Angel froze in what he was doing.
‘ Did… did you just ACCUSE me of using CANNED TOMATO…. the nerve! ’
Angel slaps the dough for the pasta noodles he’s working on down on the counter stomping over to him.
‘ You mother fucker, don’t you DARE accuse me of usin’ nothin but the best, I was not raised on canned food! ’
He shakes a ladle at him before quickly stirs the sauce he’s working on and hands it to him.
‘ Taste it, you asshole. Secondly I can speak to whomever and whatever I damn well please. Using canned tomato… ’
He turns now kneading the dough angrily grumbling which turns into loud italian swears.
‘ You know what, for that, that sauce is the only food your getting from my chicken parm! How about that, you baciatore di maiale! ’
Angel’s reaction isn’t quite what Alastor had been expecting -- Ears perk in interest. He’d seen the spider eat melting popsicles for a meal. He wasn’t anticipating that Angel was a fellow foodie. He takes the ladle & gives it a dramatic once-over, apparently giving the sauce his full attention. He takes a generous sip from the ladle &
-- !!
❛ Why, Angel! This is...
Adequate! ❜
Actually, he likes the taste quite a bit. He’s going to have to sneak some of that chicken parm later.
❛ Truly one in a million! She’s at least a century older than I am & yet still so naive! She’s in over her head completely and she seems to know it but still! Persists! But I cannot deny, there’s a spark about that gal that glows brighter than the stars above. I’m sure I’ll find her company remarkably entertaining as my patronage continues! ❜
❛ If we are going to share the kitchen, there are some rules we should both abide to! Number one! Do not speak to me! ❜
Oh, but Alastor is perfectly allowed to play his old-timey music as loudly as he wants because rules don’t actually apply to him, he’s just using the ‘royal we’ -- i.e.; you.
❛ Number two -- Do not use canned tomato sauce. Really now, are you trying to give us all food poisoning? Put some pride into your work! ❜
The only personal space that mattered to him was his own! Was she unaware of who he was–? Oh well! That could be fun! It had been a while since he didn’t frighten off all the more common denizens of the underworld.
❛ Hm… I suppose I can respect that! You seem new! Or at least.. I haven’t seen you before. ❜
And I have eyes everywhere.
❛ Oh, hahaha! Where are my manners! The name’s Alastor, darling, pleasure to meet you! ❜
Thank goodness for that. She’d been expecting more of an argument about keeping his distance, but at least this demon seemed agreeable for the time being.
“Pleasure to meet you as well, Alastor. My name is Neri. I haven’t been in Hell long myself, no. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have been here at all, but I suppose there’s really not much I can do about that. Are you… someone important here? You’re certainly dressed like you are.”
Oh, never fear! He’d be sure to ignore boundaries plenty in the near future!
❛ I suppose you wouldn’t! I think you’ll find most people here in that boat -- I, for one, couldn’t care less where I am, so long as it provides entertainment! ❜
At the question of his importance, a faint chuckle could barely be made out of his feedback loop. You could say that.
❛ Important! Well, that entirely depends on your definition! But nevermind what I am, what are you, my dear? Pardon me, but you don’t seem like most of our denizens! ❜
May be edited as plots happen. This can be found on the page Dossier. One-Shots about Alastor can be found under the tag The Devil of New Orleans.
Alastor was born to the Simmons family on June 14th 1900. His father, George Simmons, was a wealthy businessman from Louisiana with French ancestry. He met his future wife Lorraine during travel, in Michigan at a casino. He offered to get her out of the Saulteaux reservation where she lived in return for her hand in marriage. The couple later moved back to George’s hometown of New Orleans and welcomed their first and only child into the family.
During the first ten or so years of his life, Alastor didn’t understand the strife between his parents and mostly ignored it, though he learned very quickly when not to ask for things. Lorraine and George’s marriage was always tense— George often drank and gambled, leading to more than one occassion of cheating on his wife. He would also become violent at times, and lash out at Lorraine or Alastor, whomever was closer. Alastor just took this as a fact of life and tended to avoid his father. He infinitely preferred the company of his mother, and was quite the momma’s boy, all his life.
As soon as he was old enough, Alastor enrolled in the Boy Scouts program, something that would become extremely important to his youth. This allowed him to get out and explore while also avoiding his father. Win-win. Even at a young age, however, he did show some worrying signs of his lack of empathy. He was interested in the macabre of nature, and would inspect dead animals in the woods. Eventually he started trapping and killing small animals himself, fascinated by how they reacted to their impending demise. His mother taught him how to hunt with a rifle, which became a favorite hobby of his.
At age 12, he witnessed his father’s death at the hands of his mother. The two found him drunk and violent outside a club. He assaulted Lorraine and she pulled a gun on him. Alastor was shaken, but not frightened or particularly upset about his father’s death. He never mentioned it to his mother. He simply accepted it and moved on.
