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Striding past broken rubble and assorted trash left behind from the carnage the Exterminators, poor creatures in his opinion, the Radio Demon mused over his journey. He had awoken not long after the extermination, his magic frenzied and sputtering as he felt something was missing from his soul, and he was determined to find the cause.

For now, he watched the clean-up demons gathering the pieces of lost souls into a Cronenberg-Esque mess. Alastor chuckled, his distortions sounding off in waves as he started to grasp Crymini's descriptions of 80's horror. Passerbys gave a couple more metres berth from him. He noticed one sinner giving him extra space and a stare before slinking off into an alleyway.


Travis hated two things about Hell. Well, maybe three things. Four? He doesn't know, the point is that he dislikes a fair amount of his "life" in Hell. Maybe he just hated anything in Hell in general. Either way, something he specifically hated was someone getting the jump on him, and another was the Radio Demon. So it can be understood that his reaction to the combination of these is to immediately sock it in the jaw. Or at least try to. He didn't even notice the entity's shadow gripping his wrist like a vice as he shrunk under the gaze of his seemingly unfazed target, both standing in the alley in complete silence.

"Fuck do you want," Travis spits out despite his ears betraying his defiance, staying tucked down. No sound or even a background track emanated from the being. His wrist was starting to hurt and Travis felt the desire to wilt a little more. The manic stare of the demon boring down on him was extremely unnerving in the silence and his mind was backflipping rapidly in panic at the situation. Travis was considering trying to shake free from the demon's grasp, his wrist was really hurting when the other demon roughly shoved him backwards. The sudden motion sent him sprawling and before he knew it, the Radio Demon had walked away, his shoes making sharp clacking noises on the brimstone of the alley. Not taking any chances for the demon to return, Travis sprinted to find his car, nursing the bruise starting to form under his fur as he made his way. He almost didn't hear the catcalls of a certain spider after him. Almost.

Travis felt he needed some way to make himself feel less debilitating, and maybe having three pairs of arms jack him off would help relieve him.


In truth, Alastor only wanted to spark some sort of enjoyment in himself. Being both a harbinger and distributor of chaos for decades had started to temper the flamboyant carnage of his being. Terrifying the lowly sinner had done nothing to improve his mood. The irritation was starting to bubble up more in himself and Alastor felt the fire of his powers starting to spark a little more. They were calling out, yearning to be released and to raise He- Alastor stopped himself. He had a destination in mind and he had already distracted himself enough.

Rounding the final corner of his journey, Alastor was immediately jumped by a small, red and black minion of a demon sinking its teeth into his shoulder, snarling and slobbering as it did so. Soon, others joined in, each trying to tear into his leg or rip into his arm. Yet, the demon paid no mind. It wasn't until one made for his microphone that his shadow tore the minions off and savagely ripped them in half one by one. The Radio Demon paid no attention to the scene, fussing over and fixing the small tears made in his clothing, still walking all the way. He was finally startled out of his maintenance when he almost tripped over a bloodstained arm.

Alastor took in the sight around him this time, the fluids splattered on windowpanes, some would be expected from the Exterminator's weapons. Others seemed to be slightly more, Hellish, in nature. He saw even more ravenous minions devouring bodies that littered the street and suddenly remembered his purpose here. The demon sprinted a few more blocks down to be greeted by a sight he half expected. A bright pink broad-brimmed hat was torn apart by some minions, revealing behind it even more of the damn creatures tearing at the grey flesh of a figure draped in white. Above, an electric red sign shone "Franklin and Rosie Emporium", its theatre bulbs still humming quietly against the sounds of the minions stuffing themselves. The figure in white was not Alastor's main reason for being here, so he ignored the unsightly state of the body and impassively moved through the red doors of the emporium. Nevertheless, he still felt a twinge of pain at seeing the fate of a being he knew.

The inside of the emporium was pitch black, to say the least. The only light source being the aura of his microphone. Even then, the only things he saw was the floor before him completely devoid of items, blood or even a minion. As if on cue, one jumped out in front of the demon. Yet, it presented no hostility towards him, instead impassively staring up at him while his gaze returned it. They stood in silence until the minion scurried away as bold yet uncertain clack clacks of heels sounded from behind Alastor.

