Call me Song/they them or it its.
I write fics for whatever rots my brain.
Right now that's Hazbin Hotel. You can find me on a03.
Hope ya like cringe cuz I live off of it.
Figured I'd organize it so you don't have to go running around trying to find all the chapters.
Summary: never back a Questioning Radio Demon into a corner. You will lose more than a finger.
---
After being forced to face a long-buried shame, Alastor reluctantly relies on the support of the hazbins to help navigate these new, dangerous waters. But of course, The Radio Demon's number one identity has always been and will always be Instigator.
Or, 5 times Alastor flirts with Lucifer in front of his ex wife to piss her off, and 1 time he doesn't, but it pisses her off anyway.
General Tags: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, Developing Friendships, Platonic Relationships, Angst and Feels, Fluff and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Aromantic Asexual Alastor, Trans Alastor, Alastor is a Brat (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Needs a Hug (Hazbin Hotel), Manipulative Lilith Magne | Morningstar, Jealous Lilith Magne | Morningstar, C+ Parents Lilith and Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Depressed Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Traumatized Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Genderfluid Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Charlie Magne | Morningstar is a Ray of Sunshine, Charlie Magne | Morningstar Tries, Good Friend Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Established Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggi | Vaggie, Protective Vaggi | Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Vaggi | Vaggie is so Done (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor and Lucifer Magne | Morningstar Bickering
Rated T
PODFIC AVAILABLE HERE
Chapter 1: Chew and Spit (posted)
OST: Thalassophobia- Juniper, Pink Bubblegum- Scene Queen, JOYRIDE- Kesha, Tongues and Teeth- The Crane Wives, Choke- IDKHBTFM, Bit by Bit- Mother Mother, Black Widow- In This Moment, You Make Me Sick- Ashnikko
Word Count: 4742
Summary: Lilith tries to wrangle Lucifer into a workable king because, according to her, she has to do everything in this hotel. Lucifer just wants her not to be mad at him. Alastor simultaneously makes things worse and better.
Chapter 2: Now Made Without Butylated Hydroxytoluene (posted)
OST: Pale (English Cover by Juby Phonic), White Winter Hymnal- Pentatonix, Cheese on Bread- The Shuffle Demons, Who? (English Cover by Will Stetson), Memories of a Better Time- Pumpkin Head, Solitary Hide and Seek Envy (English Cover by Juby Phonic), Losing Grip- Avril Lavigne, Drop Pop Cany (English Cover by Juby Phonic), Talk To Me- Cavetown
Word Count: 8016
Summary: Charlie learns what Father's Day and Mother's Day are and decided to try to celebrate by cooking her parent's favourite meals. Alastor supervises to make sure she doesn't burn down the kitchen.
Chapter 3: Feminine Wiles (posted)
OST: Thermodynamic Lawyer- Esq & G.F.D, Memoir #2- Mary Roosevelt, Pleasure Cruise- The Scary Jokes, Don't Cry For Your Daughters Eve- Lydia The Bard, Glitter in the Air- P!nk, If Not For You- Maneskin
Summary: Vaggi stumbles upon a late-night confrontation.
Chapter 4: Shipwrecked (posted)
OST: The Witch's Daughter- Ashley Serena, This is Home- Cavetown, I Don't Wanna Be You Anymore- Billie Eilish, I'm With You- Avril Lavigne, Caroline- Kill It Kid, Overdose (English Cover by Will Stetson), He Hit Me And It Felt Like A Kiss- The Crystals, Hello- Evanescence
Summary: Rosie comes to terms with what she has given up for the woman who seems content to drown in her own bitterness and drag Rosie down with her.
Chapter 5: Pourquoi Tu Gâches Ta Vie? (posted)
OST: Rain Rain Polka, Misery Meat- Sodikken, Somebody To You- The Vamps, Say Hey (feat. Nomadik), Emily- MIKA, Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen- Rebecca Parham, Town of Jade (English Cover by Rachie), Iris- The Goo Goo Dolls, Can I Even Dream? (English Cover by Juby Phonic), The Loneliest- Maneskin, Let Me Down Slowly- Alec Benjamin, Quiet Room (English Cover by Rachie), Sayonara Dake Ga Jinsei Da (English Cover by Jefferz), Lemon Boy- Cavetown, Ocean- Anuv Jain
Summary: Lucifer dances with his stupid crush.
Chapter 6: Weightless (posted)
OST: Poker Face (English Cover by Octavia), Perfect Celebrity- Lady Gaga, Fences- Paramore, Gossip- Maneskin, Victorious- Pantic! At The Disco, One Off Mind (English Cover by Octavia), Bayou- Mountains of the Moon, Kalmia Kid- Chloe Moriondo, Exploration- Coraline OST, Free- Kpop Demon Hunters, It All Belongs To Me- Ruth Etting, Hello My Old Heart- The Oh Hellos
Summary: it ends the way it began; with a mug of coffee.
its crazy theyre being like "ohhhh our site is SO queer that trans women are simply over-represented in banwaves" when the last nuking spree had something like a 98.5% hit rate on tgirls
Summary: Alastor laughs in the face of shame; or at least that's what everyone thinks. When Queen Lilith's return threatens to drag a long-buried skeleton out of The Radio Demon's closet, Alastor reluctantly relies on the other Hazbins to help navigate these new waters. But The Radio Demon has always and will always identify as an instigator first and foremost, and the allure of poking and prodding at such glaring sore spots is just too great to resist!
OR: 5 times Alastor flirts with Lucifer in front of his ex wife to piss her off, and one time they're both literally just standing there, but it pisses her off anyway.
One of my goals this year was to experiment with different types of media, and I've always wanted to try something like this, figured I may as well do it now. I'm no professional (only learned what plug-ins and a de-esser was half-way through the editing process) but I think making imperfect art is important and cool in this age of AI slop.
Not to be cringe online but I'm actually really happy with how this impulsive project turned out and I'd really appreciate if you'd give it a listen (just please don't make too much fun of my voice acting, I'm only one bird /lh).
Audio type: MP3
Software used: Audacity
Length: 4.5 hours in total
Popularity was a double-edged sword. Infamy was a weapon, reputation a shield. A familiar face could slip its way out of trouble quicker than any poor nobody who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.
It could also find itself under far greater scrutiny. The sharp edges of infamy could turn inward the moment one stepped off their established stage. Reputation morphed from shield to chains. It was a lesson Ruthie had learned a great deal of times in life and death.
There would never be peace for a woman like her; only control. Nothing so mundane as rest and happy endings. She had been plucked from birth by God's very hands and flung so far behind her peers that she couldn't afford a moment of weakness. Inheriting just enough of her mother's genes to pass as white, but just enough of her father's for the woman to tear up every time she looked at her. Enough for Ruthie, even now, to look in her mirror and see the face of the man she had never been able to meet.
Her mother had spoken of him with reverence whenever Ruthie had gathered the courage to ask. Kind, gentle, respectful. Humble and hard-working. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Handsome as sin, her mother used to say while gathering her into her arms with a laugh, just like his boy.
Ruthie supposed she knew why the compliments had always tasted acrid, now. She was glad she had opted not to re-introduce herself to her mother, when she had found her all those decades ago. Loving as the woman had been, there were some things even she couldn't overlook, and losing her beloved son would be one, Ruthie was certain.
Oh, but her step-father would be furious! Her smile sharpened as she pictured it: his yellow, wrinkly face scrunching up as he readied an alcohol-soured shriek. It would turn to a gurgle when she plunged her tendril through his throat like she had her knife that starless night. Done in twice by a bastard half-breed, and now a tranny?
Oh, Hell, thou art a heartless bitch, Ruthie thought, giggling as she hopped down the stairs to a bustling lobby. Several sinners were familiar now, having lingered for months. Rooster, who had impressed Charlie enough during the Walkathon that she had offered him a position leading Dance Therapy, which he had accepted. Meme, a peculiar ferret-looking woman who seemed to speak in riddles that only the youngins could understand. Crimini, one of said youngins who often bumped into Ruthie in the communal bathrooms when they both stepped out to maintain their hair. Ladybug, a mousy grayscale demon who hadn't spoken much to any of them, but tended to avoid screens, so she was fine company in Ruthie's books.
Zee, another one of the youngins who had taken on the form of a multi-coloured, gangly bird. They had insisted on being referred to as 'they' during introductions, and Ruthie couldn't help but admire their gumption. They were downright annoying about it, and she wished she could know their confidence in that regard.
Establishing herself as a woman in front of her co-workers was stressful enough. Especially now that Lilith's VoxTech-approved tantrum had made its way around Pentagram City. Four and a half hours of the same jealousy-fueled vitriol, over and over, until The Queen had been too inebriated to form proper sentences. Broadcast to every TV and phone in Vox's radius.
Ruthie had been so wrapped up in her own anxiety that she actually let Lucifer accompany her to her upcoming Overlord meeting for, eugh, emotional support. Disguised as a snake wrapped around her wrist, but there nonetheless, occasionally squeezing to remind her of the fact. Irritating as he was, he had stayed by her side ever since the interview's release (unless asked to leave). He had stood up for her when she was too drained to do so herself without resorting to violence, despite his own inability to lift a finger against the fools attempting to belittle her. He had offered distraction, a listening ear, even his own unfathomable resources in an attempt to keep her cheery during the last two weeks.
For whatever reason, he was determined to wade through this shit storm with her, and she wasn't so foolish as to reject the favour of Hell's most powerful creature. He wouldn't let her falter in front of her peers. He wouldn't let Vox get away with any uncouth jeers ("I can't hurt him, but gravity can," he had said before they left). He wouldn't let her face this uncertainty alone. Putting aside the annoyance of him thinking—knowing—she would need the support, it was unexpectedly sweet. Well, perhaps not unexpected that he would consider such a thing, but that he would follow through and do it. For her.
What a sap. Huffing out a laugh, she steeled herself as she rounded the last corner and approached Carmilla's building. By the front doors, The Vees were pitching an absolute fit. The security Hellhounds stood firm, denying them entry each time Vox screamed and tried to force his way past them.
Valentino was arguing with a secretary imp that came up to his knees, hands flying in every direction as he shifted from English to Spanish in his anger.
Velvette was ignoring the both of them, nose pressed to her phone and brows pinched, disturbed by whatever she was reading.
Ruthie granted her the service of ignoring her as she focused on holding her head high.
"You—!" Vox lunged at her, only to be blocked by the staff and held back by Valentino. "You fucking lying shit! You slut! What, I wasn't good enough for you, so you go and suck that loser's dick right in front of me?! I bet he'd only take you if you put on a stupid dress and wig for him, huh?! That's what this is, isn't it?!"
Ruthie grunted as something wet and gritty nailed her still-tender torso. Only mud, thankfully. She had worn worse. Lucifer squeezed her wrist, and she felt his scales tremble as he hissed. She grasped him once with her free hand, bidding him to stay put. He huffed, but obeyed.
