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]

"Oh, more often than not, of course. We are all overlords in our own right, after all. Each of us has our own litany of contracted souls in our employ, though given what we've been able to build by working together, to close that door to the right individual would be silly!" Alastor suggested. They were such a close knit group, however, that he had never once believed that any of the other overlords, let alone any average sinner, would be able to permeate the bonds upon which they'd forged their capitalistic rule.

He paid little mind to the presence of the egg which lingered in his peripheral. It was too child-like and dense to be of any real use outside of crony-like servitude, even if he would not say so aloud for concerns of offending the snake.

"Influential, we are," Alastor replied with what appeared to be a gracious nod. "Though I would leave the title of 'Influencer' strictly to Velvette. Without her capabilities, I'm not entirely certain I would have been drawn to the wider appeal of social media in general. She's dragged me along that whole way, rather insistently." And he could say that much, given how much an old soul he still seemed, even if his own wardrobe and preferences had evolved alongside his relationship with the other three.

"In any case, our employed ranks are quite large. We like to have enough in reserve - the exterminations are certainly not growing any less damaging."

Head tilting, he leveled his stare over at Pentious. Calculating.

"Speaking of - Is your city beyond the eyes of the exorcists? I'm not sure I've asked. What's the security situation like? I imagine it might make a rather appealing target for beings coming from above."

[sirserpentine]

Pentious nodded politely, with a wide smile on his lips. He had a general idea of what social media meant, but he had never utilised the strange thing for himself. It seemed like it had taken quite a bit of bribing for Alastor to adopt the technology as well.

Sir Pentious was more than fine with his skyline telephone and handwritten letters.

The subject of the exterminations was a much less light one, urging the serpent overlord to sigh. It hadn't been a walk in the park in the beginning, and the exorcists only seemed to grow more ruthless as the years went by.

"Sadly, no. I'm afraid our home is just as exposed to the exorcists' wrath as everyone else below the clouds. Our location has its downside in that regard. But since the exterminations started growing more dire, we developed and established quite capable safety protocols. Still not perfect, but the best we can manage being so far from ground level."

Pentious' former smirk returned, and he stood up to slither to one of the nearby windows, hands clasped behind his back as he peered out at the scenery, which was still mostly obscured by clouds. But very soon, his turf would certainly come to view.

"No extermination casualtiessss last year," he said, some thinly veiled smugness in his voice.

The level of engineering that had gone into their little bunkering scheme must have rivalled that of the pyramids.

And just like the pyramids, Pentious' secrets wouldn't be given easily.

He glanced back towards his guest, seriousness returning to his eyes. If the other's thralls were worse off, it would not make Pentious any prouder.

"What about you? How does the year end on the surface?"

[hazbinned]

'The ceiling collapsed' was quite an exaggeration, but Alastor was not about to correct him. It definitely felt as though the ceiling had collapsed.

"Oh, she would," he replied, standing up straighter. "I'd say I'm surprised you don't know, but with the look of this town, you're all..." How could he put it? "Er. Rather local. She's Madame Roo-- chief executive officer of Louisiana's most popular..." (Re: Only) "... vintage radio station."

But Roo did not just happen upon the job. She'd come from a long line of wealth, and the station was just an exciting little romp for her. She 'managed' it, but her employees were the ones who truly kept it running.

Madame Roo only pushed them so hard so she could line her pockets with their hard-earned money.

Alastor, however, needed this job. He felt at home when he got to chat on air, play the old songs, and select episodes of nostalgic talk shows to run. He especially enjoyed the horror shows-- and he loved that this was the kind of job that provided so many barriers from the public as a natural part of it.

Interactions with others did not require personal meetings or body language; everything was over call. He did not have to worry about coming off so 'perfect' in appearance and posture and could wholly devote himself to his voice work.

Shame that the self-titled Madame was a tyrant.

"I'm to strike a business deal with Mr. Vincent Vance," Alastor elaborated. "Essentially, I am the middleman."

[sirserpentine]

"Vincent Vance?" Cyrus baulked, immediately recognising the name that left Alastor's lips. The rest of the names meant nothing for the homely entrepreneur, and he didn't feel versed enough to make a comment on them. They hardly mattered, anyway.

Vincent Vance was the very man responsible for the threat over Cyrus' bakery.

Mister Vance's vast wealth and no shortage of chain businesses wanted to reach their tendrils into their little town, and snatch many estates and buildings for the man's own profit. They were able to pay far greater sums for the rent, and support the mayor, who was in no way a crook, but knew the value of money and what it could bring for his citizens...

"That's a big deal to be walking out on. To lose your job for it..."

Gears started turning in Cyrus' head. If Alastor managed to establish a deal with Mister Vance, maybe his eyes would turn away from the bakery. Maybe Alastor could even convince the man to leave the lovely, local business alone.

Maybe this was an answer to all of Cyrus' prayers.

He spoke again, without even thinking first.

"Uhm... Alastor, isn't it? I know this might be a sudden and strange offer, but I have some room at the bakery. If you like, you could stay there until you've secured the deal with Mister Vance. It's nothing luxurious and it might be quite cramped, but I can promise you we have no leaks."

Cyrus flashed a small, uncertain smile.

"I don't feel right not offering help. When it's Christmas and all."

