Indie Alastor RP blog!
feu divertissant is 'entertaining fire'
Mun: 30+, Minors DNI NO exceptions.
Alastor has been gnawing on my brain so it's time to unleash him onto the unsuspecting populace of Pride!
DD DNE, because that's Alastor's snackies for later.
Shoes and staff made a rhythmic ticking on the sidewalk as the red-clad man walked with a song hummed in his throat, taking a nice perambulation around Pentagram city. It was good to remind them all on occasion that the Radio Demon was here, and better than them. Eventually there would be a soft sound of a radio tuning in from the microphone head of his cane and a melody played for his own entertainment. The lyrics were in French, on a whim.
"...Depuis ma mort je suis bien différent, je ne suis pas à la retraite pour autant, à présent j’ai le pouvoir de vous brûler dans un feu divertissant.."
It was good to get out of the hotel, to keep everyone on their toes about his motivations, his plans, his work.
And to also escape Charlie's latest group therapy session.
So I nearly gave a sassy/ignorant old man Alastor answer about how his business is radio and not courier work, but figured since it's munday I'd waffle on for a second.
For canon? I want Alastor to be AroAce because he's a Big Deal for the show and ACE REPRESENTATION.
In roleplay? I prefer multiship style and I'll ship nearly anything. Every relationship is different, even with alternates of the same person because the players all bring different quirks to the writing!
Alastor could fall for his alternates, Lucifer, Vox, possibly Charlie, Husk, Rosie, and most any other canon character though perhaps not Niffty, Baxter, Pentious, Cherri, or the 'pet' characters like Frank, Kee Kee, Fat Nuggets, Shok.Wav etc. OCs are also lovely to ship with! The only sort of OC I would not ship with are underaged or incest but I will happily still play with those characters.
I'm also down to have Al and other characters be enemies, frenemies, worsties...
Any time along his timeline and even AU can be fun--RP is already AU so what the hay let's write like the characters are from ATLA or something lol.
COLLARED!
(On whomever you feel would be the most entertaining!)
[Send "COLLARED" for my muse's reaction to your muse putting a collar on them.]
...Registering the new feeling around his neck, slid into place from behind, there was a moment of processing. Once the accessory was in place, he touched it with both hands. What--
"Language, Your Majesty," he playfully scolded. "One should maintain some decorum while modeling a gift even in a private setting." He spoke as if it was the most normal thing in the world to randomly place a collar onto someone.
"My, my," he drawled slowly before a pleased hum escaped him. "It looks even better on you than I'd imagined. I had it made with you in mind, you know." With an infuriating casual flair he reached out and gave the little ring a gentle clink with one claw. "Including a lovely matching leash. After all.. one never knows when one might want to keep something precious from wandering off. Or pull them closer."
The amusement in his voice crackled like a warm radio broadcast.
Alastor's grin only widened as his eyes flicked over the angel's face and the collar with open and shameless delight. "You wear my gift remarkably well."
A talon casually hooked into the ring and gently pulled the angel closer to that smug, possessive, pleased smile.
Vincent stared down at his paper, the date being October 9th, 1956. He had finally done it, he’d gotten back to the fifties. Now all he had to do was try and figure out how to stay there. When Alastor’s voice rang out from across the diner he had cozied up in he immediately flattened the paper against the table, damn near spilling his coffee everywhere as he shifted out of his seat and practically dove at Alastor. Unsure of what to even do with himself once he got there he tucked his hands under his armpits to keep himself from fucking the whole thing up, from looking more over-excited than he already did. Fat chance.
“Yes!! Yes- fuck- sorry, shit- yes. Why wait for tonight? I’m not busy right now, are you busy right now? Actually, look, I’m sorry if you’ve got plans can you cancel them? Please? I just…”
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I need to see you. I don’t care what we do, just… let’s have fun, okay?”
His eyes were burning, thoughts too fast to keep up with. How long had it been? Was this even the same Alastor he knew? It felt like it. Fuck he needed a win. He tried to stay casual, his voice came out strangled.
Oh, so it was a clingy day. Periodically his TV-head acquaintance had a short circuit or something and acted as if they hadn't seen each other for days, weeks, months. It added to his... Hm. Not appeal. Not charm. Mystique? Closer.
"I have some overlord business to take care of, some meeting or other. Can't cancel it. No guests, and no proxies so.." He calmly sipped his coffee. "You'll have to wait for that. Otherwise..." His head tilted softly. "I was going to investigate the new construction on the north end of the entertainment district after that, and perhaps find some mischief and some dinner to get into before my broadcast this evening."
Vox was aware of how important Alastor's scheduled broadcasts were to him.