Vox continued to screech as she was escorted inside. Escorted, like some sort of celebrity. Or like a precious artifact. She wasn't sure how to feel about it, but hadn't the time to digest it before finding herself stepping through the double doors and taking her usual seat next to Rosie. The other woman was wilted, eyes sunken with a slight tremble to her hands. Her hair was shiny from accumulated grease. Her skin was dotted with darker gray sores; a side effect of malnourishment—Ruthie knew it all too well. She did not look up when Ruthie cleared her throat in greeting.
All eyes snapped to her, the room heavy with several elephants. She watched the other Overlords scan her up and down, heard them whisper to each other.
Is it true?
…Shacking up with Lucifer?
…Doesn't look much different…
…Spoke that way to Lilith?
…Never thought I'd see that prude get so public with it—
And then, Carmilla cleared her throat. "Good morning, Ruthie. It looks like the Doomsday District gave you some trouble on your walk over." She gestured to the mud splatters. "I can have one of my people take care of that before you head out, if you'd like."
"That won't be necessary," Ruthie replied, tapping Lucifer's head in silent request. The stains vanished in a gust of apple-scented wind. "But I do appreciate your concern for my image."
Carmilla scoffed, but said nothing else, turning to her projector and starting up her presentation. Money owed, territory won and lost, soul contracts in limbo now that said souls had taken up residence at the Hazbin Hotel. Neither Charlie, nor Lucifer, nor the little angel who had lost a wing during Vox's rampage knew if a soul could earn redemption while under contract. Heaven did have a habit of responding to Hell's established rules with a middle finger, but did such an improbable mercy extend to the sinners they so loathed? What would become of the Overlord's power should their contracted souls be snapped away at the whims of a holy shut-in?
Ruthie held her head high as the others began to eye her in suspicion as she popcorned compromise after compromise. "The way I see it, there are no clauses written into your current contracts that prohibit your souls from seeking refuge at the Hazbin Hotel, and arbitrarily adding them now would no doubt earn the ire of our Princess and King, not to mention the Heavenly Counsel. I believe, once we have more concrete answers, a trial period could be introduced."
"Heh, period. Cuz you're a lady now," Hatchet hissed, snickering like a twat.
Ruthie continued, "Perhaps new contractees could be given five years of grace, to adapt to their new position under our employ while having the choice to explore other options. Afterwards, we present them with an ultimatum: break their contract and chase their shot at redemption, or keep the benefits of their deal and hand their soul over completely, and they are prohibited via contract from checking into the Hazbin Hotel in an attempt to escape their servitude."
Carmilla nodded, rubbing her chin in thought. "The wiggle room would soften the blow for the Princess, I'm sure. Though, five years is an extravagant amount of time. How about one?"
"Charlie would never agree to that. I could fight for three."
"Yeah, like you'd be okay with onna your souls having three years of free favours just to throw it all away without losing anything," Zeezi snapped, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.
"I do very well keeping the souls in my employ content. Heaven has nothing to offer them that I cannot provide tenfold."
"What about a pretty face?" Prick gruffed, gesturing to her with his cigarette. "You still look like a swamp troll even with the shitty makeup."
"I don't see what Ruthie's appearance has to do with your soul contracts," snapped Rosie, and Ruthie startled, having forgotten she was beside her.
Prick shrugged, "Just sayin'," and brought his cigarette to his jagged jaw.
A thin, spindly hand snatched it before he could inhale, then stubbed it out against his cheek. Prick cursed, flailing as Maestro sent the butt away in a burst of blue flames. "If the Princess has her heart set on three, a check-in system may be to her liking. Once a year, we ask our contractees if they would like to renew their deal, during which time they are prohibited from joining The Hazbin Hotel, and by year three the decision is permanent."
Ruthie hummed. "I could pitch that." Lucifer squeezed her once in confirmation.
"And what of souls that earn redemption without the aide of the hotel, if at all possible?" Carmilla asked. "Would the same principals apply?"
Shifting against her wrist gave her pause. "I'm not certain. Heaven was reluctant enough to work with the hotel, I can't imagine they'll be thrilled at the prospect of housing the redeemed outside of Charlie's jurisdiction. I'll check in with her and Lucifer once I return."
"If you and Lucifer are fucking," Zeezi interrupted, "that's the gayest straight relationship I've ever seen."
Ruthie's eye twitched, and she sighed, slow and heavy. "I hardly think Heaven will give us a straight-forward answer should we present the query to them—"
"If you're the new Queen, are you gonna get tits to match Lilith's?" Hatchet drawled, earning a snort from Prick and a guffaw from Zeezi.
Irate buzzing, like a jostled wasp's nest, emanated from Zestial, who finally looked away from Carmilla to shoot an acidic glare at the three of them. Carmilla, too, leveled them with a kind of sharp look Ruthie had only ever seen from her mother right before she was about to earn herself a lecture and a whopping. "If you three have nothing to contribute—"
"Is Lucifer a top or a bottom?" Prick asked, smirking as he gave Ruthie a long look up and down.
A blinding flash, then glittery red smoke flooded the room. Ruthie felt Lucifer uncoil and fly out of her sleeve. Six brilliant wings waved away the haze, revealing The Devil in all his glory, red eyes gleaming, molten horns blazing, perched on the table in front of Ruthie with his little legs crossed. "I'm an Aries."
Ruthie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're a pain in the neck is what you are."
"You like it."
"Please."
"Admit it, I'm growing on you."
"Like fungus."
"Well, they do say I'm a fungi."
Ruthie snorted despite herself, muffling her mirth behind her hand.
"Hah, you laughed! I win!"
"You are insufferable."
"Yet here you sit, suffering me."
"Ah yes, my own little plague in clown shoes. How lucky I am."
"You say the sweetest things."
"Lies and slander!"
"You like clowns and plagues."
"When inflicted upon others, yes."
"Pfft, sure, I go find someone else to bother, see how long it takes your possessive ass to drag me back by the ankles."
"If you don't come crawling back first, you little spotlight fiend."
"See? You are sweet on me; you won't even call me an attention whore cuz it'd be too mean."
Ruthie grit her teeth, hating him for being right; she had heard Lilith call him that more than enough to know not to touch said insult. Of course he would be a smug little imp about it. "I've said it before and I'll say it again; I don't need to be mean to make you cry."
Zeezi spat out her drink.
Hatchet choked on his spit.
Prick sputtered out a laugh. "Holy shit he is a bottom!"
Lucifer jumped, scanning the other occupants as if seeing them for the first time. He shrunk further into himself with each gaze he met, his breathing picking up as he clung to his sleeves. Then, he spotted Carmilla, and brightened. "Oh, hey Caramel! Uh, nice place you got here. Oh! Are those your daughters?" He waved at the two stunned girls to Carmilla's right. "Hey kids! Your mom's a great dancer!"
In all her decades as The Radio Demon, Ruthie had never seen Carmilla Carmine blush before.
Her daughters gaped, eyes darting from Lucifer to their mother.
Zeezi, Hatchet, and Prick slapped a hand over their mouths, failing to muffle their giggles.
Maestro simply side-eyed the oblivious king before returning his attention to the projector.
Rosie tried to subtly catch Ruthie's eye, which she ignored.
Zestial, to Carmilla's apparent horror, chuckled behind a hand. "Zestial it isn't—I didn't—"
"Fret not, my friend. I'll just has't to secureth a jig f'r myself and we'll appeal t coequal." He grinned, leaning forward to meet Lucifer's eyes. "Should you be eke with yond, thy sovereignty."
Lucifer blinked several times, tilting his head as though piecing together ancient runes. "Ay, if mine own jig partn'r says it's well enow," he eventually replied, turning those shimmering eyes unto Ruthie and batting them. How kind of him to remember she was there.
"Well, what kind of dance partner would I be if I prevented you from doing just that?"
Lucifer giggled like a school boy and kicked his little feet to and fro.
Shattering glass snapped the fragile ease that had settled over the room. Ruthie barely registered the brick until it was snatched out of the air, inches away from her face. "FUCK YOU RADIO HACK! YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKED THE KING?! HE'LL GET BOARD OF YOUR PRISSY LIMP-DICK ASS JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WITH A PAIR OF FUCKING EYES AND THEN—Ow! What the fuck?!"
"Would you just stop?!" A familiar cockney accent raged. "You're embarrassing yourself, and us!"
"Yeah, really Voxxy, if she wants to be a cunty trap, just let her live her fantasy. It won't change anything—ow!"
"Watch your fucking mouth."
"What?"
"Don't call her that, for fuck's sake! I've lost 200,000 followers in the last three days thanks to your little stunt, and this isn't fucking helping!"
Ruthie blinked as Rosie's skeletal hand tightened around the brick. She snarled, making to stand, before hesitating. She took the brick in her other hand, grimacing as she eyed the small cuts adorning her palm. No blood, of course; Rosie didn't bleed, but the scratches didn't close. She glanced at Ruthie. Swallowed whatever words had jumbled in her mouth. Sat back down, and handed her the brick.
"I don't give a shit about your follower count you spoiled brat! This is fucking bigger than that! Alastor's fucking his way into replacing our fucking queen, do you have any idea what that could mean for us?!"
Ruthie took the brick, turning it over, examining the chips along the sides and the subtle, yellowish-white spikes jutting out of every side. Angelic steel. Not enough to kill an average demon, much less an Overlord. If said Overlord wasn't permanently weakened thanks to a months long angelic infection that she stubbornly tried to handle on her own.
But of course, Vox didn't know that.
"Yeah, it means you oughta stop goin' out of your way to piss her off, you stupid fuck!"
"Don't you fucking talk to me that way—!" There was the whirring of internal fans, the sparking of wires, the hiss of cauterized metal.
"Oh I know you did not just fucking raise a hand at me, Vincent!"
Ruthie pushed herself away from the table, rising slowly as she licked her thumb, testing for wind. In a blink, her shadow scurried to the broken window, letting her see through its eyes. Grinning, she reared back—
"Mama, relax, he didn't mean it—"
"The fuck I didn't you uppity cow—!"
—and flung the brick back through the window, shattering what remained of the glass. A crunch, the screech of overheated speakers, and then the interference that followed Vox wherever he went quieted. Not gone, but dormant, now. There was a yelp, a curse, the scrape of loose metal against concrete.
Cackling.
"Nice hit, Ruthie!"
Ruthie hummed as she took her seat once more. "Thank you, my dear!" She let a worried Lucifer examine her palm, enjoying the green eyes of her mouthy peers as she met Carmilla's tight frown. "A shame Velvette chooses such stagnant company, the young lady has talent." She brushed the dust off her coat. "She could be something quite impressive if she would only stand on her own two feet."
Carmilla closed her eyes, brows furrowing as she sighed. "I'll let my security know that she alone is permitted at the next meeting so long as she keeps that mouth in check."
"Please do! I've so missed your feuds."
Carmilla grumbled as she returned to her presentation.
~~~
"So… Ruthie, huh?" Angel Dust questioned, his hands only trembling slightly as he applied a second coat of red to her nails. "'S cute, but mature, too. Kinda old-fashioned. How'd you come up with it?"
