Sir Pentious

RP blog for Sir Pentious from Hazbin Hotel. NSFW themes may appear. 20+ Minors DNI. Written by Lune.

[sirserpentine]

Selective roleplay blog for Sir Pentious from Hazbin Hotel.

NSFW themes may appear. 20+ Minors DNI.

Written by Lune 25, she/her.

Please read before interacting: Carrd: X

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Tags: Headcanons, Art and images, Dash games, Memes (Accepting!), Delights, the egg boiz

Timelines:

Architect of Destruction. (Before the hotel.)

Saint Repentious. (In Heaven.)

[radioiaci]

It's a mutual craving, a slow and steady descent into repeated presses of his lips against Simon's, fighting the urge to churn a hum in his throat that provides enough feedback for the other to know that this is what he wants; what he has been thinking about ever since beginning his climb up towards Pen's balcony. Now, he finds himself frustrated only by the presence of those silly glasses, breaking the kiss only momentarily before he is taking the pair from his own face to set aside before resuming, heavier and more eager.

Something prompts him then to sever the kiss once again, but he does not go far, instead leaning to press his lips in a few short, tender brushes against the other's jaw, then down towards his neck, reaching with a hand to gently move aside Simon's jet black and silky hair to give him enough room to do so.

He is not sure where this goes beyond the moment - he is certainly not thinking very clearly.

But that is okay. The inexperience between them both is not much a deterrent. What they are doing is... new and novel - there should not be any rules to dictate how they do or do not draw each other closer by touch and sense. This is just for them; just between them.

Alastor pauses then, though he does not draw away, resting his head in a press against Simon's and murmuring against his skin.

"Shall I try to stay here through the night?"

That too is risky. But a risk worth taking for the other.

[sirserpentine]

Simon manages to withhold gasps and other utterances for a short moment, but a hot breath escapes along sound as soon as Alastor's curious lips touch his neck. It's a sensation he can compare to no other, and one he desperately wishes to continue. To advance, even - Even if he does not exactly know how to do so.

Being well-read and educated does not help him here; he runs on instincts that compel his arms to reach around Alastor and arch his neck back so his companion may reach further and caress nerves that have never been touched before.

And when Alastor proposes to stay, Simon shudders from the pleasure that sparks at such a lovely, forbidden request. He responds in a heated whisper before he even thinks about the very possible consequences and risks they will be taking.

"Yes. Please stay. I invite you to."

His room is bloody big enough to hide the other man if worst comes to worst. Under the bed, inside his desk, or his wardrobe... or the bath. Maybe even behind the curtain.

Simon does not care to think about it much deeper than that. All he knows and cares about is Alastor. Simon wants the other to remain in his hold beyond the night; he wants to keep touching him. He wants Alastor to touch him. He wants Alastor to rest beneath silken sheets and above a mattress that's not too small or thin.

The young lord's hand inches down to where Alastor's hip lies beneath worn fabric. His blue eyes descend too as he leans back for a moment to observe the other's travel attire, and then return up to meet Alastor's. A pause, coy and expectant.

"Let me help you."

Simon slides off the edge of that lush bed to kneel in front of the other man. His hands pull forth Alastor's legs, delicate fingers woving between the laces that hold up his worn boots. A gentle act of service he aches to fulfil. And one he at least knows how to do.

[sirserpentine]

The young lord smiles coyly at Alastor's compliment and subsequent touch to his delicate and still recovering ear. The earrings are pretty, yes, but he had never considered actually growing accustomed to them. Simon did not think himself so pretty as to match them. It is flattering that Alastor seems to think otherwise.

He nods when Alastor mentions the printing press, his pride and joy. The culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

"Please do not accept too low a bid, even though we are working on a deadline. You worked so hard for that press..."

Pen's words trail off, guilt evident in the heaviness of his expression and the lowering of his gaze.

But his gratefulness rings just as clearly. He cannot fathom that Alastor would revere him enough to cast aside his long-term goal - at least until they found their footing on the mainland. Or elsewhere. Even if the young lord does not find himself worthy of such sacrifice, he is adamant to prove to his best friend that he can be.

Simon's hand rises to rest gently against Alastor's palm, pressing it against his round cheek. The contact of Alastor's warm, already slightly work-hardened hand comforts him and his woes greatly. Simon closes his eyes and sighs. Alastor's little finger touches the corner of his pale lips.

"I am glad you are here, Alastor. The vastness of these walls seems to grow every day. I find myself more and more lost inside them."

[radioiaci]

Alastor is not so concerned about the price that one might pay for the press. At least not then. Anything will do them better than the thing sitting in a room and rotting while he cannot use it, and he is sufficiently distracted in the moment, the sensation of the other's skin against his palm assuaging any worries he may have of them being caught.