[radioiaci]

It's a rough gesture, but not one that Alastor minds, especially as his own pleasure begins to crest over him. It's an odd sensation to be delivered by someone other than himself, and it's less Pen's strokes against him that brings him to the pinnacle than it is the sounds and the shudders of Simon's body against his own that eventually prompts him to spill over.

He is less overt about it, his abdomen giving a light spasm as his breath comes out in quiet, staggered gasps. It's enlightening and warm, his hold on the body in his lap tightening as he rides out his own climax that coats the other's hand as his own is dressed similarly. It's not perfect symbiosis, their mutual pleasure, but it's close enough to be worth remembering, his chest heaving as he himself finds light shivers that run over his limbs during the period in which he allows himself to come down from what feels like a particular high.

It's not the same as he himself has read in books or seen in pictures - this is definitely not usually how a man and woman are expected to perform in this way.

But this feels... better. More suited to them, for now, until they can figure something else out. If they feel it necessary.

Alastor is in no hurry, turning his head to press a small kiss right to Pen's temple.

"Better or worse than the pictures we've seen?" He dares to ask amid his own slightly heavy breathing. It's murmured so as to keep his volume low, but he is curious and humored all the same.

[sirserpentine]

Simon still trembles moments after they both unravel, now bringing both of his arms around Alastor for a proper and all-engulfing embrace. He feels Alastor's heartbeat against his own chest, and feels remnant rushes of pleasure as his lover finishes after himself, letting out delightful reactions that threaten to render him lightheaded all over again.

He chuckles quietly at Alastor's following question and shakes his head in a bit of dazed disbelief at what they just did together.

"I think a bit less scary than those pictures," he admits, relaxing entirely into Alastor's gentle kiss, rubbing the older's pointed spine up and down with gentle fingertips.

"And very nice. Your hands are warm and gentle."

Now that their secret congress is done, it feels less like a legendary tale of the most grandious expedition known to mankind and a bit more like something ordinary. But not in a bad manner at all. Pen feels comfortable and safe, and yes, more than satisfied.

He thinks that once he gets to embrace Alastor for further nights, it will become even more wonderful.

"Did you like it?" he whispers a bit uncertainly and hopefully, knowing his best friend is not dealing with a professional by any means. He leans back to be able to look at Alastor's face again, gently ushering a few wayward, sweaty curls back so they do not cover his deeply coloured eyes. His beautiful friend.

Well. Maybe that word does not completely describe him now. But it's a thought best saved for later.

[radioiaci]

A trail of blood and fury left in his wake, Alastor returned to the hotel to gather up each of the eggs that had been left to him, ferrying them into his room where he would get them fed, cleaned, and settled into his own nest of a bed before he even began to consider tending to his own wounds. On an almost auto-pilot setting, he cared very little for the wound in his arm, finding himself worn and tired by the time he actually came around to addressing it with haphazard stitches and the bare bones of a wrap.

It would be enough.

Stewing in the emotions stirred by the revelation of Pentious' survival, he did not know what to do with what remained, broiling within him like a magma only barely contained. Not since his days on earth had he ever felt so compelled to behave like a savage; to take his claws and rake them through the flesh and bone of the seraphim themselves who he knew could only be making excuses for why they would not return Pentious back to him. Where Pen was occupying himself with his own tantrum, Alastor ruminated on thoughts of blood and bone.

It had not ebbed in the days that followed.

Most of the other residents gave him a wide berth as he stalked through the halls on his usual rounds, looking so much more unapproachable than he was as a general rule. Vaggi, a few times, instructed him to 'fix his attitude', but nothing ever stuck.

And even when Charlie finally approached him, sheepish but looking as though some considerable effort had been made, Alastor only felt some slight inkling of relief from the rage when she informed him of a room in the hotel that had been relegated specifically for communication between the two realms.

Mostly for him, evidently. But so too was Charlie able to speak to Emily without the little seraphim needing to constantly flit back and forth between Heaven and Hell.

Honestly? Probably for her safety.

Any time she'd ventured back through a portal, Alastor had glared at Emily as though he were sizing her up to be a feathery feast, only barely managing to contain his urges to pounce upon her and force her to guide him up to the gates themselves. But that would do no good, he knew. For now, this ramshackle setup - consisting of another, smaller screen that had been set up in an empty hotel room - would have to do, and Alastor permitted himself to be shown to it after much fussing by Charlie herself, and the information that Baxter had played a not-insignificant part in setting it up.

The radio demon said nothing as he stepped inside, glancing at the screen with the same dull-eyed and exhausted glare that he'd been giving everyone for the last week or so, until Charlie gave him a little wave and permitted him to settle there in private. The screen, only dialed into one singular source, would eventually connect him to whoever it was on the other end.

If it were anyone but Pentious, he was of a mind to get up and walk out.

[sirserpentine]

Pentious' frustration and anger eventually became well-needed fuel to his ambitious goal to learn about the portals between realms, their history and even the laws surrounding them. He had begun to connect with more locals, hoping to learn something he didn't yet know.

But the seraphim were secretive about many things. Many Winners never worried enough to question the rules of dimension hopping, for they never wished to leave. Pentious did not learn much from the heavenly people, who were more curious about the Sinners and the mystical hotel they were now hearing about, and the serpent had found himself answering more questions than he asked.