Ruthie's smile softened as a plush elbow met her ribs. "Aww, it's what I always called her when we were younger," Mimzy explained, leaning against Ruthie's side like she always did when they were alive; tipsy and carefree, admiring the stars in the bayou after disposing of yet another body. "You no-good, ruthless—well, ain't a son of a bitch anymore, huh?"
"She's graduated to regular old bitch," Vaggi murmured without looking up from Charlie's nails.
Ruthie chuckled, letting a tendril slip from her back, slink across the floor, and nudge Vaggi's arm. The fallen angel cursed as she streaked black nail polish all over Charlie's hand. "Guilty as charged!"
Vaggi muttered curses under her breath, and Ruthie made a mental note to take up some Spanish lessons. Whatever type Vaggi spoke, at least. Oh to see the look on her face when she would respond in what appeared to be her native tongue.
Angel huffed out a laugh, pressing a little closer to Cherri, who hadn't left his side since his surprise return. Ruthie had, of course, known he would be back. What she hadn't expected was for Velvette to aide in his escape; dragging him through the doors like a ragdoll and throwing him into Husk's flailing arms before loudly demanding a boon. Angel—and his contract, ripe for Ruthie to review in search of loopholes—in exchange for a room, so she didn't have to listen to Vox and Valentino 'bitch and moan through the night'.
Charlie had eagerly, tearfully accepted, much to her father and Rosie's chagrin. The cannibal Overlord had been hopping to and from the hotel since she managed to break her own deal with the jilted queen. A rather humorous ordeal, if Ruthie did say so.
Despite her current identity, despite Rosie having held her literal soul in her hands and knowing she was a woman; Ruthie had still identified as a man when she slithered her way off Rosie's leash. A man, however temporary and technical, had in fact gotten the better of Rosie. And the old bat had wasted no time capitalizing on her (ex?) lover's confusion, standing by Ruthie's side and shoving The Queen out the doors when she tried to force her way past her daughter's boundaries.
Charlie had, predictably, blubbered her apologies and thanks into both their shirts for several minutes until Vaggi had collected her. Lucifer had left with them, but not before shooting Ruthie a questioning look, eyes darting from Rosie back to her. Somehow, he had understood the smile she had replied with, and jogged after the ladies.
She and Rosie had talked for hours, seated at the bar but neither one touching a drop. Catching up on hotel happenings, Cannibal Town conundrums, and personal proclivities. Rosie had, thankfully, not used the opportunity to spout more empty apologies. Well, maybe not empty, but they may as well be.
Vox's interview and several think-pieces on Ruthie's alleged schemes were plastered onto every television, billboard, and online forum one could conceive of. According to Velvette, the denizens of Hell were having a field day throwing scorn upon her name. Anything from theories to fan-fiction.
-She was going to take over Hell via sexual manipulation and domination (disgusting).
-She had known Lucifer before her death and had been cheating with him for decades behind Lilith's back (maybe if the little pest had answered her fucking calls on earth in the first place).
-She was taking advantage of a poor, defenseless grown man for her own nefarious goals (was it taking advantage if he was the one who wouldn't leave her alone in the first place?)
-She was a prude (true) and a narcissist (also true) and a sexual deviant (what??) who would come for you and your children and somehow her taste in music proved this.
Apparently 1920's jazz was the epitome of debauchery and the Charleston was a mirage used to convince unsuspecting kids and teens to join the cool transgenderism ideology cult. Or some nonsense. Velvette had been just as confused as her upon reading it out. In a rare moment of mercy, the young woman had opted to remove and ban all versions of Lilith's interview from any corner of her domain. Claiming to be 'sick of hearing about the drama'.
Ruthie didn't think she would get a real answer out of the little doll. She didn't need one. She could read between the lines. The fact that Velvette was allowing both Lucifer and Rosie to essentially babysit her while she drank at the bar was proof enough of her sincerity. How kind of her to give Rosie her own little Lucifer to bicker with while she struggled to pull herself together after her break-up.
Despite all the trouble she had caused, Ruthie couldn't find it within herself to stay mad at the old bat. Who was she to get on someone's case over losing control of their own shit deal? The massive scar marring her chest was proof enough of her own stroll through that particular swamp.
Angel—recently freed from a shit deal of his own, she and Rosie and him ought to start a club—brought her hand to his lips and blew on her nails. Ruthie couldn't help but tense, unused to such casual closeness but finding it tolerable given time to adjust. How strange it was to find herself almost craving touch now that her body, her soul, felt a little more her own. "You two knew each other when you was alive?"
"Oh yeah, you think this ditz got all those schmucks t' follow her anywhere? She needed bait!" Mimzy framed her face with both hands, batting her eyes as she looked up at Ruthie. "And ain't no one in that town with a sweeter face than me."
"Right you are, Darling." She delivered a playful nip to Mimzy's cheek, grin widening when she felt the other woman giggle and squirm in her hold. She supposed it was a rather strange way of showing affection, but Mimzy had never complained, even when they were alive. "But I'd hardly associate 33 seamless kills with a ditz."
"Hah! Your dumbass got shot before y' could toss number 33, nice try."
Ruthie huffed, leaning away with as close to a pout as her stitches would allow. "Ey," Angel reprimanded with far less bite than Ruthie had come to expect, "don't make me fuck up the gloss." Fat Nuggest snorted, hauling himself around and curling back into his owner's lap, snuffling and snoring in seconds. He, too, hadn't left Angel's side since his return. Not even in the midst of a drug-induced hallucination that left the lounge in ruins and the spider's own arms clawed to shreds.
Husk had clearly wanted to stay close too, but Ruthie couldn't leave the front unmanned, and she trusted the old cat wouldn't dare let her down while his little crush was in her care. And Charlie's care, but Husk knew better than to count on Charlie to stand up to her. Lucifer was useless on his own, Rosie was off her game, and Velvette was a wild card, so, there had only been one choice.
Besides, the spider was in good hands.
She had never considered Angel Dust as more than a friend of a friend, but quite frankly the utter vitriol Vox held for him had made her want to free him all the more.
Valentino was inconsolable, texting Velvette and Angel and even calling the hotel to make empty threats through utterly pathetic sobs. She could just imagine Vox's plight: either bite his tongue and deal with the fallout, or explode and ruin the one relationship he had left. Delicious.
Besides, Angel was safe enough to have around so long as he stayed close to one of her radios; tuned to a silent frequency that she had developed decades ago to block Vox's hypnosis. She would make him something smaller, more convenient to carry around, once things slowed down.
"There." Angel let go of her hand. She resisted the urge to rub away the tingling sensation his fur had left behind. It would only make it worse. She lifted both hands to fan them dry, admiring the blood red sheen. Darker than her natural nails, only noticeable if one was really looking.
Despite herself, apprehension lingered in her heart. Fear that this was all a ruse and she was kidding herself: all the make-up and clothes and pronouns the equivalent of honking her large red clown nose as she passed her fellow denizens. But then, when had she ever cared about what others thought of her? Senseless fretting, the lot of it. Best doused before it could spread. Therein lay the issue; Hell wasn't exactly known for its access to water, and Ruthie had never learned to swim. So, the fear remained, like a stubborn bone wedged between her teeth.
It shrieked whenever she had the audacity to gaze at the dress Rosie had brought to her, elegant and soft and green as the cypress trees scattered through her bayou. When she fixed her face in the mirror (never on her own lest she lose herself in critiquing her reflection). When she sat under her large magnolia tree, wrapped in towels and a robe, dripping and warm after a shower, and stared at her lap. She wondered if that was why the idea of coitus always made her sick. If perhaps her nonchalant view on allowing her gal friends to doll her up was in fact very chalant, but in the complete opposite direction.
"You a dress kinda woman?"
Ruthie straightened, blinking rapidly to clear her head. "Pardon?"
"Do you want some dresses?" Angel clarified, shaking out all six hands. Pink and white nails, coated in glossy glitter. "I got some that might fit ya. They're pretty modest. Might need t' snip off the extra sleeves, though."
Charlie lit up. "Oh, yeah! I have some too! Ooo, we can have a little fashion show—!"
"If you're comfortable with that, Ruthie," Vaggi interjected, giving Charlie a look while squeezing her hand.
The princess deflated, curling a tad into herself. "R-right, yeah! Of course. I know this is all probably still overwhelming, what with… Mom's whole…"
"While I sincerely appreciate the offer, my regular seamstress will be more than capable of providing me with all the new clothing I could need." She hadn't the nerve to try Rosie's dress on yet, but it was too lovely to collect dust in her closet. One day, she would show it off. Perhaps when the mocking calls stopped clogging up her landline during her talk segments on her radio show. "Rest assured, should I find a new look to fancy, you all will be the first to see it."
"I better be," Mimzy teased, nudging Ruthie with her forehead. "'S my job t' be there and give feedback."
"Is it now?"
"Of course." She took her hands, beaming up at her. "I didn't wait 119 years to let the sister I prayed for walk around lookin' anything less than gorgeous."
~~~
Waking up hungry was a queer comfort to her, now. Her curse kept her empty no matter how much rotten flesh she shoveled into her mouth, and the cramps were no less intense regardless of how much she ate. So, despite keeping to three meals a day out of habit, she rarely took more than a nibble. The exception had been Charlie's gift; that had been gone bright and early the next morning. Oh, her dear mother would be rolling in her angelically craved grave to hear that Ruthie had eaten pickles for breakfast.
She hoped the woman had never recognized her voice over the airwaves before meeting her end at holy spear tip.
Ruthie squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. Frowning in concentration, she held up the strands of hair weaved around her fingers. Under, over, pull. Under, over, pull. She had never dared to braid her hair when she was alive; the producers never would have looked her way had she gallivanted around looking so sloppy. Her hair had been thin enough to pass for extraordinarily curly—or even ringlets, her skin just light enough for plausible deniability. Her mother had insisted she not tarnish such luck.
But the one picture she had seen of her father, her real father, had him sporting a full head of braids and a gap-toothed grin, identical to hers. Her ears were a hindrance to work around: strands tugging on the sensitive skin, every twitch yanking her bound hair this way and that, but she persevered. Just once, she wanted to wear a piece of her real father without shame. Much as she adored her darling mother, speakeasies and Sunday choirs had always been warmer to her than ritzy estates and pale-faced grins ever were.
She shivered suddenly: feeling the heavy presence that was Lucifer step across her wards and towards her door.
Somehow, The Devil had gone from thorn in her side to one of her closest friends over the course of a year. Someone she trusted enough to drink with, in the company of his rubber ducks and hideous bed. Someone who had respected her enough to tell her that while he was perfectly content to continue as they were, his affection towards her was both platonic and romantic, instead of hiding behind business propositions. Someone who hadn't taken offense when she had made her lack of romantic interest clear, nor when she had avoided him for the following two weeks.
Someone she could nibble, who would only giggle and kick his little hooves in response.
Someone she felt comfortable accepting generosity from, knowing he would demand nothing but her satisfaction in return. He had been rather horrified to learn of the racist implications of the body he had apparently crafted for her, thinking it a cruel irony and nothing more.
"God, why do humans SUCK?!" He had exclaimed while sketching a new design, this one much more humanoid, leaning heavier on the 'radio' aspect of her image.