He is silent, for a moment, absorbing Simon's appreciation and the soft words that are uttered to him in the privacy of the room. Alastor exhales slowly, glancing from Pen up to the space around them.

For all of its luxuries... It's still a prison; one that separates them and has done so since they were young.

But soon... they will not.

"You will not lose yourself to this world as long as I have something to say about it," Alastor murmurs in return, closing the distance between them so that he can set his head in a gentle nudge against Simon's. It's a calm, quiet sort of moment, not unlike some they have shared before. But it feels different now, if only in the sense that now there is a weight upon his shoulders to spirit Simon away before the tendrils of the ton can ensnare him, knowing that they will not release his friend once they have a hold.

The possessive flame within him flickers once more, as it had when he'd briefly noticed that the other man at the fair had briefly captured Pen's attention. But this time, it spurs him to whisper once more, in the small space between them.

"...Don't make a sound and they will not hear us."

Alastor does not wait to chase an urge, to lean and capture Simon's mouth in a kiss, an impulse that has been festering for as long as they have been sitting here, not set at ease with the first meeting of lips but only further stoked. He knows it is a bit of a frightening thing, however, to do this here - in the most dangerous place of all...

And yet -

The danger is what turns that flame into the roar of blood in his ears, heart thrumming against his chest as he braces fingers gently against Simon's skin. It's risky to come on so strong... but he has always been a bit of a risk-taker.

No one will hear, he tells himself. No one will know.

No one but them.

[sirserpentine]

Pen loses most of his cognitive abilities when Alastor's heated whisper presses against his pale skin. In its place, there is fire that ignites within his body and turns that chalk-like complexion red. There is a heart that hammers so loudly in his ears that he is afraid they will be caught even if they both held their breath until dawn. And there are willing lips that find their place against Alastor's.

And once the young lord can think once more, he realises that this is a feeling he has been craving for, more hungrily each of these recent nights they have been forced to remain apart. That hunger towers over any fear of being caught, at the moment, though it may very well return later.

His door is locked, at least. Perhaps not fool-proof, but it will slow down any possible intruder.

He nods, finally, a non-verbal promise to stay as silent as he can.

Simon is loathe to admit how inexperienced he is, but his affection towards the other is not diminished by his insecurity. He fumbles with his hands until they find Alastor's shoulders and gently press against them. He explores the sensation of the other's mouth against his with coy and eager lips. Alastor feels so warm, and Simon leans closer against his strong body. Familiar and secure, but touching him in new and exhilirating ways.

Their spectacles clink together. It may be the only hindrance of his companion's new ability to see, Simon imagines with some gentle humour.

[radioiaci]

"You are! And a fair decent one, I might say. More practice and you could be quite the entertainer." And he would not hesitate to make way for her on one of the hotel's stages so that she could do her little song and dance for a small audience, if she so pleased.

It was true that she had grown, though it was not by much. Alastor would not have minded if she maintained her tiny size for the rest of her little hellborn life. He had begun to understand that he would do quite a bit for this tiny egg, regardless if she were ever as large or capable as her siblings.

Not that he doubted her ability.

"You'll have to finish that before I can finish bathing you. I'm not giving you a wash just so you can smother yourself in more ice cream."

A rather stern caretaker, he was, in spite of it all.

Absently, he wondered exactly how long it might take before Pentious, in a panic, came looking for them. It had been quite some time since she'd appeared amid his bag of things out on the street.

[sirserpentine]

"Mowe ice cweam?" Fitzgerald repeated, and waggled what constituted as her eyebrows. Whether she understood what Alastor meant or not, or was just making a joke, remained unknown, but she quickly gobbled down the remains of her ice cream anyway.

And after the sweet treat had disappeared into her always-ravenous pit, Fitzgerald let out an exasperated sigh from the effort of finishing such a large dessert. The occurrences of the day at large had left her quite confused and tired at large, and her following splashes of water lacked some of her characteristic mirth. Even if she still apparently enjoyed herself.

As she allowed Alastor to brush her stained shell, courteously lifting her arms so he could reach everywhere, she suddenly realised they were indeed in water. And she knew that sometimes water held creatures unlike herself. Scaled tails not akin to her other boss's warm one, but those slimy and fidgety. Those like the mean thugs from the streets.

"...No fish?" she checked, pointing towards the bubbles and the unknown depths beneath them.

[radioiaci]

Simon's verbal fumble and quick correction is enough to raise Alastor's eyebrows, but only in some cursory amusement. He knows Pen too well to believe it to be truly lascivious in nature - but the fluster is appealing to his humor, and though he says nothing, he is certain this his own smug expression is enough to communicate how he feels about such an invitation. How devious.