Eventually, his endless and annoyingly persistent curiosity led Sera to allow him a glimpse into ancient archives that preceeded many centuries and even millennia. The serpent had borrowed as many books as he could carry and fluttered back to his current abode to study them as well as the languages they entailed.

In between studying, he worked with the angels to rebuild a secure, instant-communication link between Heaven and Hell. The partially unfinished contraption was kept in the corner of his room for now and would likely be for weeks to come.

Needless to say, Pentious did not get much sleep, and hadn't, at the moment someone made an attempt at first contact. He klutzed his way to the desk with a small screen attached, almost bulldozing over the poor golden eggs that played on the floor.

"...Ahoy-hoy? Hello? Good day? Pentious speaking. Is the connection secure? Can you hear me?"

Once the screen fully lit up and cleared... mostly, a familiar figure came into view, and sharpened enough to be decipherable.

"Ah! Alasssstor!"

Pen immediately leaned closer to the screen, quickly setting down the old books (far too fast considering their value,) and beginning to fix his haphazard and sleepless hood, only half-tied with wrinkled ribbon.

"I am sorry, I didn't know when anyone would, I must look-- ah, what does it matter, forget it, Luv." Pen gave up on the attempt to tame his now excitedly opened hood and let the ribbon fall aside as he smiled at the screen and his far-too-distant companion.

Then he remembered that he should still be sulking just a bit, and his lips pursed slightly against his now-porcelain fair fangs. He paused for a moment, but his following words contained no true bite, instead of some coy caution and self-deprecating humour.

"...Are you still mad I have not truly perisssshed?"

[sirserpentine]

//Every night I yearn for,,,, a merverse,,,,

Can you imagine a mer Pendleton,,,, lil pale inky hair gorgeous monster,,, can you imagine the Hazbin Lighthouse™,,,,,

mers,,,,,

[radioiaci]

Alastor has never had eyes for any other, Simon will be pleased to know. Even now, he knows he hovers on the precipice of an odd relationship with what they have now, falling outside of the norm in some way he cannot describe. But what he does know is that the feeling of Pen's hand against his own flesh is enticing, and he gives back in spades what he receives as he tastes the sounds that the other spills onto his tongue as he refuses to part the kiss.

It's only the warning that breaks against his lips that brings his attention forward. He needs just a few more moments to get there himself, but that does not still his own hand any as he offers a small nod, an airy exhale breathed against the other's mouth.

"Let go when you're ready," Alastor offers lowly, feeling the way Simon presses readily against him and squirms in his lap. That alone has the pressure building in his own belly, flipping consciously as he observes and buries himself within Pen's pleasure as it rises to its peak.

He is sure he will not be long after, his own skin flushed and the warmth that emanates between them feeling very near to stifling.

It is just a shame that he cannot make Pen keen and moan like he wants to, still with one ear listening for anyone to approach their heated rendezvous. But that does not keep his devilish side from giving a few more fervent strokes of the arousal against his palm. Perhaps he is testing the limits here, but the reward, if given, will be that much sweeter - noises and pleasure reserved only for him.

"That's it..."

[sirserpentine]

Pen expresses his gratitude for Alastor's encouraging words by kissing him hard enough that he accidentally clinks their front teeth together. Of course, he couldn't avoid being a klutz even in this context.

He tries to stifle yet another cry against Alastor's warm neck, against which he hides his face as he comes to his peak. He holds onto his lover with his free arm, embracing him tight as his hips press forward and his legs tremble.

While he still strokes the other man, hoping to help him to the same conclusion, he comes to the point beneath Alastor's hold. He releases his pent-up affection and excitement against their joint bodies, and gasps, barely audibly, but enough that his skin goes up in startled goosebumps.

The pleasure coasts and comes down in waves, and Simon holds onto his friend as if scared that he will melt off the bed if he lets go. Or perhaps float up to the ceiling and through it. His body feels light and heavy all at once, and for a moment, he does not have the capacity to form any intelligent words.

All he knows is that Alastor's body is a more comfortable home than the one he resides in now.

[radioiaci]

Though he wanted to resist on principle, Alastor reached down to unlace his right boot. Up close, Pen might have recognized that the man's boots were mismatched, but they seemed to fit alright otherwise, and eventually he revealed his foot underneath. It was bandaged already, though only for support more than anything else.

The pant leg too was eventually cuffed to permit the other enough leeway to inspect the foot properly. Already, the skin was beginning to bruise where Alastor was beginning to believe the bone had fractured. One could not see anything wrong on the outside otherwise - and the pain was not excruciating. But it was definitely uncomfortable, and he would certainly not be placing any weight onto it any time soon.

Outwardly, he swore.

But his attention shifted upwards to Pen as the other answered his question, unsurprised by what was revealed. He had his doubts that 'restless' was the right descriptor - what he'd always known about large groups was that they had a tendency to rot from the inside out. It was a large reason why he'd always refused them on the outset, remaining on his own.

Then, he only had to rely on himself.

He snorted at the nickname given to his rifle.

"I don't do groups," he answered plainly. "They are trouble and I've no interest in trying to determine roles in a society no longer built for them."

People pretending at normalcy. The times were anything but, and in his estimation, it was better to treat the day to day like ongoing guerilla warfare than something to simply accept and try to meld into a functioning, livable situation.