Her new onyx horns still branched like antlers, but sat vertically: antenna to further strengthen her signal. Her hooves were less cervid, similar to Charlie's and Lucifer's own. She was a tad less graceful, but found it much easier to root herself in place against a tackle or magical blow. They were sharper, too. She had found much more success in kicking than previous attempts. Much as she loathed her wretched ears, they had come in useful when alerting her to danger, so, she had settled for making them smaller, easier to blend into her hair now that she had regained her curls.
Most notable, though, were the small breasts adorning her chest. Awkward methods aside—skin to skin contact had never been so embarrassing—she was quite happy with the results. Though it had taken Lucifer extra time to work around all the scar tissue, she would do it over again for the sheer relief it brought her. Looking in the mirror had never been easier. So long as she didn't drift below the waist. Much as Ruthie would love to complete her physical transition, she was not letting anyone see her genitals, let alone touch them, regardless of their intentions.
She had since expanded her wardrobe to include thicker undergarments and specially tailored gowns and trousers to combat her own anatomy. Purchasing such garments had been a humiliating ordeal, but at least she hadn't been left to flounder on her lonesome. Angel Dust had shared many resources from his drag gigs—the fateful conversation where Ruthie had learned, completely against her will, how to "tuck"—and Rosie and Velvette were familiar enough with a needle and thread to work their magic with a few measurements. Absolutely worth the discomfort. If she couldn't complete her physical transition, at least it would be difficult to tell without groping her, and such disrespect would be met with a swift decapitation anyway.
Lucifer tapped the familiar shave and a haircut rhythm against her door and waited for her answering two bits before slipping inside, greeting her with a saccharine smile—ah, excuse her; Luci slipped inside and greeted her with a saccharine smile.
The Devil's 'fem days' had begun making regular appearances once she had fully recovered from Lilith's nonsense. She had eagerly dug through her chest of old outfits, showing off each one to Ruthie and Charlie, who had been there to help her organize. Today, she sported a casual yellow sweatshirt with embroidered ducks and sunflowers adorning the center and loose, plaid, mustard yellow pants. Her hair was longer, tied in a bun that, if one were to tilt their head, resembled an apple. Her little snake was holding it and a dainty tiara up as it snoozed. "Hey Ruthie!"
"Good evening," she replied without looking away from the mirror. "What can I do for you—fuck!" She hissed as pain shot from her skull and down her spine. Her ears pinned back, further aggravating the twisted strands of hair and sending another bolt of pain through her body.
"What?! What's wrong?!" Luci was at her side in a blink, having climbed half-way onto her vanity bench before stopping herself. "Oh, uh, what's your number today?"
"If you touch me I will bite out your jugular and use your bones for broth," she hissed through heavy static.
Luci raised both hands in surrender, offering an easy smile. "Heard. Here, I'll sit on 'em." She tucked her hands under her bottom and plopped down on the very edge of the bench. "There, no more hands. Now, you okay?"
Ruthie chuffed, arms shaking as she kept still to abate the pain. "These wretched appendages are impossible to work with."
Luci winced. "Yeah, I'd, uh, imagine such tight braids would yank on them a lot."
"Astute observation."
"You want me to numb the area?"
"If you would be so kind."
Luci scooted close enough to hover, her palms radiating warmth as she moved them over Ruthie's quivering ears, never touching. Ruthie sighed, relaxing as the persistent ache finally dulled. "Better?"
"Much." She resumed braiding. A tad thinner than she would have liked, not at all like the rows her father had sported, but her hair was significantly shorter. Perhaps Velvette would know a thing or two about differing styles. Ruthie ought to ask. Some day.
With a final twist, she let her arms fall, meeting the gaze of her reflection. The locks looked rather goofy with her ears sticking up, but there was little she could do to combat that. She had tried tying them down before—bandanas, headbands, ribbons—and had nearly thrown every chair in her vicinity through The Wall in her discomfort. She focused solely on the braids, how they hugged her scalp and rounded her sharp features. How the layered strands gave the illusion of longer hair, stopping at her clavicle instead of her chin. How the loose bundle in the back gave her the ponytail she had yearned for in her youth, but had never been allowed to have (her step father would have held her down and shaved her bare had she even suggested it).
"You look gorgeous," Luci hummed, a lackadaisical smirk adorning her face as she shamelessly ogled The Radio Demon.
It was strange to feel her own smile soften. Flirting had been fun when Ruthie was alive, so long as her victims didn't live to see the morning. Her poor mother prayed through tears every night when she thought Ruthie was asleep, hoping her child would find love and give her grandchildren to dote on.
Ruthie had tried.
One, two, three lovely young women had sent her away through tears, embarrassed and insulted that Ruthie had apparently found them so unattractive she couldn't rise to the occasion. The one man she had tried hadn't even made it to unbuttoning her shirt before she had called it off. At least the fellow hadn't seemed to take offense; giving her water and sitting with her in silence until she stopped shaking. She supposed he was more used to it. One squeamish 'man' too afraid to answer the question that was his sexual orientation was probably a dime a dozen.
It was only one drunken impulse with the woman Ruthie would, much later, come to think of as a sister that had proven to her that the touch of another could be pleasurable. Though she and Mimzy certainly hadn't done anything illicit; they had barely opened each other's shirts before stopping, meeting one another's eyes, and then cackling like banshees over the colossal mistake they had been about to make. Drunk and loose-limbed, they had curled up on the motel bed together and fallen asleep. Mundane, borderline saccharine, and yet it had set her blood ablaze. Not in a sexual sense, of course. It had simply been ages since she had been held just for the sake of it. By someone who did genuinely care for her.
Their friendship after the incident had earned the two of them ire. Any schmuck with nothing to do was eager to either label Mimzy a whore or Ruthie a 'friend of Dorothy' trying to hide in plain sight. Of course, most of those mongrels had met their end at her hand, proving themselves as disrespectful as they were barbaric. The scrutiny had, however, limited her ability to practice friendly flirting.
"You have spinach in your teeth."
Luci blinked, eyes crossing as she attempted to look at her own mouth while prodding with her tongue. "Oh!" She lifted a charred claw and began to scratch at the splotch of green marring her canine. "That's not spinach, that's paint."
"…Why do you have paint in your mouth?"
"I got my drinking water and paintbrush water mixed up."
"You are a disgrace. A tragedy bathed in blasphemy. Truly the most incompetent living being I've ever known."
Luci snorted as she flicked the speck of green away in a flash of red smoke. "You're not fooling anyone; no one puts that much thought and effort into insulting someone if they're not desperate for their attention."
"Hah! You would love that, wouldn't you?"
"Guilty."
"Hm. How unfortunate for you."
"Eh. I have your attention, that's good enough for me."
"Needy little thing, aren't you?"
"Hey, you saw the follow-up interviews, you already knew that."
Ruthie grimaced, recalling the plethora of sequels Lilith and Vox had churned out in an attempt to capitalize on the terminally outraged and dopamine-addicted. Ruthie was second only to Luci when it came to The Queen's ire. With enough wine in her system, Rosie's and even Charlie's names were thrown around too.
All their bitching had backfired spectacularly when Velvette had started a 'vlogging' channel during her extended stay, showing off the hazbins in their day-to-day. Many were charmed by Luci's buffoonery and quickly fell off of Vox's drama-mongering.
Of course, there was now the issue of obsessive 'fans' attempting to cop a feel or talk their way into Luci's favour, now that they knew she couldn't defend herself. A few lectures from Charlie and a firm hand from Ruthie tended to dissuade them. And the few that persisted… well, Luci could always rely on gravity.
"I would hardly call touch starvation born of an untreated mental illness 'needy'. If one has bronchitis, they are not 'needy' for requesting penicillin, no?"
Luci shrunk a tad, fighting a shy smile as her gaze drifted to the myriad of new books sitting on Ruthie's shelf, several of them gifts from Charlie:
-Intimacy Redefined: Asexual and Aromantic Relationships
-Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture
-Whipping Girl
-Excluded
-Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life
-It Didn't Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle
"Someone's been reading too many self-help books."
"Someone's uncomfortable with the idea of treating her needs with dignity and is now failing to deflect the conversation."
"Pfft, yeah, you care about my emotional needs."
"And if I do?"
Luci blustered, hunching in an attempt to hide her flushed cheeks. "Joke's on you; that's your problem."
"Au contraire, ti kanna." She leaned down to nibble The Devil's cheek, making her giggle and bat half-heartedly at her chest. "I am more than capable of making it your problem."
"Yeah, I don't doubt it, you fucking brat." Despite her squirming, Luci remained seated, her only protests to the teeth indenting her cheek being the occasional twitch of a bare hoof. The little devil's grip wrinkling the dress Rosie had tailored further incriminated her. Touch-starved indeed.
The fabric was smooth against Ruthie's sensitive skin—not fur! Skin! The bodice was adorned with embroidered magnolias weaved with lighter green thread. Poet sleeves were a mere whisper against the backs of her hands. Crafted with a wider waistline, emphasizing her hips and sparse cleavage (not that it was visible with the high neck of the gown). The silhouette was rather snug despite the layered skirts, the hemline floating right above her ankles. Showing off the newly tailored boots Velvette had whipped up in a frenzied inspiration after laying eyes on the gown. Deer hide leather heeled booties, dyed such a deep shade of green they were practically black, and granting Ruthie an additional three inches of height.
She rose, giving herself a once-over. Spun, ensuring the dress was properly done up, and enjoyed the sway of the skirts. It certainly beat struggling to hold up stained towels and slipping on the bayou's muddy floor. Despite her rising nerves, she couldn't help the soft, genuine smile overtaking her face. She looked mighty fine, if she did say so herself. Now that she had skin instead of fur, she could endure more makeup than just mascara and eyeliner; the subtle touch-up Angel had done made her look young, almost human if she lowered her ears and smiled with her mouth closed.
"You really do look beautiful," Luci said, standing on the bench to almost meet her eyes. "I mean it."
"Oh I'm aware, you horny little mayfly."
"Horny ain't got nothing to do with it. You're just art. Why do you think my old sketchbook's filled with you?"
Ruthie turned, hiding her flushed cheeks, and flipped her hair. "Because you're obsessed with me."
"I've never met a woman who runs from compliments like they're hunting her for sport like you do."
"Nonsense! I adore when all you simpletons appreciate my intellect and skill."
"Yeah, so long as we don't see you too clearly when we do."
Ruthie didn't dignify that with a response, simply making her way to her door. She chuckled when she heard the skidding of hooves on hardwood as Luci rushed to catch up with her. "So, what's this big surprise you've all decided to ambush me with?"
The Devil froze, her jaw dropping. "Wh—how'd you know?!"
"You and Charlie have all the subtly of two bulls in a china shop." She tilted her head, the nearest radio blaring to life with a cacophony of screams. "And, you devised your little plan well within earshot."
Luci slapped her forehead and groaned. "Can't believe I forgot about that…"
"If it's any consolation, I did not hear what exactly you little dears were intent on doing."
