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“Ten minutes. I left you alone for ten minutes, Alastor.”
“You act as if I got torn to shreds, dear! It’s---” he spasms involuntarily, earning a raised brow from Rosie, “nothing but a flesh wound.”
“Right, a flesh wound.” Rosie dabs ointment on the hand shaped burn on his waist. “And some internal bleeding, probably.”
She steps away, surveying the extent of the damage. He’s been worse before. Mild electrical burns litter his torso, though they are already beginning to heal. Even with the occasional muscle spasms, Alastor is unharmed overall. Nothing that a good night’s sleep can’t fix.
But still. Rosie has to be mad on principle, both as an ally and a friend.
“How in Lucifer’s name did you ever think starting a fight with Vox in the middle of my stealth mission was a good idea?”
Alastor takes his time considering her question. “To be fair, it started off as a dance.”
Hell’s red sun is low on the horizon when they show up on the steps of the venue. It’s nothing short of what Alastor can only describe as Velvet’s modus operandi. Large, tall and glassy, the colourful lights from inside shine through the giant windows like a prism, illuminating the entire area like a beacon in the center of Hell, outshined only by Lucifer’s castle.
This is the last place he’d choose to be tonight, but as things do, plans change. Now, he finds himself as her plus one, attending an overlord party hosted by none other than Velvet, Hell’s proclaimed overlord of the newest trends.
“I knew you received invites, but I didn’t know you actually accepted them,” he comments as they breach the entrance and enter the main hall. His senses are overwhelmed by the loud, tastelessly modern music and the subsequent vibrations of the bass.
“Oh, I don’t,” Rosie shouts over the noise, pulling Alastor to the side where the buffet tables are, “not usually.”
“What’s the special occasion?” Alastor asks quieter, now that they’re a little further away from the speakers.
“A little thievery. Or unthievery. A copyright claim?” She answers, “I know you don’t have social media, but Velvet tweeted about new designs in her clothing line. On the bright side, I now know where the missing inventory in my store went. Funny how that works, yes?”
Alastor hums in understanding. Thievery is commonplace in Hell, but an overlord stealing from another is bound to cause trouble. “And you brought me along in hopes I would assist you?”
“Ah, no,” she waves him off, eyes still on the crowd, “Undercover missions are more fun with a date, that’s all.” She grins mischievously, “But of course, an extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”
And with that, she leaves him alone, fluttering to a random group of overlords to spark conversation. He watches her for a while, amused. For any other demon, nothing about her behaviour would look amiss, but Alastor sees the way her head remains level, maintaining her line of sight as broad as possible, slowly inching her way to a door on the other side of the hall. There’s no way of knowing where it leads, but it’s definitely a start for finding Velvet’s private office.
Speaking of Velvet, Alastor spots her across the room with Valentino, the two taking pictures together in front of an obscenely large balloon display. She’s completely engrossed in her little photoshoot, he can see. He looks back at Rosie, who’s also spotted Velvet, looking at him expectedly. Alastor smiles a little wider at her, and she goes back to her conversation, trusting him to watch her back.
He has eyes on Velvet and Valentino, but there’s still one more demon to account for. Because this is hell, his previous problem is solved by a new problem.
“Looks like I’ve caught a wallflower,” a familiar voice drawls too closely to his ear.
Alastor resists the urge to lean away, instead turning his head and confidently facing Vox’s screen. “Vox. What a displeasure.”
“Likewise. What the fuck are you doing here? This is an overlord event, babe, and you aren’t an overlord last time I checked.”
This was bad. Quite bad. Not just for Alastor’s personal enjoyment, but for Rosie’s cover, which he wouldn’t go as far to say that he cared for protecting, but would definitely regret being the cause of blowing it. Rosie, to her credit, remains calm. He must have kept eye contact a tad too long, because Vox looks over to Rosie as well, and raises a brow.
“An overlord and plus-one party,” Vox amends, “Sly deer, I didn’t know you had game!” He laughs crudely, patting Alastor on the back with his hand, which Alastor quickly slaps away.
“Oh calm yourself,” he scoffs, “whatever image you’ve got in that flatscreen of yours, it’s wrong. Or am I to assume that you’re involved with Velvet in the same way you imagine Rosie and I?”
At that, Vox’s expression becomes the most deadpan he’s ever seen it be.
“If Velvet ever heard you say that, you’d be flat on your ass.” He says flatly. “Point taken, then.”
Rosie, unshaken by their unexpected interference, continues to make her way to the door. Velvet and Valentino haven’t moved from the balloon display, although they’re now doing some strange dance he doesn’t recognize. Everything is still under control.
“Oh,” the music quiets, and starts again, this time something softer. “It’s the slow dance.”
The crowd has mostly dispersed to the walls, leaving only couples to dance together in the center. He’s lost sight of Rosie, but Valentino and Velvet are among the people who moved to the side.
“We should get out there,” Vox says.
“We should not,” Alastor replies.
“Afraid you’ll break a hip, old man?”
“More afraid that you won’t be able to keep up.”
Vox extends an arm dramatically, “wanna test and see?”