"We can go drinking and dancing after. If you're patient you may accompany me most of the day."
Static, sparks, shadows. These were Alastor’s favorite theatrics. Adam didn’t even flinch when the halo was knocked off-course or when the neon sign burst into blinding interference. He simply laughed, low and sharp, as if the attacks mildly offended him.
“Oh wow,” he drawled, rolling his shoulders as divine light pulsed brighter beneath his skin. “Afterimages. Smoke. A monologue. You really are a radio drama, huh? All buildup, no payoff.”
The tendril tugged his ankle just enough to throw his balance—but Adam used it. He let himself stumble forward, wings snapping in tight instead of flaring, deliberately compacting his mass and momentum. When Alastor slashed from behind, claws raking across his back, Adam grunted—but he didn’t stop.
Light surged outward in a sudden, brutal pulse. A shockwave, short-range and concussive, meant to disrupt, not destroy. The shadow-double staggered, the poppets skidded back, and the air itself rang like a struck bell.
Adam twisted hard on his heel, finally facing the real Alastor.
“There you are,” he said pleasantly.
He didn’t give Alastor time to reposition.
Adam lunged—not wildly, not angrily, but with terrifying focus. One hand shot out to grab Alastor by the collar and antlers both, yanking him forward mid-motion. The other came up in a tight, brutal arc—
—as he aimed a straight punch to the side of Alastor’s head, packed with condensed holy force, aimed cleanly at the temple. Not to kill. Not to grandstand.
To turn his lights off.
“Too much talking,” Adam snarled through clenched teeth as he followed through, driving his shoulder in to keep Alastor from slipping away. “And not enough time on the floor. Let’s see how funny you sound when you’re unconscious, Jazz Voice.”
Alastor grunted as his head met that angelic blow, and his world spun around, indeed fading towards black at the edges, threatening to pull him to unconciousness.
There's a phrase in Creole that applied to this situation. 'Mete absè sou klou.' An abscess on a boil. A bad situation that gets worse.
This was far from the first beating Alastor had received from a man with more strength than him, or more often who he was legally unable to defend himself from since there were witnesses.
The Radio Demon's neck snapped back into position with a vicious grin as he also grabbed the first man's arms in clawed grips. "Careless," came a single word as dozens of poppets, a few armed with angelic steel knives swarmed up behind him as his four main shadow tentacles wrapped around the holy man to hold him still. The little dolls didn't have much strength or intelligence, but having teeth sharpened by spirits of another religion and few good stabs at the base of his wings would certainly smart even for the powerful angel.
Not wanting to get caught in another shockwave of holy power, Alastor called back his minions without a word and used a bit of leverage to slam Adam fancy device-face first into what remained of the rooftop, and then again and again.
Eventually he released the angel and managed to stand up straight. Alastor's voice was decidedly unfiltered for a moment. "You're not the first man in white robes to try to put me back in my place. The others wore stupid hoods and called themselves Knights. Klansmen." A sneer entered Alastor's voice, the radio distortion slowly returning. "Those.. who considered themselves above me. Better than me. Just for my sin of being a different race. You're just the same as them. I'm in Hell for killing people who thought I was an animal for my skin and enjoying their pain as they experienced the fear of knowing another had power over them in that moment. And now you seek to destroy me for being a sinner? For not regretting standing up for myself? Charlie may have a fool's mission with this ridiculous hotel of hers, but at least she's not being a hypocritical tyrant."
He stood, blood dripping from the side of his head, seeping through his torn shirt. His antlers were still splayed and his eyes were still radio dials. "Blaming all sinners for the crimes of a few. Aren't there entire speeches in your holy book about not punishing those who didn't do a crime? Something about crimes of the father?"
Come on, Alastor, think. Get him talking. Buy yourself time.
"It is hardly my fault you pulled me to the mortal plane whilst I was still enjoying the fruits of a little dust-up in Hell." He elegantly took another bite of the demon he was merrily carving with cutlery.
The fact that he had cloven deer hooves complete with dew claws was a secret he generally kept pretty close to the vest. Barring the occasional time he went swimming, his feet stayed firmly in proper footwear. Adapted slightly to comfortably cushion the dew claws, of course.
"My feet are off limits," he said smoothly, as if unbothered. "Too many people have an unnatural interest in feet so I keep mine stowed away."
"Linen breathes delightfully, much more suited to hot temperatures than wool, though I find the resulting suits less durable and that they wrinkle if you so much as get caught in a breeze, let alone attempt to deal with a degenerate standing in your way."
"That is to say, both have their up and down sides. But every gentleman should be skilled at handling their own laundering. It is in fact a 'skill isssue' in modern parlance."
Tu es prêt à manger..! @feudivertissant - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