Luci sighed, though she still smiled as she pulled what looked to be a hard candy out of her pocket. "Here, Sherlock."
Ruthie took it hesitantly, bringing it to her eye and scrutinizing it. About the size of those terrible mint candies they would hand out at white dentist offices, but far too yellow to be anything of the sort. It smelled sweet and salty, like the air at traveling carnivals. She unwrapped it, watching it glisten under the soft lamplight as she and Luci made their way towards the staff kitchen. "And this is…?"
"It's my blood, caramelized."
She ignored Luci's snort when her ears shot straight up.
"Eat it right before dinner, and it'll keep that cannibal's curse thingy off your back for an hour. I can't really account for digestion, though, so, uh, eat fast I guess."
Ruthie stared at the unassuming little sweet. It brought back memories of smuggling Claey's drops and lifesavers from her childhood corner stores. Sitting in the bayou on her lonesome, shoveling handfuls into her mouth and burying the package under overgrown weeds. Her very last heist had seen her vomiting all over the grass after gorging herself on three whole bags. Had she known of the curse that awaited her in Hell, she would have savoured them throughout her teen and young adult years. Her decades long diet of bland rot had done more than enough to reawaken her sweet tooth. "You can combat Hellish curses?"
"Yeah, but, not for very long. And, uh, it wasn't just me: Charlie pitched in a whole lot of magic, too. I coulda done it all myself, but she was scared it would hurt me…" She brushed over the hidden scars polkadotting her torso. The last Ruthie had seen of them, they were translucent; like cracked porcelain mended with gold. Luci was rather ashamed of them. Not the physical look, but what they represented. What they stood to remind her of.
Luci often woke up aching and groggy, but now she needed two hours to simply lay in bed and mentally sort out her day before moving. The brain fog had only slightly lifted once the stressor that was Lilith permanently left the hotel. Her power remained, but it was unstable, often shocking her or bestowing random curses on her or those around her. Most recently, she had sneezed, thrown out her back, and then summoned an acid rainstorm in the lobby (which, thanks to her own curse, had been unable to hurt anyone but herself, Charlie, and Vaggi).
"Besides," Luci continued, "she wanted to contribute too. She's been really excited about all the tips you've given her and kinda wanted to show off."
Ruthie hummed, admiring the faint pulsing glow the candy emitted. "That's my girl."
Ruthie scoffed, rewrapping the candy and tucking it into the pocket hidden in the ruffles of her skirt. She never could have foreseen the gag gift from Angel Dust becoming a premonition. She had never worn something so pedestrian as a t-shirt in her life and she wasn't about to start for the sake of 'the bit', no matter how much the spider and his doe-eyed pose pleaded.
"Yes, well, someone had to fill the full time position."
Garlic, oregano, and tomato hit her nose, peaking her curiosity as they approached the kitchen door. Angel's familiar tenor was tight as he barked out Italian commands, much to the apparent amusement of Cherri, Husk, and Vaggi, if their snickering was anything to go by. Luci, too, snorted behind one hand. "Italians have very creative insults, I've learned."
"Oh?"
"Why do you think I was the designated gofer?" She simpered, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I got an earful when I broke some pasta so it would fit better in the pot."
Ruthie felt her eyelid twitch. "Abhorrent. Absolutely vile. You're lucky to be alive."
"Yeah, Aloe—"
"Angel."
"Right, Angel wasn't happy with me." Luci jogged ahead to open the door for her. "But he's been working all day, so, I can't blame him too much."
Ruthie hesitated. What could possibly warrant spending the entire day on spaghetti and meatballs, unless one were to rise at noon, like a sloth? Angel was a late sleeper only because his job demanded long nights, but Ruthie always saw him by ten thirty in the morning at the latest. What, was he hand-churning his own butter to season the sauce? Was he hand-making all the pasta?
She ducked through the doorway.
A large pot—a cauldron, really—of pasta sat in the middle of the kitchen island. Steam rose from the top, coating the room in heat and making her mouth water. To its left were three large pizzas: one simple pepperoni and cheese, one seemingly vegan if the sad-looking cheese was anything to go by (for Luci, no doubt), and one decorated with green olives, red pepper flakes, sausage, ham, and pineapple; Ruthie's favourite from her living days.
To the spaghetti's right sat a gorgeous lasagna, cheese still bubbling with heat. Two baked zitis flanked it, as well as a shrimp risotto, presented with two large prawns sat on their backs in the center. A loaf of freshly baked garlic bread was resting in its pan. A dutch oven full of steaming soup loaded with vegetables and beans rested on a thick cloth. Three bowls of salad surrounded it, each one dressed with olive oil, smelling of vinaigrette, and loaded with the freshest produce Ruthie had ever seen in Hell. Long, golden rolls of bread sat on a cooling rack beside the salads. Several croissant-shaped pastries took up the edge of the table, dusted in powdered sugar and leaving condensation on their plates.
Ruthie blinked several times.
When the feast didn't disappear, she lifted her gaze, meeting the beaming faces of her co-workers. Angel wore a well-loved kiss the cook apron that might have been pink once upon a time, though it now appeared reddish-brown from the various stains. He was filthy, as any good chef ought to be, and appeared to be on the verge of falling asleep on his feet, but his eyes glowed with pride. Niffty sported her usual getup, the only difference being the matching bandana holding her hair out of her face. Her mouth was rimmed in powdered sugar, her hands covered in dried bits of dough as she panted, too excited to mind her manners. Cherri wore no apron—the slob—but had gotten a head start on the dishes that wouldn't fit in the washer. There was marinara sauce in her hair, staining her sleep shirt, and splattered on her cheek.
Charlie wore the very same apron Ruthie had kept her from destroying, now personalized with embroidered hearts and stars on the front pocket. She was nearly as dirty as Angel; coated in sauce and flour. Bits of rejected veggies littered her long braid. Sweat trailed down her face, dripping onto the floor. She wiped her brow, meeting Ruthie's eyes with a bright, wobbly smile. "I did all the baking!" She proclaimed, gesturing to the bread and pastries. "And I only messed it up once!"
"Merry Sinsmas, Fat Nuggets," Cherri said, eyeing the little pig laying belly-up in the corner of the room next to a crumb-covered plate, snorting in contentment.
Husk chuffed as he towel-dried the dishes and put them away. "Little fucker's getting spoiled."
Angel gasped as though he had been stabbed. "Husk! Don't say that in front of him! He's a baby!!"
"I meant Miss," he gruffed, jutting his head in Ruthie's direction.
The Radio Demon's ambient static skipped a track as she came back to herself. She had grown accustomed to the man's gruff exterior over the last year, finding it more endearing after the media storm. Ruthie hadn't thought something so benign as words were still capable of hurting her, hadn't taken Rosie's nor Charlie's nor Luci's warnings seriously. When her first of many dysphoria-induced meltdowns struck, none of them had rubbed it in her face. Husk's snark was practically a comfort in comparison. "Oh, Husker, you crotchety old fart, you."
"She deserves a little spoilin'," said Mimzy as she and Baxter set the table. "A woman needs some finer things in life to stay glowin'." She bumped Husk with her hip, consequently shoving him into the counter. He hissed, fur bristling as he nursed his side.
"Ey," Angel snapped, wrapping his left lower and upper arms around the flustered cat, "this ass is mine, go find your own."
Mimzy pouted, but put up no fuss as she shuffled past them to correct Baxter's sloppy presentation. "Spoil sports."
Ruthie hid a chuckle behind one hand.
"Okay," Vaggi began, clapping once to get everyone's attention. "No arguing, let's eat."
"And how," Ruthie chirped, making her way to her usual seat at the head of the make-shift table. A mug of coffee was waiting for her; the very blend that had arguably started this ordeal. She wondered if Rosie had stayed to supervise the brewing. Though her time these days was evenly split between the hotel and Cannibal Town, she tended to avoid overstaying her welcome, which Ruthie appreciated. Fun as the other woman could be, Ruthie greatly preferred the company of her hazbins during her forays into traditional femininity.
Luci, as she was wont to do these days, forwent her usual seat at the opposite end of the island and instead plopped down beside Ruthie, kicking her feet as she eyed every dish. Mimzy sat to Ruthie's left, shooting her a grin and giving her hand a squeeze. Ruthie returned the gesture, heart light and warm as the others took their seats and began to pass food around.
Ruthie loaded three different plates with pasta, pizza, ziti, lasagna, bread, and took a separate bowl of soup before retrieving the candy. With a crunch, apple cider and salted caramel coated her tongue. She swallowed, letting the flavour coat her mouth, sighing as the magic settled her stomach. For about a moment, until a growl sounded from the ever-empty organ. She hadn't the forethought to be embarrassed as she brought her first forkful of spaghetti to her mouth.
Oh, if her mother could see her now: willingly devouring a plate of spaghetti. She felt like a fool for ever claiming to not like it as a child. The sauce had just enough of a kick to titillate, a pinch of cayenne and a suggestion of habanero. Moderate on the garlic, marinara packed with chopped bell peppers, caramelized onions, and stuffed meatballs.
She gorged herself on the salad next, lettuce crisp and tomatoes fat with juice. The shredded carrots and unsalted cashews added a hint of sweetness and extra crunch. Avocado was never on her radar during life, but it served to soften the bite of the vinaigrette and pepper just enough to tie the whole dish together.
Next was a plate of risotto, rich and creamy and loaded with shrimp fresh from Envy's many seas. Perfectly buttery with a hint of salt. Like childhood summers spent picking individual shrimp from Manman's jambalaya and gobbling them down before unenthusiastically picking at the rest (a foolish, foolish child she had been).
The ziti was light and savoury, an excellent way to whet her appetite for the loaded lasagna. Cheesy and meaty with a surprise layer of perfectly cooked eggplant wrapped snug in the middle. "We didn't have room on the table for eggplant Parmesan," Angel explained through mouthfuls, "so I improvised."
She mopped up the sauce on her plates with the bread, savouring the crunch, the pull of cheese both on top and within. She snagged more to dip it in the soup, melting along with it as the peppery broth and soft veggies gave her something lighter to digest. The pizza, even Luci's terrible vegan pizza, were divine. After devouring three pieces each, she moved onto the pastries. Fluffy and filled with handmade chocolate hazelnut butter, raspberry jam, and thick orange cream.
"You've outdone yourselves," she sighed, slumping back in her seat. "Truly spectacular work."
Angel preened, giggling at the soft look Husk shot him. "Glad I could live up to ya expectations, Smiles."
"Oh you've thoroughly surpassed them. You're quite the culinary talent. A shame you don't show it off more often." The heart adorning Angel's chest began to glow, and he ducked his head to hide behind his bangs. Goodness, had she made the unbreakable Angel Dust blush? What a day.
"So, you liked the dessert too?" Charlie asked, squirming in her seat as she eyed the remaining crumbs.
"They were delicious, Sha. You've made me rethink my dislike of sweets."