During high school, Alastor began showing more interest in his heritage and learning about Saulteaux legends, which he would relay as campfire stories (with his own embellishments) to his fellow scouts. His fascination with legends drove him to start learning about more, and that’s when he stumbled across Voodoo. It instantly captured his attention and he began to practice Voodoo magic. He was a natural at it, and drawn in by the promises of power, he practiced black magic along with other spells. He found excitement in being able to rewrite fate and alter luck.
He continued to practice Voodoo into his college years. In the public eye, he never revealed his connection to the craft, but in secret meetings and the night market, he became a notorious witch doctor. To most, however, he was a simple college student. And quite a talented one at that. He excelled at his studies and likely could have pursued any career, but he was most interested in journalism. Current events intrigued him— especially the more macabre. He loved to write and share reports of corrupt businessmen, of the sly women they slept with, and a good murder was his favorite to report. His natural charisma and strong oral skills made him a perfect fit for radio broadcasting, his eventual lifelong career.
During his college years, he frequented a club where he met Mimzy, a cabaret performer whom he quickly befriended. He and Mimzy bonded over their hatred of most men, especially the types who slept around and cheated on their significant others. Alastor hated them because of his father. Mimzy hated them because they’d harass her, even those she knew had loving wives at home.
One night, late in Alastor’s senior year, he arrived at the club and couldn’t find Mimzy in her usual spot. Something felt the matter, alarm bells instantly went off in his head. He snuck into the back of the club to seek her out, checking her dressing room. Within, there were signs of a struggle. Her belongings were scattered about on the floor. He grabbed a hairpin as a weapon and raced out to continue his search. The sounds of struggle lead him to the alley just behind the club where the worst was happening— a man was assaulting his dearest friend. The man didn’t even notice the new arrival. With deadly intentions, Alastor swept in behind him like a phantom in the night and drove the hairpin through the man’s neck. After a few moments of struggling for air, the assaulter dropped to the ground, releasing Mimzy. She thanked him breathlessly as Alastor helped her properly dress herself and lent her his jacket to hide torn straps. Then their business turned to the body. Alastor suggested they hide it in the deer hunting ground, and so they did. They both agreed the man deserved to die. And not only him, but so many others... they made a pact and thus began their secondary careers as The Devil of New Orleans.
On the front, Alastor remained a respectable radio host, one of the most popular in Louisiana at that. Mimzy continued the cabaret, earning quite a bit with her nightingale singing voice. But in the dead of the night, they planned revenge on the horrible people who made life just that much worse for everyone else. Alastor also introduced Mimzy to his craft of black magic, something he knew would grow stronger with the more murders they committed. In fact, with deep research, he believed he had found a way to harvest the power of the soul they killed by trapping it in a talisman of his. He acknowledged that they were both likely going to Hell after they died for what they did. “May as well put on a show when we get there.”
And grow his powers did. Using the strength of his captured souls, he grew his own magic to a terrifying degree. He found he was able to influence people’s very luck with spells and he could coerce certain movements from them. He could implant ideas in their heads if he so desired, and he and Mimzy used that to trap their victims.
But even with that power, he could not prevent the inevitable fate that would await the two of them. Mimzy was caught in the act of murder when Alastor was off on a business trip. With investigation, they nailed her for a few other murders the two of them had committed as well. She never revealed she had a partner, loyal to the end. She was put to death. Alastor was the one to announce it over the radio, no hint of remorse, no hint of nostalgia in his voice. Unfortunately for him, some of the club’s workers recognised that he was her friend and grew suspicious. Rumors spread about him in a small community, and when the wife of one of his victims heard, she decided to take action.
It was an unremarkable day for Alastor until that night. A day off, he spent it hunting and was eating his dinner in peace when he heard the barking of hunting dogs in the distance, but growing nearer. Out his window he saw an approaching mob and he knew his time was up. They knew.
He ran, leaving his dinner half eaten. The hunting party tore through his house and the dogs of war were hot on his scent. No matter how quickly Alastor ran through the woods, the dogs ran faster and with vicious bites they slowed him down enough that the rest of the party caught up. They shot at him in the dark and a cry of pain let them know that someone had hit their mark. They approached their target and in their lantern light, they saw him struggle in the grip of the dogs, bleeding profusely from a shot in the chest, eyes as wild as the beasts’ attacking him. Even still, when his eyes met theirs, he smiled through his pain.
“ I’ll see you all in Hell. “
Those were the last words he uttered before they put a bullet through his head.
Little did they know, his notoriety was only beginning.
“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to take several steps back. I really don’t appreciate people getting that close to me.”
Leaning away from the mouthful of teeth leering in her face, Neri took a couple of quick steps of her own to resume a respectable distance between the two of them. Talk about a severe invasion of personal space.
The only personal space that mattered to him was his own! Was she unaware of who he was--? Oh well! That could be fun! It had been a while since he didn’t frighten off all the more common denizens of the underworld.
❛ Hm... I suppose I can respect that! You seem new! Or at least.. I haven’t seen you before. ❜
And I have eyes everywhere.
❛ Oh, hahaha! Where are my manners! The name’s Alastor, darling, pleasure to meet you! ❜