Instead, he permits the other to carry on with his own report, pleased that Simon has seemed to find some purchase in their idea to pilfer a few of 'Nana's' finery. Surely the old crone does not need them, Alastor thinks, and so he neglects to feel any semblance of pity for the woman who has done very little but give him grief for as long as he has known her.

The least she can do is contribute something meaningful to the lives she has very nearly ruined out of tradition and spite.

Pen's anxiety is familiar to him enough that Alastor is patient, expression turning to a rather giddy sort of surprise when the other reveals those stolen earrings that decorate his ear. It's an odd thing to see, a man with such jewelry, but given all that they have been dabbling with in the last few weeks... he supposes it's not the strangest thing to come across.

All for a purpose, anyway.

Reaching up with a free hand, Alastor's fingers brush delicately over the dangling things, noting their sheen in the light and how they give a rather pristine sparkle. They can only be real with how they glint, and the young Hartfelt gives a few small chuckles to keep from being too loud or boisterous in his humor.

"How sly," he says. "And I can't say that they look terrible on you, either. Best to keep them hidden, but... You will have to work hard to not get attached to them if we are meant to sell them later on."

But while his hand is there, his fingers lightly trail from Pen's ear down to the line of his jaw - just touching, with subtle appreciation. There is no expectation in his touch, but he feels the compulsion all the same.

"Well done. I'm sure there are a few more things we can do to provide ourselves with a solid foundation. But I can't say I'm not pleased with what we've managed so far." Or, rather, what Simon has managed more so than he himself.

"I am working to sell the press, but... There are not many who can afford it. I am sure I will find a buyer sooner or later." A reassurance, in case Pen begins to fret about it at all. Alastor is a bit distracted from going into further details about it, however, his eyes fixed onto a few different points of Simon's pale skin.

"I'll just need to expand my network of contacts."

[sirserpentine]

The young lord smiles coyly at Alastor's compliment and subsequent touch to his delicate and still recovering ear. The earrings are pretty, yes, but he had never considered actually growing accustomed to them. Simon did not think himself so pretty as to match them. It is flattering that Alastor seems to think otherwise.

He nods when Alastor mentions the printing press, his pride and joy. The culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

"Please do not accept too low a bid, even though we are working on a deadline. You worked so hard for that press..."

Pen's words trail off, guilt evident in the heaviness of his expression and the lowering of his gaze.

But his gratefulness rings just as clearly. He cannot fathom that Alastor would revere him enough to cast aside his long-term goal - at least until they found their footing on the mainland. Or elsewhere. Even if the young lord does not find himself worthy of such sacrifice, he is adamant to prove to his best friend that he can be.

Simon's hand rises to rest gently against Alastor's palm, pressing it against his round cheek. The contact of Alastor's warm, already slightly work-hardened hand comforts him and his woes greatly. Simon closes his eyes and sighs. Alastor's little finger touches the corner of his pale lips.

"I am glad you are here, Alastor. The vastness of these walls seems to grow every day. I find myself more and more lost inside them."

[silksindicate]

if you need a drawn replica of what drinking games with @angie-long-legs and @sirserpentine are like:

Does it help or hinder to know that The Love Theme from The Godfather was playing at the same time

[silksindicate]

moments before disaster

[sirserpentine]

//I have an owie

[radioiaci]

Permitting himself to be tugged towards the bed, he settles there without question, taking a moment to breathe out and in a few times to settle the slight racing of his heart. Whether it's from his precarious climb or from seeing Simon in a way that he knows is slightly illicit in nature, he is not sure. Maybe a bit of both. Innocent as this is in his opinion, Alastor knows that any observers will not think that way.

The hand in Pen's possession relaxes, and he does not see fit to fuss about the contact between them - even if he has in mind to not simply leave it as is for very long.

But conversation and some slight bit of etiquette first. To keep from seeming like some sort of cretin.

"As well as it could, I suppose. Collin is on board - he's looking after the home now, in fact. He seems to rather enjoy the chickens. I don't think we'll have any problem with getting him acclimated." But, Alastor gives a small, sheepish smirk.

"He has taken over my only bed, so- Given that I would not be sleeping, that is why I assumed coming to see you might be an adequate distraction."

His fingers slip in between Pen's as long as their hands are in contact, leaning back on his other hand as he takes the time to appreciate the lush feeling of the sheets beneath his slightly rough palm.

"I've put together a bit of money thus far... But still not quite enough for me to feel comfortable. A little more and I will have something a bit more sufficient for our use." And still only scant in comparison to what he assumes Simon will be able to contribute, but he will do what he can, regardless.