Charlie pumped her fist in the air, chanting "Yes, yes, yes!" Under her breath before flying into Angel's unprepared arms and squeezing him until he grunted. "Ohmigosh Angel this is all amazing! Ruthie's right, you're a really good chef! Oh, oh! Maybe you could—!" She hesitated, eyeing the other occupants, who had all stopped eating to stare at her. Biting her lip and clearing her throat, she released him and continued, "Um. Maybe you could teach me a few pointers some time? I should really learn how to do more than bake."
Angel shrugged, brushing his hair out of his face. "Sure, Toots. When I got the time."
Ruthie's smile softened. Weeks ago, she, Vaggi, and Cherri had all sat Charlie down for a long, difficult talk about her tendency to relate her guest's passions back to ways for them to serve the hotel instead of simply holding space for their joy. At least that was how Vaggi had put it, ever the sugar-coater. But, something something more flies with honey.
"Hey," muttered Luci, nudging Ruthie's arm with her elbow. "You've got about 15 minutes left, you want anything else?"
With a slow blink, Ruthie considered it. Her metabolism was rabid enough that she could properly digest another small portion in less than 15 minutes. More soup, some bread, perhaps even another slice of pizza if she was quick. But she had no desire to move. The last dregs of coffee left her warm as she enjoyed the aftertaste of chicory and nutmeg. The pastry's lingering flavour mingled just right with it. Every dish had left her satisfied and rejuvenated, like ten consecutive second winds.
She shook her head, letting her eyes slip shut, feeling safe enough to rest them, if only for a moment. How novel. For the first time since she was alive, "I'm full."
Of the many situations Lucifer had found himself in over his millennia of life, he guessed hugging the wall of his daughter's hotel while sinners of all shapes and sizes boogied their shriveled little hearts out was pretty tame. He had to hand it to Ruthie; she knew her way around a crowd. She almost reminded him of Lilith, before… everything.
Before she had woken up to how much of a waste he was and grew to hate him for it like everyone else.
He was meant to fall, to be miserable and alone just like everyone other sinner down here, and to impart that misery onto any and everyone who ever made the mistake of caring about him. Or worse, letting him care about them. The inevitability of his ever-lasting pain was woven into the very fabric of his being. And God didn't make mistakes.
He shook his head, blinking away the sting in his eyes. He had already embarrassed himself in public once, no need for an encore. Ruthie would skin him if he made her go soft in front of a crowd again. If he was honest, he had fully expected her to roll her eyes and call him pathetic for crying in the middle of an argument, in front of Charlie no less. Instead, she had sat with him until he calmed down. No hugs or comforting words. Just quiet company.
How she could be so sweet while also serving as the single biggest thorn in his side he had ever suffered through, Lucifer would never know. Maybe that was just what a friend would be, for someone like him. He wasn't allowed to have sweet nothings and domestic bliss, easy joy had never been in the cards for him.
But he could have Ruthie.
And she was fun.
Bratty, cruel, and down-right sick in the head, but fun. And clever. And silly. And gorgeous, holy shit she was so fucking hot without even trying. Of course she was; this was Lucifer's Hell as much as everyone else's.
At least she hadn't run away screaming when she had learned about his stupid crush.
He hadn't ever planned to tell her, but, then she had collapsed in the kitchen and almost bled out in Charlie's arms.
Angelic wounds inflicted on a demon were not supposed to heal. It had been written in the cosmos. But then again, the cosmos had declared that humans were not supposed to eat the apple, too.
Enter: Lucifer Motherfucking Morningstar.
It had taken hours, but he, Niffty, Charlie, and Vaggi had managed to pluck every shaving of angelic steel out of Ruthie's gaping wound. While they had worked, Husk had syringed enough blood from himself and Niffty to fill one bag; keeping Ruthie semi-stable while Lucifer scrounged up what remained of his angelic power to bless the wound.
Ruthie had drifted in and out of consciousness for days. If she spoke at all, it was usually nonsense. Lucifer hadn't paid it much attention, content to disassociate while he sat by her side and occasionally checked to make sure she was still alive and healing properly. Well, proper-ish. There was only so much even Lucifer Motherfucking Morningstar could do with a wound so severe.
On day four, she had been awake, but still loopy. Extremely loopy. It was the only explanation he could think of for the soft sniffles that had snapped him out of his daydream. Ruthie didn't have a bed in her room—fucking freak—so they had laid her over a nest of blankets and pillows under the largest magnolia tree in her bayou. He had looked down to find her flat on her back, staring up at him with watery eyes and a barely-there smile; fallen magnolias decorating her hair and bandaged chest. "Manman?"
He remembered the visceral discomfort like it was yesterday. "Non. Mwen se Lucifer." Bits and pieces of every human language had formed a complex alphabet soup in his head, but he could stumble through the basics.
Ruthie had squinted, then chuffed and squeezed her eyes shut. "Ou twò lèd pou ou manman mwen."
You're too ugly to be my mother.
Lucifer had guffawed, too amused to be insulted. "You'd be the first and only person to ever think so, Bellhop."
Ruthie had groaned, her ears flattening. "Ou se payas ki fè bwi."
Something about making noise. Lucifer had lowered his voice as he replied, "That's rich coming from the guy who buzzes like a cursed hive of wasps wherever he goes."
Ruthie's brows had pinched together, and she had rolled her head away from him "Hmph… She said… m' soul's feminine." She had huffed, blinking her eyes open as she glanced back at him. "Men, mwen se gason."
If ever there was a situation that called for a delicate hand, it had to be a pain-drunk Radio Demon pontificating over her gender identity for probably the first time in her decades of conscious thought.
At least that had been the plan. Before he could roll onto his knees and hightail it out of there, Lucifer, like an idiot, had looked her in the eyes. Wet and shimmering, more vulnerable that he had even thought her capable of. Her smile remained, but her brows were pinched in confusion and anxiety.
He hadn't known what she needed, but he wasn't exactly cis himself. He had been Created far before gender was even a concept, and took on whatever 'form' he pleased on any given day. He'd had his share of 'fem' and 'null' and 'a secret fourth thing' days. Hardly worth the breath it would take to announce it, really. Just doing it was easier.
But he wasn't ignorant to the horrors mortals put their fellows through should they stray from whatever God's little sycophants deemed acceptable.
"If you imagine being born a woman, does that make you happy?"
Ruthie had blinked one eye at a time. "Wi. Mwen panse sa." She had shuffled further into her nest, huffing as a fallen magnolia rolled down her cheek. "Thought ab't it, when I was young. Used to take towels out to the bayou and pretend they were skirts."
Even now, Lucifer couldn't help but smile at the visual.
"That's nice. Maybe once your wound heals, you can try spinning in a real dress. I'm sure Charlie would love to help you find one."
She had hummed, her eyelids fluttering closed as her smile turned warm and soft. "Oke."
When she had next awoken, it had taken all of five seconds for their conversation to catch up with her. She had hurled herself away from him, the blankets tangling around her jellied limbs and tripping her as she scrambled away.
"No? I thought Athena was pretty good. 'Alastor' was a Greek god, so," he had gestured vaguely with one hand, "thought it might fit. But it's your name! So, your choice."
"How the fuck did you know?!" She had spat through gritted teeth.
"Easy, you told me, remember? You remember."
"No—no! You weren't supposed to—you—you tricked me!" She had pressed a hand to her spasming chest, shoulders jumping with every shallow gasp. "You did something to me! You—did you drug me?!"
"Non. Mwen sove ou."
That had snapped her out of it enough to take a proper breath. She had brought a trembling hand to her bandaged wound; still red and inflamed, but healed at the edges. "I—I f-feel… weird."
"Almost dying tends to have that effect on people." He had sat—very slowly—next to her, keeping a healthy distance so as not to overwhelm her. "We had to rip out a lot of infected muscle and some organs. They've probably not repaired themselves yet."
"And, what, you stayed to watch me sleep?"
"I stayed to make sure nothing went wrong while you essentially slept off the rest of the infection."
She had snarled, bearing her fangs as her antlers extended. Static filled the air, jostling more magnolias to fall from the tree. One landed in her hair.
"Hey, c'mon, there's no need for that. This stays between us unless you decide to tell someone else, I promise. You're okay."
She had only growled, tugging clumps of blankets up to cover herself without looking away from him. Like she expected to be jumped while she was weak. Like she expected him to argue about it.
Chewing on his lower lip, he scrambled for any idea to quiet the hissing static that gave away her terror. "Hey, uh, how'd you like to know one of my secrets? Y'know, equal exchange, and all that jazz?"
One of her ears had flicked, though Lucifer hadn't been sure if she had actually listened or if the word 'jazz' had snapped her to attention. "Okay. So, uhh, secrets, secrets, what's a good one…? Oh! Aha, I have a big fat crush on someone at the hotel!"
For several moments, she was still. Then her brows pinched together, and she tilted her head, her nose twitching as if trying to smell for bullshit. Cute.
"Yep! The Big Boss of Hell has a crush. On a sinner! Hah! Never thought I'd see the day. It's kinda really embarrassing, actually. I know she doesn't like me back, but I also think she kinda enjoys my company? At least I hope, she goes looking for me to pick fights like every day." He had chanced a glance in her direction. There was less fear in her eyes, now; more curiosity, a little awe, and a dash of amusement. To anyone else, it would have been additional stress. To her, though, the raw admission was a brand new toy, ripe for chewing. "I think I kinda like it better that she doesn't like me back. I'm really not up for dates or relationships right now, hah… but she's fun. Pisses me off to no end, but she's fun. I like her."
He had offered what he hoped was a friendly smile.
She had blinked the lingering static out of her eyes, releasing the blanket she had been clenching, and averted her gaze. Her hands had trembled as she re-buttoned her bloodstained shirt, pausing to brush her fingertips over the tender wound. "…What's her name?"
"I dunno yet. She hasn't told me."
She hadn't replied at first, and Lucifer had taken no offense. He stayed still, enjoying the croaking of bullfrogs and the chirping of crickets and the rustling of his nameless crush adjusting her shirt.
"Ruthie." Her voice had been soft, but she had held her head high, shoulders squared as the declaration settled. "I'm Ruthie."
He still cringed at himself for assuming she would want another 'A' name. She had never said it, but she probably thought he was an idiot for it. But also, it seemed to amuse her when he was an idiot, so, small mercies.
The music—just loud enough to command attention—faded out, and Charlie's voice chirped out from every nearby radio. "Congratulations to all the competitors that have lasted so far! We've hit the five hour mark, so we'll be taking a 15 minute intermission! Please feel free to grab some water and pizza to fuel up for the next song!"
Lucifer smiled as he looked up at the balcony. Charlie stood tall and proud with her girlfriend at her side, holding Ruthie's mic gently as she reiterated where their bathrooms were, and repeated the names of who to look for if their competitors had any questions. Both women sported their usual uniform, neither one confident enough in their endurance to compete, but they had shared many adorable dances among the other casuals.
At dawn, Ruthie, Posie, and Lilith had all helped sequester the lobby into two dance floors; so that competitors could have their space, and the other guests could still cut a rug at their leisure. According to Maggi, there had been a lot less arguing than both her and Charlie had expected, but many dirty looks and tension thick enough to cut. Mostly between Ruthie and Lilith.
