Oops! I dropped a wip to a radiostatic fic I'm working on 😱
Alastor opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is the signature blood red sky of hell.
Alastor immediately clutches his chest.
He expected to find the gaping hole where he had stabbed himself with the angelic spear repeatedly but instead there was…nothing. His body was fine, completely regenerated. As if it wasn't just pierced multiple times by an angelic blade. A weapon that would have made it impossible to heal himself.
Had that lascivious spider been right after all when he made that off hand comment, did such a place truly exist? Was he actually in double hell?
Alastor internally laughs derisively at the thought. Absurd! That's absolute nonsense!
Alastor pushes himself off the ground, standing up straight. He looks at his surroundings to find a clue as to where he had ended up.
He finds himself in one of the many dark and dingy alleyways hell has. Trash was strewn all around. Alastor smells an especially pungent odor coming from one of the garbage bags halfway thrown into the dumpster. Alastor presumes a dead sinner is in that black plastic bag.
Alastor huffs. Sinners truly are unruly, they couldn't even dispose of a body properly. He thinks, annoyed. The radio demon runs a hand down his pin striped suit, smoothing down the wrinkles.
Suddenly, as if hit by a freight train, a thought strikes him.
If Alastor is here, is Vox too?
If so, then he has to find him!
Alastor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
He opens his eyes. A glint of determination shining in his red pupils. Alastor had one goal in his mind; To find his beloved picture box.
With this new found determination, Alastor steps out of the dingy alleyway, into the streets of hell. He's met with the sight of buildings reminiscent of cannibal town. He sees a car speeding down the road.
It wasn't one of those sleek looking modern cars Alastor was used to seeing— no, this one looked older. Way older.
It looked more like a car Alastor would have seen while he was still alive. Interesting.
Alastor's eyes land on a pair of sinners across the street. The pair are holding hands while happily chatting. The most interesting part about them was their garments. While it didn't quite match the decade Alastor had lived in, he did recognize the silhouette.
Everything clicks in Alastor's mind. His grin sharpens.
He wasn't in double hell. Of course not! How silly he was to even think of entertaining that notion.
Alastor ponders this question carefully. The fashion was the obvious giveaway— 1940 something. But he had to consider the fact that hell was slow. It took a while for hell to catch the newest fashion trends and technology. It could very much be the 1950s up on earth. Which means…
Alastor’s smile softens at the thought. His picture box could very well be here already.
