just like she did, so she wouldn’t even doubt it if he already knew she was outside the office door. He was probably getting paperwork together for his next radio show; suddenly, she regretted bothering him. As she began to take a step backward and flee the area, the door creaked open. Her ears pressed flat against the top of her head and the smile she had forced onto her face had fallen, replaced with her teeth biting onto her lower lip.

They locked eyes and she found herself calming down again; this was her daddy, he wasn’t going to do anything bad to her. She was just being silly. His perpetual grin, once wide and unfeeling, shrunk just the tiniest bit and she knew he was smiling at her genuinely.

“Ah, Beatrice! What can I do for you?” His voice was warm and crackled with static; the same as it had been since she could remember, and that was nearly her whole five years of life.

“Well, um.” She bit on her lip again. Her ears hadn’t moved from their position, still advocating for how she really felt about this whole situation. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, though she was afraid nonetheless. What if he hated her? “I wanna talk to you ‘bout something.”

“Want to, Beatrice.” He moved then, opening the door further, “Come inside then, darling.”

She trotted inside, his hand coming to rest on the top of her head and ruffling her hair fondly. Beatrice whined and reached up, pushing his hand away from her. He chuckled, shutting the door behind them and then walking back toward his desk. Beatrice took the time to memorize her surroundings; there was a wall of older televisions that sat around another desk, which had a microphone on it. Different than the one her daddy carried around with him everywhere he went. An executive style desk sat in the middle of the room, with some chairs in front. She steered herself toward the chairs, climbing up into the seat. It was almost difficult, since the chair was so tall. Most demons were at the same towering height as her father; she was still barely up to his waistline. He sat at the desk, leaning forward onto his arms, hands holding up his chin.

“Issa very important thing I’ve got to talk to you about, daddy.” Beatrice crossed her arms, schooling her face to seem like she was discussing business.

Alastor chuckled. His daughter’s antics were always amusing; he was sure that she would ask him for some new toy or something similar. He withheld the urge to correct her ‘issa’, nodding for her to continue, “Go on.”

Beatrice found that all the courage she had previously had somehow disappeared. Her ears, which had started to straighten again, turned back to press flat against her head, “Oh, um.” She fidgeted with her fingers, eyes darting away from his face to her hands. He would be so disappointed. She thought long and hard about how to break the news to him; each time she brought up the confrontation in her head, it usually ended up with him hating her.