"Most of the larger survivor colonies are broken at their roots. They will not last long."

[sirserpentine]

"That is exactly it. The status quo has changed, keeping order is being re-delegated, and anyone who couldn't be on top before is ready to do anything to be there now. For the wrong reasons. With the wrong means."

It was such a shame. Something good could be built from the shambles of society. The Earth could actually begin to heal without as much consumption as before the illness, capitalism could cease to exist, and outdated ideas and laws could be overridden.

False hope. Ridiculous hope.

"I kept hoping that things would get back to normal. That they would have developed a vaccine or antidote by now. That a ship back to Europe would pick me up. But it's just getting all bloody worse."

Pen inspected Hartfelt's injured foot, glad to notice that the swelling was not too dire, and no bone had punctured through the skin. That meant that whatever fracture may be there would be minor at most.

He began to wrap the other man's foot with the compression gauze, making sure to pack the hurt bone and muscle tightly. After he was certain the wrap was sturdy enough, he poured water from his bottle over the piece of curtain he had obtained, also placing that over Hartfelt's foot.

It was not ice, but cooling it down even a bit should help with the initial pain.

"There. Keep your foot elevated and try not to move it. Once the swelling goes down, we can think about that splint and some kind of cast," Pen said, fixing the position of his glasses as they had slid down his nose. "I've got a few painkillers. Would you like to take one now or maybe wait until it's closer to nightfall?"

[radioiaci]

Now that Precious had mentioned it, he supposed the kittypet shared some likenesses to Smokeclan's odd, turnabout ways of doing things. The other clans, though perplexed by the reign of the she-cats, didn't seem to pass any more than an odd judgmental murmur here or there. It was assumed that Starclan had no issue with how they decided to do things - so perhaps it was not as outlandish as some clan cats might have believed it to be.

Stagtooth decided to keep his mouth shut on that particular note.

"The gathering is not for a few sunrises yet," Morningstar continued. "Your kittypet scent will likely fade by then." A common thing whenever a cat spent prolonged time with a clan, eating their fresh kill, sleeping in their dens, and co-existing within the camp. Stagtooth's own scent had lingered for some small while, but now one could not discern him from any of the other Fireclan cats in terms of their allegiances.

True enough, however, the collar would much more obvious. It would need to be removed and hidden elsewhere, if it came to that.

"It's incredibly difficult to be civil, yes," the ginger tom chimed dully. "It's not really odd that tensions are high, sometimes. I've got a feeling that Airclan will be sore about the skirmish, even by the time of the gathering."

"Most likely," Morningstar agreed. "But Starclan has decided that the truce stands. If any of the clans break the truce, our ancestors send us a sign by covering the moon with clouds. It's how we know that they disapprove."

Stagtooth, who had trotted up to walk just a bit more alongside Precious gave a small and silent shift of his gaze which said that he was not so sure of that sort of 'sign'. But he would not allow Morningstar to believe that he had his doubts.

"Tell me - er... Sir Precious," the pale leader began, turning his gaze back towards the kittypet. "What are your thoughts on the clans, now that you've stayed with us for a small while?"

[sirserpentine]

Sir Precious bowed his head in understanding, but with the reassurance that other cats would not detect his real home, came anxiety at the thought of returning home without his telltale scents and smooth fur.

Would his twolegs recognise him if he smelled like the wild warrior cats? He had his collar, for certain, but if something happened to it...

Sir Precious' neck hairs stood up a bit in surprise as Morningstar interrupted his quiet musings, not expecting the leader to ask such a notable question. But he could not blame the pale cat for it. After all, he was about to see something that the clan obviously thought of as something important and holy.

"...Well, I was initially afraid of what you would do with us," Precious started honestly, ears giving a low flick. He had been told enough scary stories about the wild to not dare step foot outside his own territory since his kithood, and those tales had coloured his imagination in the darkest shades during his first moments in the rainy forest.

And yet, Stagtooth had arrived, and proved those fears wrong at the exactly right moment, saving his and the kits' lives from exposure to the elements and the claws of a roaming badger. He had taken them to the camp, and guarded Precious without complaints when told to.

Precious glanced at the ginger warrior before turning his yellow eyes back towards Morningstar's.

"But you've been nothing but merciful and kind towards me and my kits. I'm very thankful for all you have done for us, and although your ways in the clan are very different from what I'm used to, it is all very interesting. I find your dedication to fight for your clan scary... but admirable. If I have any warrior relatives somewhere in the world, I am proud of them."

And Precious meant what he said, his gaze and meows unwavering. His tail gave a curious flick, even.

"I am certain that your clan is the most honourable out of them all. Well, if the Starclan is not counted. I'd like to learn more about you, if I am allowed."

[radioiaci]

"There are five," Stagtooth explained before Morningstar could, as though the ginger tom were taking the opportunity to share what he had learned in his moons with the clan. "We are Fireclan, obviously. Then there is Airclan, lead by Rockstar, who you saw." He spoke the clan leader's name with a bit of disdain. It was clear he harbored no love for the bulky tabby tom with whom they'd fought.

"Lightclan is across the river - They're lead by a cat named Brightstar, but I've never seen them myself."

Morningstar interjected, cautiously.