"And you? Anything I should know?"

[sirserpentine]

Simon nods along as the other's words come to a conclusion, glad to hear his endeavours have been successful so far, even if it means he is out of a cot. Suddenly, the young lord is aware of the size of the bed they are seated on in comparison to the one that awaits in Alastor's little cottage. Collin is a tall boy and probably trashes about at all night as children do. Alastor has been wise to not even attempt to sleep in his close proximity.

But as the young man says, that has left him with no other option.

"Well, you are always welcome in mine," Simon says, and then baulks and pauses, frozen in the spot as he splutters out a continuation: "I mean, my room. You're always welcome in my- I mean... yes."

Agh, what a fool he is!

Simon latches onto Alastor's question to avoid any further embarrassment and gives a fervent nod.

"And ah- yes! Yes indeed. I have committed myself to the dreadful endeavour of chaperoning Nana at all opportune moments. It has been horrible, but I have managed to locate a few of her jewels."

Unfortunately, one of her hiding places was the servants' outhouse, down which Nana threw one of her priceless pearl necklaces. Simon was desperate, but not that desperate.

But that did not mean he had escaped his mission empty-handed.

Simon fidgets with his sleeves once more, and sucks in his lips as if trying to gather courage. It's an expression Alastor must be familiar with, one Simon's face conjures when he knows he has given into something decidedly naughty, exhilarating and maybe dangerous. Anxiety and maybe a bit of shame. But also steady resolve.

Simon straightens his posture and brings his hands towards the strands of hair that frame his face. Then, he brings his fingers between his silken locks and pulls them behind his ears to reveal not only two piercings but, most importantly, two large, dangling gold and diamond earrings that glitter in the room's abundant lamplight.

His expression is a bit coy as he glances towards Alastor.

"...And I found a good place to hide them."

[radioiaci]

Her exuberance was what separated Fitzgerald so readily from the other eggs, in his opinion. While she harbored quite a few similarities with the other egg girls, none of them - nor the egg boiz - had ever really caught his attention in such a way. Perhaps it was because he had actually contributed to her making that he found himself leveraging his role as a general 'caretaker' of her safety. That, and he had not wanted to disappoint Pentious, at some point.

But he knew it had grown beyond that, by now, his expression slightly fond as she seemed to carry on with her impromptu performance.

Alastor had to wonder how she seemed to conjure up such lyrics.

"Write that yourself?" He asked when she'd paused. "I could see it going platinum in certain circles."

Reaching for a nearby rag, draped over the side of the tub, he took it and coated it in a few bubbles, reaching to give the top of her head a few little scrubs, not wanting to be too intrusive to interrupt her singing or ice cream consumption.

[sirserpentine]

Fitzgerald took Alastor's compliments eagerly, nodding along as he posed his questions and comments. She took a bite of her melting ice cream sandwich before replying.

"Fitz is singer."

But not as original as expected. She did not have the proper vocabulary to explain that she had heard the song in a movie.

She closed her eyes when the first suds of soap began to coat her smooth shell, but then turned towards her boss with another announcement in mind.

"And Fitz big. So big. Pwincess."

She reached her twiggy arms as far up as they could reach to accentuate her mighty size, which was perhaps two or three ounces more than she had been at the time of her creation. And around the size of the ice cream wrapper still in her grasp. She smiled, certain and elated that other Boss kept telling her she was growing.

"Big girl."

[radioiaci]

It had been difficult for him to contend with, the more he thrived in Hell. To have a chain and thread wound so tightly around his throat; to dance when told to dance, to fetch when told to fetch. A perfect dog - the prized hound. And even now, he knows that if he is told to leap; if he is told to bite -

He will have to.

Alastor is silent for a few lingering moments, until Pentious expresses his own hopes, predictable as it is, and yet still marginally reassuring to hear. To be fought for - it is a new feeling to harbor. He might not have believed it, had there not been time after time in which Pen has shown and expressed that he is committed. To whatever this is. To a partnership of a kind which Alastor has only almost known one singular time, forced to shatter it entirely because of his own fear and trepidation.

And now he has a second chance.

His head turns when prompted, glancing at the other as he is drawn to do so, unable to keep the slight back-and-forth swish of the tail behind him.

"I am yours for as long as I can be," he murmurs in turn, leaning to gently nudge his head against Pen's before he pulls back enough to listen to what he is being told. It's a curious segue, but not unrelated, he supposes, glancing down at the other's scales as they are illustrated in the vision he does not quite have.

"Dandelions." He smirks, somewhat, thinking through the descriptor. He can, at least, parse the yellow of Pen's various features, but the rest is muted and muddy. But even so, he is drawn in all the same.

