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Small feet traversed frantically across the hardwood floors. A tap, tap, tap that’s as quick and sharp as the needle Niffty used to chase and impale the many bugs still hiding in the floorboards.
Outside, the first few drops of acid rain begin to fall, but it doesn’t patter on the windows or drum against the roof as it would on Earth. It sizzles, each tiny driblet hitting the hotel like oil in a hot pan. Already, a smoky steam rises from the ground, fogging up the glass panes where, were anyone to press on it, it would be warm to the touch.
The first thing Alastor had done when sliding himself in as hotel management was placing wards around the property to protect it from Hell’s more deadly weather patterns. Of course, Charlie had already gone through such protective measures, but as most structural damage was from acid rain, he had taken the extra precaution.
But as secure as the building was, the rain still sizzled loudly, slowly becoming a buzzing that fluttered around the ear like an incessant bug. The footsteps grew more frantic.
“Niffty, dear, would you pleassse stop that pacing?” Sir Pentious asked, huddling over the dark wood table in the middle of the lounge, gingerly putting together a wooden 3D model of an 1800s steam locomotive. A gift from Vaggie after the devastation of her “no building weapons in the hotel” rule.
It was the only solution. It didn’t take long for his fidgeting to get on everyone’s nerves. He’d started taking apart any mechanical doohickey he got his hands on—including the TV. It was the longest Alastor ever sat in front of a screen, grinning ear to ear as he watched Pentious disassemble it piece by piece.
He’d been very disappointed when Charlie put a stop to it.
When the tapping didn’t stop, Pentious’s tongue flicked out in annoyance, and he dragged his attention from his project to the foyer. His glower became a confused head-tilt as the small demon paced anxiously back and forth, wringing her hands together.
“Uh…Niffty? Are you alright?” He asked.
His concern pulled Charlie from the scattered mess of papers on the table, barely out of reach of Pentious and his locomotive. It was rare to pull her from lesson planning and hashing out their weekly schedule, but her ears were primed to pick up anything that was less than satisfaction and happiness.
Frowning, she set down the paper she’d been mulling over with Vaggie. “Niffty?”
Niffty didn’t respond to her either. She continued pacing near the door, eyes flickering from the floor to the window, around the room and back. Energy buzzed around her like a static cloud, but it wasn’t her normal, hyperactive giggles and excitable prancing.
A small rumble rolled through the floorboards, far beneath the crust of whatever layer Hell sat atop of. Another difference from Earth was that they didn’t get thunder down here. Just dark, rippling tremors that surged under Pentagram City, as if it were a beast lurking under an ocean wave. Much like an earthquake, except the aftershocks jostle your organs and leave your skeleton feeling like it’d been shifted two inches to the left. An uncomfortable side effect that lasted long after the acid seeped into the ground, nourishing the infernal plants that grew here.
But this one was small, barely shaking the crystal baubles hanging from the chandelier far above. Still, a squeak escaped Niffty as she scrambled back, flailing like she was unsure of where to go, but desperate to get there all the same. Angel Dust looked up from his phone, pursing his lips, but watched, interested, as Charlie got up from the couch, stepping over Pentious’s long, winding body, to kneel in front of Niffty.
“Hey,” she said softly, delicately touching Niffty’s small shoulders, but the Niffty jumped away, recoiling from the touch like it burned. Charlie snapped her hand back, expression pinching in concern like she had, in fact, hurt her. “What’s wrong?”
“I-uh,” Niffty’s attention drifted back to the window, twisting her fingers together.
Charlie followed her gaze. “Is it the storm?” she asked, and Niffty looked down, curling in on herself. “Oh,” Charlie gave her a small smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The hotel is completely protected. There is no way any acid is getting in here.”
Niffty’s shoulders don’t uncurl. Instead, to Charlie’s horror, her large, red-yellow eye blinked, welling with tears.
“Oh, no, no, no. Hey,” Charlie shushed her, reaching out again, but pulled back when Niffty recoiled. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
From the bar, Husk sighed, putting down the glass he’d finished drying to pick up the next. He expected this, as with every storm that rolled by, but he still shook his head, murmuring, “Oh, Niff,” under his breath. He turned to Alastor, who was sitting in the armchair, the furthest from the group, reading a book about the Great Depression (“An excellent read to really pick up your mood after a hard day,” he’d said when asked about it).