"They tend to keep to themselves. But our patrols have seen them get closer and closer to our borders over the last few sunrises. Brightstar is their newest leader, but no one really knows how he came to be. He wasn't raised in the clan, from what I've been told. Their medicine cat, Eeltail spoke to Dazzleheart at their last half-moon gathering, but he wouldn't say much about it."

Stagtooth snuffed.

"It's only a matter of time before we see them at the full moon gathering, anyway." If they felt compelled to attend.

"And the other clans?" Morningstar prompted, now interested in seeing what Stagtooth could recall.

"Bloodclan lives near the twoleg place," Stagtooth continued. "They're lead by Rosestar. Last is Smokeclan who lives down in the rocky gorge and they're lead by Stonestar." His head tilted, slightly as he thought through the names. "I believe they are a clan made up of mostly she-cats. They reverse the expectations and it's the toms who do the bulk of the work raising the kits, except to feed them."

Ludicrous, Stagtooth thought. How impractical.

He glanced at Precious soon after. "You'll likely see them all if you attend a gathering with us. That's where the clans get together to discuss news or hash out grievances. There's a truce every full moon which has been bid by... Starclan," he continued, though there was some small bit of skepticism in his mew.

"If you're with us that long," Morningstar uttered carefully. "Though if you are, it's best that we keep it under wraps that you're a kittypet. The other clans don't exactly take in as many outsiders as we tend to. They'll see it as a sign of weakness."

[sirserpentine]

"Oh, the Smokeclan is like me," Precious meowed with good humour, surprised and pleased to hear of such cats. When Stagtooth mentioned the peaceful meeting of the clans, the kittypet was inundated with ideas about speaking with other fathers who had the most active role in raising their kits and the valuable insights they could share with one another. It would be the first time Precious would be meeting another cat like that, although from the wild.

But he soon came to other thoughts when Morningstar interjected.

"Maybe it is better that I do not join, then. I'm afraid they would smell it on me..." he meowed, not wanting to cause more trouble for the Fireclan than he already had.

Though his diamond collar would give it away first, if not his scent. There was not a more obvious sign of a kittypet than the bowtie that his twolegs had gifted him so lovingly. He didn't resemble a wildcat in his physique either, being pudgy, his nails still recently trimmed and his smooth fur not meant for the colder months.

"Does the truce always last during the full moon? Isn't it hard to be civil with clans you may have just fought?" he asked before he could help himself, hoping what he said was not rude or odd in some way. It was just a hard thing to imagine, especially after the bloody skirmish he had just seen between the Fireclan and Airclan.

[radioiaci]

"Remain on the ground?" Alastor repeated. "You? Sounds unnecessarily stifling of your creativity, if you ask me." And Alastor would not have permitted such limits for himself in a similar scenario. Perhaps, however, that was why the colleague was former. Vox had often tried to impose a few limits here or there on Alastor's behavior and methodology - but the audio demon had always bit back with vehemence. Partners, they were. Controlled, he refused to be.

Pentious struck him as a bit of a homebody with that in mind; finding a comfortable niche and not especially interested in budging. To that end, Alastor assumed it would be difficult to convince him to change anything about his present set up.

Not impossible. But difficult.

He would keep that in mind.

"We've had enough time to mesh with each other's methods and preferences," Alastor answered. It was not as simple as that. Despite their comfortable cohabitation, the four of them - he and Vox, primarily - often bickered between each other. Very rarely did it come to exchanged blows, but that had never been off the table either. The four of them were all of strong personality and insistence. It was inevitable.

That did not mean that the audio demon would give that much away. No one else needed to know what conversations occurred between the closed doors of the tower.

"We each fill a role that lends itself to a greater web to be woven. Every so often we cross paths and collaborate, but for the most part, we are responsible for our own hub network of operations. A well oiled machine, at the end of the day." An analogy that he assumed Pentious might appreciate.

"It is doable with the right personalities and the right skill."

He hummed in thought, an easy-going expression evident on his features.

"We're certainly not opposed to working with others, even outside of our own established network." A hint. A vague belief to be planted that maybe Pentious might be invited to such a prestigious position.

He would never. But Pentious did not need to know that either.

[sirserpentine]

"Indeed," Pentious mused, nursing his drink. There was an air of melancholy as he recalled that leaving behind the surface had to mean leaving behind some of his closest companions as well. But he couldn't be strapped down, not when he knew he could fly instead. It had been necessary, even if it stung.

He nodded along to Alastor's explanations, a smile upon his wide mouth as he listened to such an admirable tale of efficient team effort. It sounded like the Audio Demon really had made it work with his chosen group. Pentious couldn't relate to the full extent. Though he trusted his followers with his full heart, he was still pulling on all the strings alone. Delegating some of his burden to a trusted colleague sounded like heaven.

"Working with others? With your lucrative positions, I imagine it's more often demons working for you, isn't it?"

Despite Pentious' hermit-like tendencies, he knew of the Vees' ever-growing monopoly. Likes of that one all-consuming corporation rumoured about back on Earth. What was it called again? Dis-nee?

Pentious smirked, allowing Frank to slide down his tail so he could observe the clouds from the nearest window. Cute little thing.

"You do the... telly-vision, and ssssocial media. Music and fashion design. You're quite the... what was it... Influencerssss, that's it! You must hire at least half the Sinners at Pride."