It had taken Lucifer a while to accept that the woman he had once loved would take petty jealousy so far. She herself was no stranger to having a dick; they had both shape-shifted quite a bit back when the relationship was new and kink was still uncharted territory.
He didn't think she had an outright problem with trans woman—at least he really hoped not—just with Ruthie. Still, that didn't give her a pass to neg the other woman over how 'troll-like' she looked or how visible her five o'clock shadow was. The worst part was the plausible deniability. No one who didn't know Ruthie was trans would think anything of Lilith's snide remarks, and people who did couldn't correct the behavior for risk of outing The Radio Demon. Ruthie didn't make much out of it, she never did, but it bothered Lucifer.
Yes, he had a crush on Ruthie, who wouldn't honestly—but more than that: she was his friend. One of his closest friends, actually (don't ask him how that happened). She didn't deserve to take that shit from his jealous ex. He didn't even know what Lilith was jealous of—certainly not losing him, she had made that very clear—but he could taste the envy rolling off of her in waves every time he and Ruthie so much as stood in the same room.
A small part of him reveled in it. For once, she was the one coveting his attention, in a round-about way. Still, he would much rather it stop all together. She had her own relationship to worry about, and Ruthie would never give up her favourite chew toy, especially not now that she knew someone else wanted it.
"Brooding, ti kanna?"
Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, as if that alone could spare him the embarrassment of his face flushing bright yellow at the petname. Stupid crush.
She was short of breath from the dance floor; dressed down to a white collared shirt, thinner, high-waisted black pants that stopped above her ankles, and three inch black and white heels that doubled as tap shoes. Her usual red pinstripe coat seemed to hug her a little tighter, the tears repaired, the trim hanging just above mid-thigh. It flowed almost like a skirt whenever she spun. Rich red lips, dark mascara, and smokey eyeshadow complimented her sharp features, no bolder than her usual makeup, but weighted, now. Deliberate.
"Just observing."
"Hmm." Ruthie brought one plastic cup of water to her lips and gulped it down. Tossing it into the nearby recycling bin—Charlie had insisted even though Hell didn't even have the means to recycle—she raised another, sipping much slower as she eyed the array of pizza boxes lined up on the fold-out tables. "Why our Charlie insisted on fast food shit is beyond me."
"It's what most people are familiar and comfortable with," Lucifer hazarded a guess. "Or, she didn't want you slaving away in the kitchen all day and night."
"Nonsense! It would have taken three, perhaps four hours at most."
"Every time you take over the kitchen, you snap at people who come in for snacks."
"A lady needs her space, and I don't appreciate sticky fingers." She shot him a pointed look.
He scoffed good-naturedly. "I snag a nice warm doughnut one time."
"Beignets," Ruthie corrected. Too quickly for Lucifer to stop her, she pinched his side, making him jerk. He choked on a snort, the ticklish feeling leaving him jittery as he shot her a glare.
"Not in public!"
She hummed, eyes crinkling with mirth. Still, she tucked her free hand behind her back and went back to sipping her water. "Oh, alright, alright."
Lucifer grumbled as he rubbed the tingling sensation away. Ruthie usually didn't touch him so boldly unless—ah.
He caught Lilith's glare from across the room as she knocked back plastic cup after plastic cup. According to Ruthie, she had made quite the issue out of alcohol being banned for Walkathon participants. It made sense to him; alcohol was a depressant, it would only hinder people's endurance and muddle their coordination. Plus, they were liable to host some angry drunks. The last thing Hazbin needed was to break up a drunken spat over a silly dance competition. Best to remove the temptation all together.
Ruthie shifted to stand a little closer, polishing off the last of her water as she met Lilith's glare with a toothy smile. "I believe we're about to be hit with the duo's segment. Care to help a lady out?"
Lucifer leaned against her, soaking up the contact while it was offered. "Of course. I'm surprised you're willing to be seen dancing with the likes of me, though."
"Well, my first choice was Mimzy, but she sadly couldn't make it. Loan Sharks don't allow days off to party, you see."
Lucifer chuckled. "Fair. Second choice ain't bad."
"Actually, my second choice would have been Angel Dust." She glanced at the doors, one ear flicking as her static picked up. "A shame he elected to ignore our invitation."
Lucifer bit back a huff, not wanting to seem dismissive. He didn't exactly miss the guy. Still, Charlie had been disappointed when he didn't show. "Okay, third then."
"That would be Vaggi, actually, but she's otherwise occupied."
"Alright, fuck you."
Ruthie chuckled, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger and tilting his head up. "Now, no need for such a sour face. Top five is nothing to be ashamed of."
Lucifer stuck his tongue out at her.
She caught it between the tips of her claws, pinching just hard enough for blood to pearl to the surface. "Put that away."
He winced, yanking himself free. "Ow!"
"You'll live."
"Against my fucking will," he groused, flushing when she brought the bloodied tip of her claw to her lips and hummed.
"Leave that lethargy with the wallflowers, Lu." She took his hand and led him back to the dance floor.
Lucifer balked at the casual touch, stumbling after her as he flexed his fingers in her warm grip. He knew she was mostly doing it to get under Lilith's skin, but his needy heart didn't care. She touched him like she didn't have to brace for it. Like it was something they did all the time. Not unlike a dog dragging its favourite toy along the floor, but Lucifer wasn't complaining. He would rather be a toy than a porcelain doll trapped in a box up on the shelf.
They made it back to Ruthie's spot near the center as Charlie announced: "And that's it for our 15 minutes! All contestants, please make your way back to the proper dance floor, and partner up!"
Their numbers had definitely dwindled. Lilith took her place near the doors, briefly taking her eyes off of him to search for a partner. There were a few semi-familiar faces; guests Lucifer hadn't bothered to even half-remember the names of, and a couple of the Overlords that had helped Charlie destroy the Bad Tickle Box he had been trapped in. One, he recognized just by her voice.
He had heard her arguing with that Box guy through the walls.
Ruthie seemed pretty charmed by her, for some reason. He guessed he couldn't judge, considering the company he preferred these days.
The older woman she had partnered up with—Caramel Concubine or something—did not look pleased, but went willingly to their place a few steps away. The younger girl lifted her head to flash Ruthie a sharp-toothed smirk. "Good t' see you ain't keeled over yet, old man."
Ruthie returned her smirk, grip tightening around Lucifer's hand and hip in anticipation. "Good to see you haven't grown bored and fled to drown that scattered little brain of yours in your phone."
The younger woman threw her head back and cackled. "Alright, you fucking harpy, try not to strain that little love-tap Adam gave you." She scanned Ruthie up and down, her smirk mellowing. "It'd be a damn shame to stain that lovely getup."
Ruthie huffed, releasing Lucifer's hip to pinch the younger woman's cheek affectionately. "I do say the new stylist was a risk, but she's outdone herself. Five stars from me!"
"Hah! Like it was hard to outdo your frumpy arse."
The older woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the younger one flipped Ruthie off. "Velvette, some decorum would be in order." Her eyes cut to Lucifer, who shrunk under the scrutiny. Was she going to mock him for walking into an obvious trap too? Belittle him for his God-given muzzle? It would only be fair, he guessed. It was a small miracle that Ruthie hadn't brought those little tidbits into their bickering as of late, and the universe could only allow Lucifer Motherfucking Morningstar so many mercies before it imploded.
"Your Majesty." She offered a slight bow of the head. "Good to see you've recovered well."
Oh.
Well…
Huh.
The younger one—Velvette—spared him a disinterested glance, then turned back to Ruthie. "I'm surprised you an' Rosie ain't tearin' up this dance floor."
Lucifer felt Ruthie tense under his palms. He had been curious about the other woman's whereabouts, but hadn't wanted to bother Ruthie about it, considering their current standing.
"You two fighting or somethin'?"
"Mind the drool, you little drama hound," Ruthie drawled, snickering as the young woman rushed to wipe her completely dry chin. "She was feeling under the weather, and went home early."
It sounded like a lie, but he couldn't taste any dishonesty in her words. At the very least, Ruthie believed it to be true. Or maybe she hadn't cared enough to really look into it.
"Alright!" Charlie's voice rang through the room. "Remember the rules: no pushing, no stopping for longer than five seconds, and no alcohol on the Walkathon floor! And, most importantly: HAVE FUN!!1!"
Upbeat trumpets blared, and suddenly, Lucifer was in the air, back-to-back with Ruthie. He laughed, half-startled, half-delighted, and fell into step alongside her.
Once Lucifer had freed himself from her tickle-attack yesterday, Ruthie had moved the beanbags and couch aside and insisted they brush up on their classic jazz and swing dances. At the time, he had thought she was trying to keep him distracted, but had went along with it just to have an excuse to touch and be touched a little longer. From Charlestons to the Hully Gully to the Lindy Hop she was currently leading him through.
He wondered if she always led. Dance positions had nothing to do with gender; he knew that, but would it make her feel more… lady-ish, if he tried to lead, maybe? It would be a challenge, given their height difference, but he had managed with Lilith, he could do it for Ruthie, too. If she wanted.
As if reading his mind and objecting to the very concept that she would ever follow anyone, Ruthie hoisted him into the air and perched him on her lifted elbow as she twirled them around the dance floor. He yelped, squeezing her hand and clinging to her coat for balance. The casual dancers cheered as they twirled by.
"Ru—!" he caught himself just in time. "Rude! F-for not warning me!"
Whatever annoyance he felt melted away when she laughed, bright and breathless. He lost the battle with his own mouth and smiled. Stupid crush.
"Then keep that darling head of yours out of the clouds," she bounced him off her arm, caught him around the waist, and dipped him, "and focus on me."
Stupid!!! Crush!!!
She chuckled, yanking him back onto his feet and leading him into a Turkey Trot. "My, the sun is so bright for this late hour!"
Heat flooded Lucifer's face, and he let his forehead thump against her chest, grumbling as he followed her lead. She was downright saccharine when she wanted to be. Dangerous. Especially for a man as weak as him. Resisting temptation wasn't exactly his M.O.
"Don't pout, Lu," she purred next to his ear. He shuddered, and felt her rumbling chuckle through her chest. "You'll make Charlie think we're fighting again."
"Fuck you, it's my eternal punishment, I'll pout if I wanna."
He let her twirl him outward and pull him back to her chest. Jumped when she made to lift him, and leaned back against her steady palm as she spun them across the floor. Despite himself, he smiled as he let his head flop backwards—
And came face to face with Lilith.
Dread wrapped its icy claws around his lungs and squeezed.
She had partnered with one of the newer guests: a man with a small mustache and an absurdly long nose. He seemed pretty skilled; lifting her into a twirl that carried them away despite his lanky frame. For a moment, her wide eyes softened, and she laughed as the sinner led her into a Charleston. Light and real. The way she used to laugh at his stupid jokes and his silly pick-up lines and the new toys he made. Then her gaze flitted back to him, and the joy in her eyes turned to ash.
His neck cracked as he was yanked upright, instinctively locking his legs around Ruthie's waist as she spun them towards the corner of the room. "None of that, now." She released his hand to cup his cheek—oh. He was crying.