"I would have said like the sun."

Eugh. Such sap that he is incapable of except in a moment like this with this one specific sinner. But it is drawn from him in such odd ways with the other's soft touches and heartfelt words.

He can hardly complain.

[sirserpentine]

Pen smiles when his offered descriptor is elevated from a weed to the source of all life on the Earth they once called home. That's right. The sun before his death had looked yellow. Not red, like it did in Pride.

Another nice detail to recall.

The serpent leans closer and meets Alastor's lips in a gentle kiss, not letting the proximity between them break further than mere millimetres once they separate.

"Say more things. Convince me to stay until I mussssst rest," he orders, but the words escape much more like a plead. He knows they must eventually part ways to gather their strength before the battle. But he does not want to go just yet. He wants to inhale Alastor's scent for longer. He wants to describe more colours and hear more of Alastor's filtered voice.

There are so many things he wants to say. So many embraces he still wants to give. And so many fears he desperately tries to stifle.

[brothersebastianscompendium]

Reblog if your muse is Bisexual

Other pride-flag bubbles for your muses: [LGTBQA+] [Ace] [Aro] [Panromantic/-sexual] [Grey-Asexual] [Demi-Asexual] [Gay] [Lesbian] [Transgender] [Intersex] [Agender] [Genderfluid] [Nonbinary]

[radioiaci]

"Black queen?"

There were no black queens that he could remember. Right now, there were three - tawny and grey and spotted. But none black. The more Precious seemed to fret, the more likely it seemed as though the medicine cat's assessment of him was correct. Perhaps he had simply been dreaming. And to rile everyone up so soon before a skirmish was risky - and distracting.

Silently appreciative of Spidershine's ability to reassure when the white tom made an appearance, Stagtooth nodded in agreement.

"They're in the nursery with the queens as they have been all night. I promise you, they will be fine while we head out."

And for the moment, he turned away to join the rest of the battle party, lead by Morningstar as they, along with the medicine cat and Precious as an assistant, headed out for the oncoming collision with Airclan. Stagtooth had not prepared Precious much for what they would see and encounter out there, with the understanding that he would remain back far enough with their medicine cat for it to not matter. But as he sped up to a run alongside the others, he thought that it might have been prudent.

Oh well. Too late now.

Streaking across the moor, the Fireclan cats made their way towards the forest, slowed down only by the thickness of the brush as they made their way towards the trickling sounds of a nearby stream. It was at the stream's edge that Morningstar raised his tail for them to halt, poised in a line on one side of the water, with the sounds of heavy rustling and aggressive yowls on the other bank announcing the fast arrival of opposing cats.

The medicine cat placed a paw in front of Precious when they were several fox-lengths away, asking him to halt where they were, remaining partially hidden behind a small thicket of bramble and burr while they remained watchful of their clan members. He set the herbs down and turned his head to Precious.

"Airclan is hard-headed and prone to fighting. I have a feeling we'll be treating a good assortment of scratches and bite wounds. They'll retreat back here if they need it - but hopefully we'll be able to teach them a lesson enough for them to scarper back to their territory. I won't ask you to do anything except hand me specific herbs if I need you to - just be ready in case we need to retreat for whatever reason."

At least the medicine cat had prepared Precious where Stagtooth had not, the ginger tom waiting obediently on their end as four cats of Airclan burst through on the other side of the stream, lead by a dark brown striped tabby, thick limbs and paws giving him a rather muscular look as he haughtily strode to the very edge of the bank.

"What do you furballs want?" The brown cat yowled to the Fireclan cats. "You looking for a fight?"

At his side, a pale blonde cat stepped, hissing aggressively with fur bristled and tail lashing as her claws extended. "They definitely brought enough warriors for it!"

The other two warriors - a stout, ginger tom and a thinner white and orange tom appeared at either side, neither looking particularly certain about why they were here, but evidently overpowered by their leader and deputy.

"If it's a fight you want, then we will give it to you. You're more than deserved one for coming onto our territory to steal prey," Morningstar said, stepping forward and wrinkling his nose. Despite his smaller stature, he certainly could put on the airs of a leader, with the other cats unmoving until an order was given. But, it seemed, an order was not necessarily needed. Because Rockstar, the dark tabby, was already murmuring something to his deputy, the pale cat's grin turning foul and sharp as she began to crouch. The stream was not large enough to keep either clan from leaping over if needed.

"The prey should go to the strongest clan," Rockstar taunted, his yowl echoing in the forest around them. "So if you want to keep it, then prove you're the strongest!"