[radioiaci]

Uncertain of what to say at Precious' expressed concern for his well-being, Stagtooth decided to brush it aside as him simply being a well-mannered kittypet, remaining silent as he watched absently for the instruction that Dazzleheart seemed to be offering. Certainly not the both of them - the ginger tom had no real interest in the ins and outs of herbs, and as long as they did their job, he would lap them up obediently and not question what he was being given.

"Very good," the medicine cat replied, seemingly surprised by Presh's ingenuity. "But it's not the pine needles themselves, just the pine sap that comes from them. Collecting the needles can help you gather enough sap, however. If you don't come across any pine trees, then marigold will do just as well. Chew it up, then use the pulp to spread on any wounds. It will help keep infection at bay."

From Precious over to Stagtooth, Dazzleheart seemed content with that knowledge, nodding to them both.

"Go ahead and eat your piles of herbs. I'll take the remainder to Morningstar."

With only a small snuff of the herby scent, Stagtooth leaned to collect the herbs into his mouth and chew, baring his teeth in response to their bitterness.

"Eugh."

Dazzleheart seemed to not be bothered, ducking his own small head to collect Morningstar's pile and leading the way out of the medicine den back into the clearing to deliver the herbs to the leader. Morningstar, having just finished his conversation with Swiftwing, turned to lap them up once they were delivered to him, and was unpreturbed by the taste.

"Are you both ready?" The pale cat asked, glancing from Precious over to Stagtooth. "The sooner we get moving, the better."

"I believe so," Stagtooth replied, pausing briefly to scratch at an itch on his shoulder before shaking his pelt out and giving it a bit of a fluff in determination. With his ginger coat brushed out as such, he looked almost twice his size. "Let's not delay, then."

With a nod, Morningstar turned and began to lead the way out of the camp, offering a small glance at Swiftwing before they were through the gorse and out onto the moor. Stagtooth nudged Precious up to walk just behind the leader, while the ginger tom took up the rear. It would be easier to be the one to keep an eye on their tails.

"Be on the lookout," Morningstar called back to them both. "Lightclan hasn't exactly been friendly either these past moons."

"Mm. Making friends wherever we go," Stagtooth said wryly, smirking to himself.

[sirserpentine]

Precious felt elated that the medicine cat complimented his knowledge and memory, but his satisfied expression quickly turned into literal distaste as he bit into the herbs. It was the worst thing he had ever tasted, even worse than the medicine his two-legs had fed him after the first time he played outdoors and every summer... or greenleaf since.

He fought the urge to hurl out what he had swallowed, and shook his entire coat spiky after the fact. He almost resembled Stagtooth with the fluff of his fur, but of course, he was much smaller than the warrior.

"Yes... thank you, Dazzleheart," he croaked, before following Stagtooth and his nudges to take the middle of their group. Before the trio left the camp, he spared a glance back towards the nursery and his precious kits within. He hoped he would be able to return to them in good health and no later than planned.

And that the kits were in good health too when he did return.

"Lightclan? How many clans are there?" he meowed, ears pressing down slightly as he considered yet another hostile group of cats that could attack them on their way to the Moonstone. "Are they as brazen as the Airclan?"

[radioiaci]

Alastor had his doubts, but it was not as though he could prove such a thing nowadays. The majority of civilized society had crumbled underneath the weight of such an unforeseen threat, and even if he'd wanted to, the man would not bother to call this 'Pen' on his capabilities. Any future walking dead they came across would surely provide enough of a test of the other's skills.

And if he needed to abscond before the fool got them both killed, Hartfelt certainly would.

"Mm, yes, they do have a tendency to do that," he responded with dry intonation, rolling his eyes as he shuffled further into the plane and followed the other man's beckoning towards the seat. Alastor wrinkled his nose, still untrusting of the offered motives, but not having an alternative, giving in to his predicament and finally permitting himself to settle onto the proposed airline seat, using a hand to lightly test its give and the peel of the fabric. It looked in decent enough condition, all things considered, but he would not be sparing any compliments so soon.

"There is not much to do for it." The foot. It had been twisted, he was sure. Broken? Maybe. Putting weight on it was difficult, but whether or not he had a fracture or something worse would be impossible to tell for certain, unless this Pen decided to suddenly produce a full-fledged X-ray machine from the back of the plane. "A wrap, maybe, is the best one can hope for out here, unless you've somehow managed to find some sort of splint."

Alastor was not fully familiar with every bit of first aid manageable, but he'd been on his own long enough to know some of the basics.

Frustratingly, he also knew that for whatever this injury was to heal, he would need to rest it.

The thought made him antsy.

"You don't strike me as the sort to rely entirely on yourself. You're not with a group?"

The man seemed to be a bit too fragile to simply strike out alone. Perhaps that was the first impression bias, but Alastor would state it plainly nonetheless.

[sirserpentine]

"Just a moment," Pen said, grabbing his bag to bring it up to the cockpit, discard it save for a bottle of water, and replace it with his medicine box and a small aeroplane curtain.

He returned by Hartfelt's side, and knelt to better access his injured foot. He hoped that whatever was still concealed by his shoe did not include a protruding bone. There was not much he could do in that case.

"Take off your boot, please. And can you roll up your trouser leg at all?"