As if sensing his scowl, Alastor’s eyes flickered to him, eyebrows lifting slightly as if he had no idea what Husk was trying to tell him. Husk blew out a harsh breath and tipped his head towards Niffty. Alastor’s gaze drifted to her, then back at Husk, and he raised an eyebrow. And? His expression said.
Husk growled under his breath and began tucking the cleaned glasses underneath the counter with a furious shake of his head.
Alastor was quiet for a moment, before sighing. “Now, now, Niffty,” he said, turning a page in his book, “there is nothing to be so worried about.” He picked up his rocks-glass from the small accent table next to him and took a sip of the whiskey he’d been nursing for the better part of an hour now.
Husk glared at the glass. The only one left to clean so he could officially shut the bar down for the night. A fact Alastor was well aware of. He took another slow, deliberate sip, smile growing when Husk grumbled and roughly shoved aside a bowl of salted almonds..
Niffty turned towards the sound of Alastor’s voice, a large, fat tear dripping down her pale cheeks. “Y-yes, Sir,” she sniffled.
Another quake shook the floor, this one strong enough to rattle the windows and rock the furniture. Sir Pentious frantically caught a few stray pieces of his model before they hit the ground. The chandelier trembled, its decorative crystals tinkling together.
Niffty cried out in alarm, stumbling across the floor into the lounge, and diving headfirst into Alastor’s armchair. It was deathly silent as the quake rolled away. The piece Sir Pentious had pinched between his fingers dropped onto the threadbare rug. Angel Dust’s eyes widened behind his phone, all four of his limbs frozen in place.
Alastor had straightened, shoulders stiffening from the unexpected contact. It was no big secret he wasn’t fond of physical touch. When he made contact, it was brief and fleeting. When someone else did, it was often rewarded with a push from his microphone, or a simple lean, smiling wider with a warning pinch between his eyes.
Niffty sniffled, burrowing against Alastor’s side, and Vaggie’s expression narrowed, braced on the edge of the couch, preparing to catch Niffty if he threw her. That is if he didn’t push her off the cushion or grab her by the back of her collar and drop her on the floor.
But, to everyone’s collective surprise, Alastor simply sighed, loud and put-upon, and returned to his book. When the stares didn’t disappear, he glanced over the top, quirking an eyebrow.
“Why, whatever is the matter?” He asked with an air of innocence. “Don’t tell me there’s something on my face. How embarrassing.” His tone is easy enough, but it had a sharp edge to it. An underlying warning that made them avert their eyes awkwardly.
“Oh, nothing, you’re fine,” Charlie waved off with a bright smile, striding back over to Vaggie and retaking her seat. Her expression wasn’t as guarded as her girlfriends, but it was curious. She tilted her head, pretending not to glance between the two on the armchair and her notes.
Alastor hummed, going back to his book. “Well, staring is rude. Perhaps you should add that to your lesson plan for tomorrow. Can’t have sinners displaying bad manners, now can we? What would Heaven think?”
“Noted,” Vaggie said dully.
When it became clear he had no intention of flinging Niffty across the room, she relaxed into her seat, cautiously picking up the schedule she’d been examining previously.
The acid came down harder, turning from a buzz into a loud hiss, like a creature warning outsiders off. A sharp, acrid scent crawled in through the cracks in the door, unfortunately unaffected by the wards. While not especially fatal, if it collected in a single area too long, it made one's skin prickle and their lungs itch. Charlie quickly scratched down a note to look into other wards that worked on smells.
Wrinkling his nose from the putrid odor, Husk finished wiping off the counter for the third time with a final, frustrated wipe. He leaned over it, claws clicking against the polished wooden top, lips pulling up into a snarl as Alastor took another dainty sip while looking directly at him.
“Are you done yet?” He growled.
“Why, of course not, Husker,” Alastor held up his book. “I have at least eight more chapters to go.”
His expression widened in delight as Husk cursed under his breath, and irritably started wiping the counter down for a fourth time.
Another quake shook the floor, this one strong enough for Charlie and Vaggie to snap forward, grabbing their papers before they flew off the table. Sir Pentious lifted his model up entirely, eyeing the ground in case any of his other pieces fell under the couches. Angel Dust snickered as Pentious cradled his locomotive close to his chest, but even he gripped the armrest of the couch he was lounging on to keep himself from falling over.