It did not take much more than that before his deputy, Razorwing, was soaring over the stream to latch claws into Swiftwing, the two she-cats beginning to tumble in a flurry of furious hisses and screeches. Rockstar and the other two were quick to follow colliding into raucous battle with the Fireclan cats, with Stagtooth furiously moving to interrupt Pouncetail, one of the Airclan warriors.

The air was thick with the sound and scent of fury and battle - and though the Fireclan medicine cat remained back with Precious, it was clear he was tense, watching closely as the two clans tangled with one another in such ferocious exchanges of teeth and claws.

This was the nasty part of clan life; and desperately needed for survival.

[sirserpentine]

"I will assist in any way I can," Sir Precious assured in the quietest meow he could muster, fur once again standing on end. He was willing to accept that the dream he had seen was not a reality yet, but he also knew that failure to fend for the clan here truly meant harder times for the kits and queens. He dearly hoped that his nightmare had not been an omen, and that the skirmish would be over soon.

Without any mortal wounds.

He flattened against the ground in fear of the stranger clan, even if the medicine cats were spared from the battle itself. The scent of them stood in stark difference to the Fireclan. Their scent told Precious of strength too. Strength and aggression.

"Is that brown tom the leader of Airclan?" he asked, though he was certain it was so. He was large and formidable, and spoke to leader Morningstar in a way that no other cat would dare to.

"Yes. That's Rockstar. Pompous, arrogant. He has been their leader for many, many moons, and he does not let anyone forget it. He is not wise like a leader should be, but he is strong. One of the mightiest warriors I can remember."

Sir Precious swallowed and bowed his head in understanding. And almost as soon as he did, the rival cats engaged in fiery combat, which was unlike anything Precious had ever seen. The wildcats growled and hissed and clawed and bit each other in a mixture of practised strategy and warrior instincts. It was hard and gruelling to watch, but Presh could not look away. Especially when Stagtooth was right there in the middle of the battle, his wounds still likely aching.

Presh's only respite from the action was when an injured cat limped back to him and the medicine cat, forcing him to focus on following orders and delivering needed herbs to the injured.

After tending to a third bleeding cat, Presh's eyes returned to the stream, and the cats fighting by its flow. Ah, he hoped no cat fell in!

Worried mews escaped the kittypet's jaws. But he tried to stifle them, not wanting to worry the hurt cats that had been forced to resign from the skirmish.

[sirserpentine]

Pen slithers up to Pena. Hugs him from behind, then moves their hands over his eyes. "Come with me." They whisper very ssssexxxily.

They have a new invention to show him!

"Oh? You are to surprise me, dear? Wait, I have more eyes to cover!"

Pentious likes surprises, sometimes. But what a shame it is that his advanced field of vision tends to ruin them. He makes an effort to sustain Kshama's secret, twisting his body and tail in a way that turns his multitudes of eyes the other way.

His mouth is curled in a pleased manner. Kshama is at least as brilliant as himself. That means that their surprise must be something brilliant, too!

[radioiaci]

Thank goodness.

Alastor had been uncertain if he would make it to the very top or not, relief escaping him in an exhale once Simon makes himself known and reaches to assist him the rest of the way. It's a bit of a scramble to keep himself from falling backwards and landing - likely painfully - in the shrubbery below. Instead, he finds his feet planted firmly on the balcony, breathing a bit heavily but otherwise no worse for wear, and grinning rather excitedly at the other.

Pleased with himself for his dastardly deed, obviously.

So much so that he almost forgets he is wearing the glasses at all.

"Oh! Ah. Yes. Well, actually. Not that I think I would have been doomed without them, but... they certainly give a bit more clarity to the world, I suppose." He will never admit to having needed them, at any rate. So that is the best Pen will get from him as he reaches up to run a hand through his slightly wind-tousled hair, looking much more unkempt than his neat and orderly friend.

Alastor does chuckle a bit, however, reaching to lightly take one of those sleeves between his fingers to fiddle with it.

"How proper of you," he says. "Do you always sleep in this?"

It's a tease, but a light one as he wanders further into the room, giving a light stretch and a glance around. Alastor knows he is playing a dangerous game by being here at all - someone can rather easily overhear and give him the boot - or their plans can all but be spoiled before even getting them off the ground.

But something about that elates. A sense of a thrill that Alastor tends to chase anyway.

"The Queen herself may as well live here with all this pomp and circumstance. No wonder you are tired of it." Even as he says it, however, Alastor cannot fully mute the small bit of envy for having such a space to convalesce in. With comfortable sheets, thick and sturdy walls, lights, and the smooth feeling of solid flooring, covered in plush rugs and other such conveniences.

He turns his eyes back to the other, still managing his characteristic smile nonetheless, his gaze softening just a bit as he approaches Simon.

"I grew impatient. I had to see you."