Pen opened his box of medical supplies and found a roll of compression gauze that would be good for the initial injury. He took it out with a pair of scissors, and considered the other's suggestion of a splint. It seemed like an easy enough product to produce from what he had at hand or nearby in the forest, if not immediately, then in a moment. It would have to be L-shaped, he reasoned, to restrict the ankle's movement.

"I used to be in the beginning. In a big one," he admitted as he prepared the supplies. "But things felt... restless. I thought it'd be safer to leave."

At the moment, anyway. An organised group and a big terrain with supplies had their obvious perks. Though Pen appreciated the calmness that living by himself brought, he knew that if he got sick, hungry or badly injured, he would be completely alone.

"And you? Has it just been you and 'Betsy' since people got infected?" Pen nodded towards the rifle with a slight smirk. "Impressive feat, if so."

[sirserpentine]

//Don't get me wrong I love Pen's softness and his character development into a more sensible, patient being, but if I get the chance to play him like

I WILL ALWAYS TAKE IT

[radioiaci]

"Flatterer," Alastor replies with a smirk. He does not think he can fully see the vision that Pen does, but it hardly matters in the moment, too preoccupied with the sensation that blooms from the other's touches to what is very quickly becoming an obvious arousal, eager for more of the same. His mouth remains enthralled with the taste of Simon's tongue pressed against his own once the other permits it, a small sound of pleasure escaping him at the mingled stimuli that encourage him to tilt his hips further - as much as he's able to, anyway - into the ministrations that warm him.

There is a pause as Simon speaks again, Alastor's fingers halting for a few lingering moments as he processes what the words must mean.

From them stems another wave of possessiveness that he had sifted away after observing the other, strange man speaking to Pen at the faire, and he breathes out an exhale of relief that he has not known he is in need of.

"...Good," Alastor speaks simply, a bit more insistent in how he reconnects the kiss between them, mind muddled with appreciation and pleasure both as his hand finally wraps around Pen in turn to mimic some of the smooth, but firm strokes that he has been given first.

This is simple - and yet he relishes the feeling of Simon's flesh in his possession; the contact between their mouths. In a selfish way, he wants to hear the other make all of the sounds in the world, but he provides an avenue - by way of kiss - in which he can swallow them for Pen.

To keep them both quiet.

To maintain this delicious secret of theirs.

[sirserpentine]

Alastor's brief response is very encouraging. Simon discovers then and there that he finds the other's possession to be most attractive. He feels rather like handing himself over to his dearest friend.

But he has already, hasn't he?

"Let me be the only one too... Mh..."

Pen cannot fight a small hum of pleasure that escapes his mouth. Their secret, forbidden encounter has already peaked his senses to their very limits, and he can feel that when Alastor finally touches him, he is already fully aroused, and then some. His flesh feels sensitive, and Alastor's hand is so warm and firm. Pen feels more sweat accumulate and roll down the nape of his neck, and he presses against the other man with his full weight now, confident enough now to not conceal any of his heft in Alastor's capable lap. He kisses deeper. He grips tighter.

"I'm nearly there," Pen soon whispers, suddenly uncertain what he should say or do next. But his heart pounds and his breathing quickens, and he knows that there is only scarce moments left until he unravels and comes to the point. Is that allowed? Is it too early to do so?

[radioiaci]

Of course, Alastor thought. There was nothing redeemable about the conduct of the angels who now held Pentious captive amid their Heavenly choirs. To what end? Because they were frightened of what could happen if he returned, like an emissary, down to the Pentagram? Knowing what he knew about Pentious, Alastor doubted they could find a less likely candidate for subterfuge than he - and the very idea that the seraphim did not trust him again made the fur at the back of his neck rise on behalf of his lover.

But he could sense restraint in the other's tone - the slight shift of those eyes that seemed to beg with him to trust that there was an underlying doubt, even if Pentious spoke otherwise.

They were listening. Of course they were.

Alastor's ears did not lift from their seemingly permanent position set back against his hair, brow furrowing in what felt like barely contained fury. No longer was it directed, by nature of disbelief, at Pentious. But for those that put him there.

It was all he could do, amid Pen's pleading and tears, to not outwardly express mutinous intent.

But it was clear in his expression that his thoughts were singular.

If given the chance - the opportunity -

He would raze Heaven to the ground to reclaim what had been stolen from him.

But his fury was tempered, after a lingering moment, into something more publicly acceptable. It would not do to play his hand so brazenly here and now. He needed to bide his time. Figure out a way. Throttle Rosie, if he had to, to find the solution she'd long since promised him.

"...I will not give up," he finally spoke aloud, his gaze still unsettled and frustrated, but no longer brimming with rage, swallowed back in favor of remaining at least somewhat inconspicuous. Never mind the display they had already given to any lingering nearby.

"...The eggs are safe," Alastor continued, tone oddly calm. "They will remain with me."

Until you can return.

And in spite of it all, Alastor could not openly express his love. Not with people watching. But he had to believe that Pentious knew how he felt, otherwise what other possible explanation could there be for his anger?

He paid the serpent one last, lingering glance before he turned, stony-faced, to Charlie.

"Find a means to preserve that communication channel," he ordered, knowing that Vaggi might take offense to such a demand, but brushing aside her obvious agitation. He had no time for it.