Alastor is ready to show mercy and walk away, but then Rosie meets his eye. She’s not too far off where he last saw her, standing off to the side along with the rest of the crowd. She stares him down, eyes pointing to Velvet and Valentino, then back to him. The two overlords have spotted him and Vox, whispering.
There’s a lot to consider here. The three overlords he and Rosie were supposed to avoid tonight are now all aware of Alastor’s presence, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out their connection and allyship. Velvet could very much already know of Rosie’s presence at the party, and with the thinned out crowd there are very little places for Rosie to hide if she does decide to shake her out.
Unless there’s a distraction.
He considers the outstretched hand before him, Vox’s expectant face and Rosie’s mission.
“You know what, dear fellow, why not!” He laughs forcefully, accepting the hand with open claws and pulling them into the center of the makeshift dance floor. He checks one more time if Velvet is looking at them, and she is. Excitedly. With her phone pointed at them. Oh, Rosie owes him twofold for this.
Alastor steps into the rhythm with ease, albeit disgruntled, as Vox assumes the lead. They sway for a moment, testing out the waters of the sound, then Vox steps forward into him without warning, forcing Alastor to rely on him for balance before he recognizes it as a box step. After a few shaky steps he stumbles back into place, growling menacingly at his partner.
“Cold feet?” He asks in an innocent tone.
He doesn’t dignify that with a response, trying to contain his rising bloodlust. There’s few enough couples that he and Vox have plenty of room to dance, and yet he can’t help but feel like the room has gotten smaller. With Vox intent squeezing himself into his personal space it’s not too crazy of a feeling.
The hand on his waist squeezes tighter than necessary, and so he finds no guilt in stepping on the overlord’s foot by accident. Twice. Maybe three times.
“Would you stop that?” Vox snaps.
“Oh goodness, are you hurt?” Alastor gasps theatrically, bringing his hand over his forehead, “have I found the great overlord Vox’s weakness?”
“I’ll show you hurt ,” he retorts, and it takes a second for Alastor to see what he means. The grip on his waist goes from mildly uncomfortable to very uncomfortable, and then painful all in a split second, as Vox electrocutes him.
It’s not enough to break Alastor’s composure, but the combined pain and surprise makes him fall forward into Vox’s awaiting arms. He seamlessly gets them to sway again, arms wrapped around Alastor in feau affection.
“If you wanted me to hold you, you could’ve just said so,” he snickers.
Without skipping a beat, Alastor trips him over, breaks free from his arms, only to catch him by his back in an extreme dip. The brief flash of fear on Vox’s eyes amuses him greatly.
“And if you wanted me to hold you ,” Alastor dips them further, so that the only thing keeping them upright is his own strength, “you could have just asked, darling.” He finds great pleasure in seeing Vox struggle to keep himself from dropping like a ragdoll, but mercifully brings them back up to continue their battle.
The music turns into something more energetic. Still very much meant for couples, but now it’s fast tempo enough for the two to incorporate flashier moves. At one point, Alastor indulges himself with the charleston, and is pleasantly surprised to see Vox do the same.
This would be fine and swell, if it weren’t for Vox trying to electrocute him with every touch. The pain with each touch has dulled to a light buzz, but the intent is still there. In turn, Alastor doesn’t hesitate to pull him close, flush against each other, only to drag his claws down his back, digging into suit and flesh alike.
The pain doesn’t show on Vox’s expression, even as Alastor feels the distinct wetness of blood running down his fingers. In fact, the overlord pulls them into a waltz, grabbing Alastor’s hands to twirl him. Alastor lets him. That’s the key mistake, trusting Vox.
In a rather impressive display of force, Vox throws him against the wall, hard enough to leave a dent.
“Oops, didn’t mean to twirl you that hard babe,” he approaches nonchalently, offering a hand.
“No hard feelings at all,” Alastor smiles. He takes Vox's hand and immediately throws him into the buffet table.
“ That’s why the buffet table was broken?” Rosie wheezes, propping herself up on her shop counter. “I thought that was just collateral.”
“I recall hitting him with the table leg at some point, but that could just be the electricity messing with my memory!” Alastor huffs proudly, more than he should be.
“Let’s say that’s true for humor’s sake,” she shakes her head, chuckling.
She had managed to get to the door not too long after Vox and Alastor started to dance, finding and infiltrating Velvet’s room and stealing-unstealing-copyright-striking her clothing back much quicker than she expected. Coming back to the main hall only to find it in shreds, with Alastor right at the epicenter was just the cherry on top of a strange night.
Rosie got Alastor to stop kicking Vox long enough to drag him outside the building, and the two somehow made it back to her shop without any more run-ins.
“I don’t think I’ll be invited to anymore overlord parties,” she says.
Alastor buttons up his dress shirt, “They don’t have proof you were involved.”
“Alastor, you literally obliterated the party hall. I dragged both our asses out of that building. I’d be more surprised if we weren’t trending on Hell twitter already.”
To be more precise, she’d be more surprised if Vox and Alastor’s little heated display wasn’t trending on Hell twitter with it’s own hashtag, but Alastor doesn’t need that information.