[sirserpentine]

Simon fails to fight a slight fluster as Alastor grabs his hand-laced sleeve and comments on the garment. He and Alastor have seen each other without as much as a thread around their bodies, but it feels decidedly embarrassing to stand in his nightgown while the other man is fully clothed.

"Well- yes, something adjacent to this, at least," he admits, eager to move along from the subject and bring the attention to whatever else is on Alastor's mind. Even if his following statement brings forth some other embarrassment for the young Lord.

"I know it's all an excessive comfort. But I can't pretend it's not very... accommodating."

Warmth, cleanliness, abundance. It's hard to complain about those things. But Simon has understood the price of such living since he was very young. He knows it will be a severely difficult adjustment period when he and Alastor make their grand escape. But he is willing to endure it. He will be brave, for Alastor's sake.

He offers his hands for his friend as he breaks their distance, and tugs him towards his large bed so they may speak while seated. He fights the urge to embrace Alastor as soon as they are in close enough proximity. Instead, he squeezes the other's cool knuckles and caresses any scrapes he may have attained from his recent climb.

"I have missed you too. Has everything gone well? Did you meet Collin, yet?"

[hazbinned]

"Of COURSE I have little faith in them!" Val argued, red eyes blown wide. "I hate them, and they hate me! They-- they're brainwashed!"

And what was this computer-generated snake expecting the posse to do when or if they showed up? Would he let Val go after he'd destroyed the others? Valentino doubted it.

It seemed like a lose-lose situation for the moth, regardless.

"What's your ANGLE?!" Val whined.

[sirserpentine]

Sir Pentious grew more pleased the more Valentino fretted. "That is what you get for following the dark master and his charismatic lies."

Sir Pentious circled his prey, and eagerly glanced back at the clocks that all ticked at a different hour of the day. He did not know which time was real, but he was certain the other residents were quick to follow the moth's tracks.

Unless they were all still traitors.

"Never fear. My plan is to lure those circus freaks here after you and right into my conssssstrictive grasssssssp. God-willing, you all come to your senses and realise that your ringmaster is a crook. Maybe I need to tweak you all a little bit, but that will surely cure my bitterness towards your misguided ways. You will see."

All would be well.

[radioiaci]

"That would certainly be different from what I'm accustomed to," Alastor mused as he continued the light brushing through Pen's hair. What he knew about London came from books and yes, a few films he'd seen from time to time. But a lived experience was not something he had under his belt.

He had to admit... he was interested.

"...Preferably, we would go during the warmer months. I'm not sure I am built for something like snow and ice." Never had been. Hell, thankfully, did not exhibit cold weather very often, even if there were some bare concept of passing seasons. Alastor had always thrived in the heat and humidity, as opposed to cold and rainy atmospheres.

To plan ahead in this way felt... reassuring.

There was a future beyond what he had discovered here in this place. Even if it was quite a bit into the future.

"Flowers, I could find relatively easily. I remember there being a whole row of florists near the quarter if we return there." Far enough from the suburbs where his 'family' had been. Enough for him to keep his mind from simmering too long on what had occurred over the last day.

Alastor paused to consider what he was being asked, leaning back against the headboard of the bed as he did. He did not move Pen from his spot rested in his lap, humming quietly to himself.

"Photos, maybe, of the rivers. And the riverboats. Pride does not exactly have any large bodies of water. That is one of the largest things I miss." Not because he enjoyed swimming or anything... but the visuals of the sun along the water... Pentious had observed it for himself the evening before. It was difficult to not appreciate.

He snorted, slightly, at the other's question that followed.

"Mm... They may need to be reheated. They will last fine being transported. Maybe then pop them in an oven for just a minute or two and they should maintain the same texture and taste. But if we want to do all that, then we should get going, should we not?"

[sirserpentine]

While Alastor was comfortable with Hell's hot climate, Pen found himself missing Britain's cold, rainy weather from time to time. And he was much more open to experiencing snow too; remembering the phenomenon well even though it had been over a hundred years since his last encounter with it.

But he could try and convince his companion of the worth of frozen backdrops later; right now, he needed to make sure that his minions were to get a glimpse of Earth too.

"Yes, the water, indeed," Pentious said, making a bit of a funny show of crawling out of Alastor's lap by sliding down onto the floor as if he was still a snake. But he found his footing soon enough, and immediately went to rummage for his phone, and his mightily slimmed-down wallet. It was fine. It meant he had taken as much out of the experience as possible.

He handed the money to Alastor.

"Why don't you go pick out the flowers and pastries? Don't mind the colours, as long as there are many different kinds of flowers, anything is fine. Or you can ask the clerks for bouquets. I can go take photographs. And I can return to meet you near the shops before we are fetched back to our unfortunate reality."