Turning around, he came face to face with a sharp-toothed smile that was not unlike his own. But, while his smile reflected manic confidence, the one Alastor stared at now seemed forced, the furthest muscles seeming to strain from holding the mouth so high up. He didn't even shift his gaze upwards to know who it was.

"My dear, you shouldn't force your smile, it's quite unhealthy for you and we would not want you hurt from expressing yourself, now would we?" The smile didn't soften. Alastor huffed a small, distorted sigh before looking directly at the other's eyes, whose shape matched the smile, but did not show any mirth or soul. Empty. Normally well-kept hair was frayed and parted wildly like a storm, almost distracting from the pallor of the other demon's skin. To some, it would look normal, fitting even, but Alastor was the only being left to notice it looked more sickly than cosmetic. "Rosie, darling, are you going to say anything? I came this way to see-."


Rosie did not wish to say anything. Her smile did not change in any way, still pinched at the very corners as if strung up. She had watched her only family cut down by the Exterminators before being torn apart by her minions. She had purged every memory of her family from the emporium, packing it away. Or, if the memory especially hurt, destroying it and discarding the remains. She had sat inside the emporium, ha, more like an empt-orium, while the rest of Hell moved onwards. Except for her dearest friend associate before her.

Rosie did not speak, she bawled, collapsing herself into the Radio Demon's arms as he held her, lightly stroking the small of her back.

She reflected on when they first met so many decades ago, sometime after his first major kill of some long-forgotten overlord, he had somehow ended up at the doors of the emporium with manic power surging from a brilliant red X on his forehead, causing audial and physical explosions of laugh tracks and distortions to discharge off of his body. Her and Franklin had taken him inside, healed him from his wounds and tempered the pure malevolent force that emanated from him. She had tended to him the whole time, a new soul had manifested and already toppled an overlord that had presided for centuries would most definitely need some guidance after all.

It wasn't long until she had joined him in wreaking more havoc on Hell, always by his side or hiding in the shadows. If she wasn't enacting punishment on other overlords, Alastor most certainly would be dragging her into the fray of a war with another one, singing and dancing all the while. One time he had told her she was the only demon with any "proper class and style" and Rosie never stopped preening for a week. Franklin had laughed the entire time, politely sitting in the centre of the emporium each time Rosie came back late, trying to ask about her time with the Radio Demon while giggling behind her hand. She remembers her family remarking on how Rosie rarely stopped smiling, and how similar hers was to her friend's associate's.

Of course, as Alastor's carnage started to slow down, he had bonded with the pair over dinner and game nights. One time he brought his cat friend, Husk, so they could have a fun game of Monopoly. Franklin had taken a special interest into his rude friend, opposite as they were.

Franklin was gone now, and more thoughts of her added extra weight to Rosie's shoulders, her smile beginning to wane as she buried her head deeper into Alastor's shoulder. His soft hush and rubs only partly soothed her, the overbearing weight of her family's death hanging over her. She shouldn't feel it, she's a demon who had slaughtered thousands Goddamnit, but she just does. She doesn't want to drown out the memory of her family with something else or avoid it forever. She just wants something, anything, to distract herself right in the present.

There was one thing though, but with a line that she wouldn't cross. She had hoped that one day she would never need to cross it. But Rosie's life and death had never given her slack and the pain at her loss and the other's presence was becoming increasingly unbearable. It doesn't take long for her to clasp Alastor's cheek in one hand, pulling his face towards hers while the other dances down his shirt. She thinks back on how he used to preach "you're never fully dressed without a smile" when they warred with overlords. Her smile starts to relax, and it falls into something else as the other demon catches on, his smile starting to drop, his ambient static silencing quickly.

Rosie knows why Alastor hasn't ever made any move to court her, it did not stop it from being agonising, but maybe he will for her just this once.