A lamp on one of the credenzas wobbled and toppled over, but a black tendril manifested through the floorboards and caught it, delicately setting it back into place. Next to him, Niffty sobbed, clawed fingers twisting into Alastor’s coat, cutting through the fabric. She’d scrunched herself into a tiny ball, face hidden between him and the cushion.
“There’s nothing to get so worked up over,” Alastor said, patting her back casually.
“S-sorry, Sir,” Niffty replied wetly, and Alastor hummed again, this one quieter.
Instead of retracting his hand, he left it, not pressed against her, but simply laying there. After a moment, Niffty timidly turned her face away from the couch and stared down at the floor, fingers twisting more violently in Alastor’s coat.
“Can-can you turn the radio on?” She whispered quietly. “It…helps.”
Without a word, or even a glance, Alastor turned another page and the radio on the decorative table came to life in a burst of static. It leveled out, turning into a soft, jazzy tune that wafted from its speakers like the notes were dancing in the air. A sweet, simple song that was loud enough to drown out the hiss outside, but not so loud it was overbearing.
Nifty closed her eye with a sigh, relaxing against him.
The rest of the room’s occupants were a little more subtle in their stares this time, but even those gradually petered to a stop as the music settled their surprise. It wiggled its way into their heads, calming the tension. Husk hummed to himself, quietly following the tune, a small, hidden smile on his face. Catching this, Angel Dust smiled to himself, eyes drifting back to his phone.
For a moment, it’s peaceful. Then, Pentious added the final piece to his model and held it up, exclaiming loudly. “And here it is! A massterfully crafted work of innovation that I, Sssir Pentious, has—”
A screech of static made him jump, and he slithered back with a nervous chuckle. For a split second Alastor’s eyes were a bright, searing yellow as the shadows in the room crept forward, stretching as if being pulled against their will. Then it was gone and Alastor was back to reading, sipping his rye.
Pentious waited a moment, huddled over his model like it might fall apart in his hands, before slowly unwinding. When Alastor didn’t look up, he held out his creation again, eyes shining with pride.
“A masssterfully crafted work of innovation that I, Sssir Pentious, has created with my own two handsss,” he whispered. “A delicate instrument of tiny preportionsss.” He gingerly set it on the papers closest to Charlie and Vaggie, hands clasped together, eyes bright, as he looked between them expectantly.
“Good job,” Charlie whispered, clapping softly in delight. “You’re really getting the hang of this, Sir Pentious.”
Vaggie scooted the model off of their papers but gave him a small smile and a nod of approval. “It looks great.”
Sir Pentious’s chest swelled with pride and he scooped the train up and slithering upstairs to his room to add it to his collection. Another moment of silence passed before Alastor looked down. Niffty breathed deeply, eye closed, and fast asleep against his leg. Her grip had softened, freeing his, now wrinkled, coat.
Sipping up the dregs of his drink, he set the glass upside down on the table for Husk to grab and carefully extracted himself from the armchair, easing Niffty down so as to not jolt her. Taking a moment to adjust his coat and smooth out the wrinkles, he tucked his cane under his arm and slid his arms under Niffty’s tiny form, lifting her up.
Without looking at any of them, he strolled upstairs. The further he got, the quieter the music became until it stopped completely. But he’d placed radios all over the house—his own touch to the hotels’ charm, he claimed—and as he approached another one, music crackled to life, only to gradually fade as well when he strode past. He approached another. Music came through its speakers. He walked past. The music faded. They all do this, creating a trail of sound that’s easily tracked throughout the halls until it disappears altogether.
In his absence, the group glanced at each other, the silence as thick as the green fog outside. Eventually, Angel went back to scrolling on his phone, casually saying, “So, uh, we gonna talk about that?”
“About what?” Charlie asked, shuffling a handful of papers.
Angel gave her a dull look. “Our freaky faced landlord and his, uh…handlin’ of our resident bug murderer. I didn’t think he had it in ‘im.”
“Oh, I don’t know if he didn’t have it in him,” Charlie said, waving her hand around. “I mean…sure, we’ve never seen him handle anything so… delicately. But I’m sure there are a lot of facets to Alastor that we don’t know about yet.”