[radioiaci]

There's an obvious refusal to look at Pentious in the face when he knows he has gathered the other's rapt attention. His eyes remain upwards on the false sky, blinking slowly as he makes an attempt to figure out what more he wants to say; what more he can say.

The implications are more than just uneasy.

"Yes."

A simple answer without immediate elucidation.

"My existence here is predicated on the belief that I am here of my own volition -" And he squirms, slightly, the presence along his spine beginning to prod at him with greater insistence. Watch it. Alastor has to pause to swallow back a bit of nerves. He cannot allow the thing to rack him with pain the eve before a battle. So he draws back from any semblance of a confession, and tries to make it less obvious.

"But being here in this room with you now is my choice." In case Pentious is at all uncertain of that. In case he at all doubts what they have. And the statement eases the discomfort of his back. Better.

"...I can't say more than that." Honest. And apologetic.

[sirserpentine]

Pentious had always assumed that whatever ulterior motives Alastor held being in the hotel - because of course there were ones - were ones motivated by himself only. He had never stopped to consider that Alastor was fulfilling a request of another demon, another Overlord, from the sound of things.

Pentious had never considered that Alastor was obligated to the will of another in any way, shape or form.

It was an uneasy reality to be thrust into. Alastor was simply one of, if not the strongest Sinner in all of Hell, and being on his good side was a comfort not simply put into words. Another creature pulling on various strings in Pride was a scary thought, and put many things into question.

But what they had was not one of them. Pen does not doubt that what they share is true and withstanding.

"I hope you are allowed to stay with me, then," he says. Whether Alastor's position is one that may prove a risk to their joint afterlife is a hurdle for another day. "It would be disappointing to fight for you if I were not allowed to keep you."

Pen reaches towards Alastor's slender jaw. He turns his face towards himself. Any seconds he is allowed to use to commit that face to his memory are precious.

"Thank you for telling me. I choose you too. On my own, today and tomorrow."

He studies the fur and gradient of Alastor's red eyes. He looks at that strained smile, and wonders if whoever controls Alastor's actions controls that pained expression too. He admires the fiery hair and large ears. They are adorable. And to ease Alastor's thoughts from pained revelations, he decides to describe things he knows the other is not able to decipher. Things he wishes the other to commit to memory, too.

Just in case.

"My sssscales are dark grey, by the way. Almost black. The stripe down my midsection and the underside of my hood are bright yellow. Like dandelions. My eyes- all of them, they are red. They are very similar to yours, in fact, we match in that regard."

[radioiaci]

"Accurate." Her imitation of Pentious, was. Or at least as accurate as her silly little egg acting skills would permit. Either way, he was moderately amused, setting her down outside of the tub for a few moments to strip himself of the majority of his clothes. (Though modesty told him that he would need to keep underpants on. It just made sense. It was fine.)

"Yes, yes, bubbles."

Reaching out for the bottle of wash he normally kept on the edge of the tub, he undid the cap of it before dumping a rather large amount of it into the stream of water, the churning of bubbles in the tub itself growing larger after a few moments of the water running.

Crouching, he began to give little tugs on the outfit she was wearing to get it off of her.

...This seemed entirely too parental in a way he did not really clock before now. But it was too late to do much about it, finally taking her once more in his arms and depositing them both into the tub, with her resting in his lap to keep from toppling over into the water.

Almost as an afterthought, one of his tendrils swept from his back to go and collect the ice cream sandwich she'd specifically requested, bringing it back for him to peel open and hand to her.

"I don't recommend getting bubbles in it. It might not taste great."

Alastor reclined against the wall of his tub soon after, just keeping an absent, slightly tired eye on her while she did... whatever it was that eggs did in the bath.

[sirserpentine]

As fidgety as Fitzgerald was, her bow, dress and little boots were easy to discard, rendering her to resemble much more like a regular egg rather than the distinct personality she was. She giggled in excitement upon entering the warm water, and her initial splashes were interrupted as Boss' friendly tendril handed her the long-awaited ice cream sandwich.

She took large, messy bites of the cookie crust and vanilla filling, and then admired the dessert from many angles. It was a big ice cream, and resembled her favourite toy in the entire world: A microphone.

Fitzgerald began to shimmy around rather rhythmically, a pleased expression crossing her features as she brought the ice cream to her mouth. But not to eat, this time.

"Evewyone is happy Singing in tub I'm foewa bwowing bubbles Pwetty bubbles inde aiw. A wing wound de bathtub Is so nice to see But a wing wound da bathtub Is wainboooow to me Weaching fo a towel Weady for a rub Evewyone is happy 'Ile singing in the tub~"