Chapter Text
Alastor loved the bayou more than any other place in life or death. As a child, it was refuge from his turbulent home life and his father's torment. After he had finally rid him and Mama of his father, it turned to a place he could go to think about topics for his radio show. And after Mama passed away, it turned back into a refuge, but this time for his more bloody activities. It had even been the place where that fated bullet found its destination between his eyes.
Once he had finally gotten settled in his new life in Hell (as much as Rosie would allow) he began to miss his sanctuary.
Thankfully, the hotel provided the perfect blank canvas for him in the form of his own bedroom.
Of course, he had styled the main parlor in luxurious reds and hardwood, complete with a comfortable fireplace with a large armchair. He had a small secretary desk tucked between shelves that housed his books and various taxidermy where he would write the scripts for his radio.
But his bayou was filled with deep greens, all trees and bushes and water. He could hear the frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, and birds singing again. Yes, sometimes the sounds came in a bit distorted, like being filtered through a badly tuned radio, and he still couldn't quite get the fireflies to move as naturally as he remembered, but it was still his bayou. After nearly a century in Hell, never having a place of his own due to Rosie ordering him all around the Pride Ring searching for God-knows-what, he finally had his bayou back.
And then he was ripped away from it again, by his own violation this time. Being Vox's prisoner had gotten him out of his deal with Rosie, but it had also kept him away from the comfort of his bayou.
It also showed something important to him.
No matter how much Charlie claimed they cared about him, that doesn't change the fact that no one had even attempted to rescue him. He would have thought, after everything he had done for them, they would have at least tried. Even when Vox had his weapon pointed at him, she still ran towards that angel instead (if Mama was there, she would have held him, stroked his hair, told him everything would be alright).
And, despite what he had led everyone to believe, he was not a solitary creature.
When he was alive, he had Mama to love him, hug him, and talk to him. Even if they were just a family of two, that was enough. When she died, coming back alone after the funeral, to an empty house void of her warmth, had almost killed him.
Unfortunately for the 13 men he killed in the months after, it did not.
Even in Hell, he still surrounded himself with people. Niffty he adored, Husk he barely tolerated (the constant stench of alcohol that clung to him reminded Alastor of his father) but still kept, Rosie was also there, in spite of his resentment towards her, and even Vox was there for a time, however brief. Then Charlie was added, along, reluctantly, with Vaggi.
And who could forget that ridiculous excuse of a Devil (Alastor did not think he was adorable the moment he laid eyes on him, he did not).
Coming back to his room and his bayou after the ruckus, he realized that he was surrounded by people, but he was still completely alone.
He sat with that thought in front of a crackling fire (it still wasn't as warm as Mama's hugs).
Then something else occurred to him.
If he could conjure his entire bayou into existence, what was stopping him from bringing back something much smaller?