“I don’t know,” Vaggie said, looking up the stairs with crossed arms with pursed lips. “It doesn’t seem like him.”
Husk huffed, rounding the bar to retrieve Alastor’s abandoned cup. “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” he said. “Niff…she has a hard time with storms like these. Always had. He just likes handlin’ it because she always asks for the radio. It’s more for his ego than her benefit.”
Angel glanced at the radio on the table, then up the stairs, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I mean, he didn’t really turn it on ‘til she asked.”
Husk turned, heading back to the bar. “It’s all a game for him,” he said, running the glass under the sink. “Of course, he’ll wait until she asks. He always does.”
Charlie looked down, rubbing her chin in thought. “He seemed pretty genuine. Could it be that he,” she chewed on her next words, rolling them over like she already knew their answer, “…actually cares? Just a little?” She pinched two fingers together in demonstration of how much solicitude Alastor could possibly hold in his blackened heart.
“Cares’ is a bit of a stretch,” Vaggie said, unmoved.
Husk sighed, tucking the cleaned glass away with the rest of its kin. “Look, I’m not sayin’ it’s all roses being owned by a demon like him, but…well, when it comes to the demons he,” he waves his hand around, searching for the right word, “ tolerates, he’sa a lot more gracious. Niff’s been with him a long time. Even longer than me. He’s always been more lenient with her.”
He tossed his dirty rag over his shoulder, doing a last-minute tidying of the bar, before flicking the light off. The yellow lights and bright neon signs darkened, leaving the odious display of animal skeletons in shadow, turning bleached white into a pale gray. He joined them in the lounge, still alight with the soft glow of the lamps, with a hand on his hip.
“Really, I wouldn’t read too much into it, princess,” he said with a loose gesture.. “Who knows why Alastor does what he does. I’ve been with him a while, and even I can’t say for sure what’s goin’ on in his twisted mind.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Charlie said, busying herself with stacking her papers in individual piles and sliding them into their respective folders.
Vaggie brushed a loose strand of hair out of Charlie’s face and intertwined their fingers. “Hey, like Husk said, who knows why he does what he does? It doesn’t mean we can’t do our best for this hotel.” She got up, pulling Charlie to her feet with her. “Come on, let’s go to bed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
The lines between Charlie’s eyebrows softened, and she pressed a kiss to Vaggie’s temple. “Yeah, you’re right.” She looked at Husk and Angel. “You two turning in for the night? We’ve got a big day tomorrow!”
Angel sighed, long and heavy, but hauled himself up off the couch. “Yeah, guess so.” He said with a long stretch of his back. Smirking, he held out an arm to Husk. “Walk me to my room?”
Husk rolled his eyes, but grabbed the offered arm. “Whatever. Only cuz it’s on the way to my room.”
Angel sniggered, but as they headed upstairs, Husk’s resting glower turned into a smile, and he readjusted his grip on Angel’s arm, curling his fingers around it tenderly.
“Do you want to take these up to the room?” Charlie asked, holding the folders out to Vaggie. “I’m going to do a quick check-up of everything and lock up the hotel.”
“Of course,” Vaggie, loading them in her arms. “Don’t be too long, okay?”
“I won’t.”
As Vaggie followed the rest upstairs, Charlie busied herself with straightening the lounge, readjusting anything that had been moved out a place during the quake, and making sure acid hadn’t leaked through the windowsills. Once finished, she locked the door. Keekee was already asleep, thankfully in key form.
But before turning down the hall to her room, she glanced over her shoulder, down the other darkened corridor. Giving her door a brief glance, she went down the opposite hall until she found Niffty’s room, and quietly peeked inside. Much like everything Niffty got her hands on, her room was clean. Decorated with the dead husks of bugs and a vast collection of hair she’d pinned to the wall, sure, but neat and orderly. In a small bed, Niffty was wrapped in blankets and slumbering peacefully.
On the nightstand, a radio played soft, slow music.
Smiling, Charlie closed the door. She glanced farther down the hall, where Alastor’s room was—the farthest from everybody—and her heart swelled fondly.
Twirling around with a pep in her step, she headed towards her room, humming the sweet melody. weet tune.