"Preferably, somewhere private."

But that was all he said, before he began to hobble his way towards the hotel, ignoring any attempts to be stopped and questioned by Husk or Niffty along the way.

He had some eggs to see to.

[sirserpentine]

Pen released a relieved and wavering breath at Alastor's promise, and then another at the mention of their eggs. Oh, how he wished to see them too! He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeves, at least minutely glad that Alastor seemed to realise that Pentious took no pleasure in being tethered to the Heavenly realm.

"Take care of yourself, and them," Pen quipped, eyes glued to the form that grew distant and then disappeared from the screen, which itself shut off from the lack of power as Sera too descended to retrieve her younger sister. The serpent was left in the silence only broken by his own sniffles, and his shoulders shook as he held onto his arms as an embrace no one else could give him.

"Alastor... Al... " Pen whined, urging the golden eggs, his consolation prizes for what seemed like another round of eternal loneliness, to hover around him and nuzzle their flat snouts against him.

"I hate him! I hate that hot-blooded beast! Oh how infuriating he isssss!"

Pen kicked his tail on the ground, and the eggs all fluttered away in surprise of the sudden outburst. Pen started huffing once more, and his hood flared to its fullest extent.

"Do not ever fall in love," he told the flying tots, "it will only bring heartache!"

Exasperated, he threw his hands in the air. How could Alastor greet him with such anger and accusation after weeks of longing? So rude! There was no romance involved in their reunion! Alastor most certainly did not deserve the venom that awaited him in the cottage's cupboard, at least not now! Pen would not tell him, and he hoped that Cherri had forgotten!

"That bastard knows of my recently developed fair nature! He knows I know he does not mean what he says! He knows I can and will find him when he is done ssssssulking! Well no-hoh, No Sssssir! Not me! He can CALL ME!"

He shouted the last part towards the screen that was already muted, and then bundled the eggs into his arms so he could return to his quarters and mull.

And later, he would have to talk Emily into letting him study Heaven's archives. Portals and laws.

There had to be some way to return.

[radioiaci]

"Too late. You've committed. No going back now," Stagtooth replied, with no real clarity as to whether or not he was being serious. Either way, the ginger tom was already preparing internally for the journey, truthfully curious as to the lay of the land and how it had changed since he'd become a full fledged member of the clan. The moor was nice, providing a life's worth of wind and the soft brush of heather against one's fur - but Stagtooth had come from a life of wandering, and sometimes he got the itch deep within his paws.

This would hopefully sate it for a good while.

Patiently, he listened for Presh's instructions given to the kits, finding some amusement in how readily the little cats seemed to take to their newfound responsibilities, no matter how real they were. He did not interrupt their time together, though he did take his own few moments to wash some of his own fur, smoothing it down where it was still lightly rumpled from the earlier encounter with Airclan.

When Precious returned from the nursery, Stagtooth leveled his gaze back at the kittypet, head tilting.

"Of course," he said, nonchalantly. "I'm a warrior, am I not? Built for the physical tests that arise, no matter how close to one another."

Besides, he would not trade the chance to see the Moonstone for himself simply because he was tired. None of the other cats would ever let him live it down.

"Come. Let's see about those traveling herbs."

Guiding the other towards the medicine den, he slipped into the small overhang of rock hidden in the gorse where the stubby brown cat was filtering through a spread of herbs along the ground. Three distinct piles were laid out, one for each of them, clearly. The tom glanced up at them as they entered the cool space, quick to acknowledge the pair.

"There you are," he meowed, gesturing to the herbs on the ground. "These are for each of you." And though he spoke to both Stagtooth and Precious, it seemed as though the brown tabby were only truly looking to Precious as he explained each herb and their purpose. Why? Stagtooth wondered. Did their medicine cat think that it was information Precious would make use of...?

"Chamomile for strength of heart, daisy leaf for easing aching joints, lamb's ear, ragweed, and ragwort leaves for physical strength, sorrel to build up one's appetite and quench thirst. All of these together will keep you on your paws and ensure that you won't feel compelled to hunt until you're well and on your way back."

The tabby stared at Precious, with Stagtooth watching curiously.

"Can you remember some of that?"

[sirserpentine]

"But don't over-exert yourself. The clan needs you well," Precious reminded in a gentle meow, understanding Stagtooth's resolve but also worrying for his well-being. It couldn't have been good for the other tom's heart to get so riled up for many days straight.

He followed the warrior into Dazzleheart's den, and he lowered himself to curiously inspect the medicine that had been gathered for him, Stagtooth and Morningstar. As the medicine cat talked, Sir Precious tilted his head, deeply concentrating on the bundles of herbs, his ears perked, and his tail swished high up as he internalised what was being told.

"Chamomile for strength of heart, daisy leaf for joints, lamb's ear, ragweed and ragwort for strength and sorrel to quench thirst."

The kittypet sniffed the bundles curiously before turning a rather light-natured face towards Dazzleheart.

"And if we get scrapes or a cold on the way there or back, we can use pine needles to ward off infection, right?" Precious' enthused purrs suddenly trailed off, and his ears lowered slightly in an uncertain manner. "Or so I've, um, so I've understood. I learned so at home."

He hoped what he said was not wrong, or that it only worked on two-legs instead of cats. That would be more than embarrassing.