Alastor woke up a few hours later noticing two things: his legs are intertwined with someone else's and the distinct but distant sounds of explosions and laser fire. Shelving the latter as customary turf war disputes, he shifts his focus elsewhere. Glancing briefly at Rosie, her face looked... not content, but peaceful. When she pulled him into the kiss, burning with need and desperate longing, he had lost all sense of himself. Sex had never held any special interest to the Radio Demon, as a radio host there was the occasional assistant or guest who tried to come onto him, but he simply lacked the interest to pursue anything for himself. It was always emotionless for him, no real heat, passion or even carnal desire ever crossed his mind. The same would go for whatever other kinds of romance he had, always shutting them down when they bored him even more. Eventually, he decided he simply didn't hold any attraction of the sort. After his first real kill, he delved deeper into the thrills of the hunt, ignoring whatever desires society romanticised.

Rosie, good friend associate as she was, had been attracted to him, obvious as it was. He wasn't stupid and, even if he was, talks with a drunk Husk and gossip-hungry Niffty would have told him anyway. But his friend associate had just lost her only family and, trying to reject whatever "humanity" had surfaced, her reaction was to try to drown it out with the lust for someone she had pined for years. He knew that it was not a healthy way to deal with her grief, but if she wanted to drown out her memories even for a moment, who was he to judge?

Alastor started at that thought. Not at him letting Rosie have her way, but what its motivations and process implicated for him. Even if he was alive he would've turned down the most beautiful people, if he knew them for years he'd turn them down harder. Yet, for some reason, he had given in to Rosie. He rubbed his head in his hands, the mark hidden on his forehead starting to cause a headache. Was he becoming soft? Was that how these decades of boredom were affecting him? Alastor thought he had discarded every last gram of "humanity" from his soul, believing himself incapable of any amount of goodwill or deed. Yet, his intention of placating of Rosie's desires indicated the exact opposite. He had no idea what any of it meant. Unsure of what to do or think anymore, he tucked Rosie in more, prepared and laid out the ingredients for her favourite dish, cringing at the further implications of this, and left the emporium behind him. No sound, not even a static shift was heard as he did so, his mind buzzing with his previous thoughts. He was startled out of his reverie as a car reeking of sex swerved to avoid him, catching a glimpse of Travis' petrified face as he crashed, while another explosion sounded a little closer.

The Radio Demon paid no mind and continued thinking to himself, strutting through the city streets.

"...you know, cuz hotels are for people passing through... temporarily..."

The squeak of Lucifer's daughter was not something Alastor remembered until it rang through his eardrums. He noticed a crowd, including Crymini of all demons, gathering around the Radio Hack. And watching the princess deliver something on Katie Killjoy's station of all places. His static pitch grew stronger as he stood behind the gathered demons, his interest burgeoning. It was no secret that Katie hated the princess, so long as you paid attention to where her headlines were directed. His interest did eventually begin to wane, but when the princess got up to sing of all things, even his own shadow had its curiosity regained. By the end of it, Alastor's thoughts were wild, and his buzzing grew so loud Crymini had to slap him to shake him out of it. For one thing, the princess possessed her mother's singing talent, while maintaining the entertainment factor her father had in droves with his personality. Casting that aside, Alastor thought more on the princess' solution for overpopulation through redemption. Was that what his slowly surfacing "humanity" represented? The tug for redemption? Guilt? Regret? He had not thought about any of those ideas ever since he first manifested in Hell. No, no, demons like Alastor did not feel the need for such naive ideals, his chance for redemption was when he was alive, there was no point in trying to restore it now.

He had almost convinced himself of this when he thought back to Rosie's eyes when she approached him in the emporium. They looked so empty, and her desire, her human desire for the love of any kind to replace what she had lost had reignited his own. the Radio Demon gazed at the hellscape around him, his eyes wandering the tops of buildings, briefly seeing the Happy Hotel in the distance before his gaze chanced further upwards. The soft white globe with its huge halo obnoxiously contrasted the red sky, its light dazzling in ways that the denizens of Hell could not even begin to express. Could he be redeemed?

He thought back on what he had seen from the decades he had spent in Hell. Of the demons, he had seen rise and fall to the annual exterminations. Of what they had taken from him, and what they had taken from one of the few he well and truly cared for. Tearing his gaze away from the spectacle, Alastor had made his decision, trekking in the direction to the glitzy Happy Hotel. He still didn't believe he was capable of redemption, but for his friend, he was going to damn well try.