"Fuck, sorry—sorry—"
"Hush. Pa gen pwoblèm." She set him back on his feet, leading them into a much lazier Turkey Trot. "What happened?"
"N-nothing." He sniffled, scrubbing the tears away with the heel of his palm. "J-just my stupid brain being broken. I'm fine."
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
He cringed, shaking his head.
"Then I'd appreciate you never lying to my face again."
"Sorry."
The music and chatter morphed into a gangrenous blob, jack-hammering into his ears.
The few remaining contestants were staring as their dancing slowed. Lucifer could feel their gazes like individual snipers trained on every inch of his now trembling body. Like the wires that had sucked him dry of Grace.
They think you're crazy.
Every gasp burned, his chest too tight, his nose too clogged, his throat too full.
They think you're weak.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and saw joy turn to ash. Charlie's joy. Lilith's joy. His sibling's joy.
They would all be better off if you were dead. But you can't even do that right. You poisonous, selfish, waste of life.
A sigh ruffled his hair. A familiar, bony hand slid up his hip and settled on his lower back. Below his wing slits; Ruthie knew not to touch those even through his clothes. For her own safety—the last thing they needed was a perma-disassociated Radio Demon. Unfortunate for Lucifer, since it actually felt pretty good. He carried most of his tension there, even back in Heaven. His brother's ethereal massages were one of the many luxuries he had taken for granted.
The palm heel kneading just below his slits was helping, though. Both the ache of untouched muscles and the repetitive motions were grounding. Chest heaving with a deep sigh, he let The Radio Demon rock them on their feet while he caught his breath. Listened to the ticking in her chest; the metronome that qualified as her heart, being part radio and all. Inhaled the new perfume he had given her—a gift from Ozzie 'for your fem days'. Lucifer hadn't had a fem day in some time. Too high-maintenance. Ruthie would get more use out of it than him. Besides, the light, fruity aroma mixed well with the musk from her bayou and the metallic odour of blood.
And maybe he kinda liked that she chose to wear something he gave her.
Look, he was a weak man.
"Oi," came a voice, much quieter than before.
Lucifer jumped, peeking up from Ruthie's chest to spot the two Overlords from earlier hovering around them in a much slower waltz. The older woman was eyeing him with clinical curiosity. The younger was, once again, looking at Ruthie, her brows pinched in confusion. "You two wrinkly fucks turning in for a nap or something? You've barely moved."
"Is everything alright?" The older woman asked.
"Yes, yes, don't worry your pretty heads about us." Ruthie pulled him into a spin, then yanked him back against her chest; shoving him out of his spiral and back onto his unsteady feet. "We simply came a tad too close for comfort with our fellow competitors, that's all."
To Lucifer's immense anxiety, both woman turned to look at Lilith, who was glaring as her oblivious partner eyed her nervously.
"Ah. Jealous hag," the younger one spat.
Fire licked across Lucifer's eyes and temples, but his retort was slapped away by a surprise pinch to his (extremely ticklish) side.
"You would be wise to not speak that way about His Majesty's queen in front of him," Ruthie said. She offered Lucifer a sideways glance. "Do try to forgive Velvette this once, she meant no disrespect towards the memories you cherish, only towards our shared migraine." She jerked her chin towards Lilith's sour visage.
Velvette spared him a blank look. "Yeah, sure. Oi, you mind if I steal her for a bit?" She jerked her thumb towards Ruthie. "I'll trade ya: one old lady for another."
Lucifer couldn't keep the surprise off his face. She knew? They both knew? Since when? Hadn't she called Ruthie an 'old man', earlier?
The Radio Demon hummed and, to Lucifer's horror, let go of his hand. "You'll find I do not need anyone's permission to dance with whomever I please."
And with that, Dr. Jazz blared to life over the speakers, and the two of them whirled away, cackling like harpies.
Lucifer didn't have time to hug himself before a steady gray hand was offered. He looked up at the older woman, who's features softened into a half-smile. "Loath as I am to split up pre-established dance partners, I'm afraid Velvette can be rather persistent."
He… guessed this was fine. She seemed ni—well, sinners were never nice. Polite? Yeah. Professional. Maybe it wouldn't be weird. He really wished Ruthie had stayed with him a little longer; he was still feeling off-kilter, but, well, he couldn't expect her to be at his beck and call. She was a grown woman who had more important things to do than babysit him. And he was a grown man; he shouldn't need so much pampering.
Swallowing dryly, he took the offered hand and followed the older woman into a stiff Turkey Trot. Fuck it was so awkward to make these moves with anyone other than Ruthie or Charlie. "S-so," he cleared his scratchy throat, "you, uh, R-Ruthie told you both?"
The older woman nodded. "She and Charlie pulled us aside when we arrived."
Huh. He hadn't thought Ruthie liked any of the other Overlords enough to even consider coming out to them. Was she planning to come out to all of Pride at some point? She would be better off for it, he was sure, it just didn't feel like something she would have wanted. She was a little too private for things like that. Maybe that was why the younger woman had stuck with 'old man' when the crowd was bigger. Ruthie had probably asked her too.
"She seems more at ease," the older woman commented. Lucifer followed her gaze over his shoulder; where the two harpies were menacing the remaining contestants. Spinning just close enough to make them flinch and eliminate themselves. Insulting their technique until they were too annoyed to focus. Or, in Lilith's case, ignoring her completely and giggling to one another as she seethed. It was probably immature and definitely not a good example, so Lucifer kept his own amusement to himself.
The older woman cleared her throat. "I feel I owe you an apology as well, Sire. I should have known better than to let Vox's threats and fear-mongering effect me, and my own weakness could have cost Charlie her father. I—" her voice cracked, "I'm truly sorry for the hurt I've caused you both. I never should have built that weapon."
Lucifer met her rueful eyes, his own wide with surprise. Did a sinner—an Overlord—just fucking apologize to him? For potentially hurting Charlie, and for hurting him?? He resisted the urge to look for cameras. There was genuine shame in her words, so potent that Lucifer could taste it when he flicked his forked tongue out. Overripe oranges and a sensation of stickiness coating his skin: the way all regret felt when it was coming from sinners. It had been so long, he had nearly forgotten.
Oh, fuck she was talking again—how long had he been zoning out??
"Yeah, aha, thanks!" He interrupted whatever she had been saying far too loud and cheerfully. Wincing, he hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore the eyes he could feel burning into him. "Ah, um, yeah, water under the bridge! B-besides, it was kind of easy to break myself out once the wires stopped sucking my blood like robo-vampires. S-so, kinda shoddy craftsmanship on your part!"
Fuck, that was rude, wasn't it? Why did he say that? What was wrong with him?
The older woman huffed, her smile lopsided as they moved to the center of the dance floor. "Good. I was hoping you'd find those weak spots a lot sooner."
…Oh. Well, now he felt like an idiot.
"You've raised a wonderful woman," the older woman said, startling Lucifer once again. He looked up at the balcony, catching Charlie's eye. She beamed and waved both arms at him. He chuckled and waved back. "I hope my daughters learn from her determination."
Lucifer whipped his head back to the older woman. "You have kids?"
"We fell together." She offered no further details. Lucifer didn't ask for any. "…My girls were never the same when we lost their father. None of us were really prepared when the first extermination took place."
Lucifer's heart dropped. He remembered signing that Heavenly contract without even reading it after they agreed to leave the Hellborns and his family out of their line of fire. Remembered Lilith's rage, her tears, when she found out what he had done without even consulting her, without Heaven even consulting her. He remembered feeling giddy when he took a stroll after the first extermination, seeing so many dead parasites—at least that was how he thought of them then. Had he seen her husband? Had he seen someone's sibling? Had he seen someone's mother?
"The grief is quieter, now, but it never leaves." She spun him gently, cautiously.
He allowed it, too caught up in his own head to object. "I get that." He cringed. "I mean, k-kinda. D-divorce isn't nearly that bad, but, y'know. You wish you could do things different."
The older woman lifted a sharp brow. "You and The Queen divorced?"
If his hands weren't busy, Lucifer would have smacked himself. Nice. Way to go, Yapsalot. "Yeah, heh, a few years ago. Uh, hey, don't tell anyone else, yeah? That can be how you pay me back for inventing a Lucifer Torture Box. Haha."
"If you insist. Though, I do believe announcing that little tidbit yourself would help the scandal die down immensely."
"Scandal? What scandal?"
The older woman sighed. "It's all over Vox's stupid news shows. Why anyone is still listening to that egomaniac is beyond me, but he's been adamant that you and Ruthie have been having an affair, leaving The Queen betrayed and broken-hearted." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly this is all incredibly dramatic for adults to be entertaining, much less The Queen of Hell herself. We aren't a soap opera."
Heat flooded Lucifer's eyes. "After everything that TV head did to us, Lilith's going on his shows?"
"I found that rather distasteful too," the older woman said, "but I didn't want to speak ill of a woman you love in front of you."
"I don't love her."
He paused, startled by his own voice, by how steady it was. He hadn't really had that conversation with himself yet. Had been avoiding it, actually; hoping if he ignored it long enough things would fall into place on their own. Still a coward. The very same one who had signed away his right to protect his daughter's dream so long as she remained unharmed enough to mourn for it. Lowering his head, he spotted the glint of gold adorning his finger. "At least not anymore, I don't think. I'll love what we had, but I can't—the things she's doing to Ruthie, and now Charlie too, I—I don't think I can ever unsee that."
The older woman nodded, guiding him towards their fellow dance partners, who were gossiping while flinging one another into exuberant twirls. "If it's any consolation, Ruthie finds the scandal quite entertaining."
"Of course she does." He chuckled as he watched The Radio Demon coo at her latest victims as they shuffled off the competitive dance floor, glaring at her all the while. She turned on her heel, lifting the younger Overlord and twirling towards the center. Her hair was limp with sweat. Some of her lipstick had smudged. Her arms trembled as she lowered the other woman, and they shared a belly laugh.
It was truly unfair, how beautiful she was.
"I appreciate your humoring me, Your Majesty," the older woman said as they drifted close enough for Ruthie and the other woman to notice. "I do hope things work out for you and your family."
Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the sting in his eyes. "Thank you. Yours too. It was, uh, nice talking to you." It actually was! Imagine that! See, he could hold a conversation just fine! And with a sinner, too! Hah! Take that, depression!
"Ooo, what have I walked in on?" Ruthie purred, and Lucifer felt the heat flood his face before he could stop it. She knew what she was doing with that voice, the bitch. Ruthie didn't give him time to simmer, yanking him by the wrist back to her while letting the younger Overlord spin back to her… date? Girlfriend? Friend? He could never tell the difference. "You're smiling like the cat who caught the canary."
Lucifer hunched. It was kind of a stupid thing to be happy about. But Ruthie did tend to like it when he made a fool of himself. "Nothing. Just, had a good conversation and, uh, I don't get to do that very often."
Ruthie hummed as she lead them off to the left. "Yes, Carmilla has been quite determined to meet you face to face to apologize for aiding in Vox's coup."
"She actually did. Heh. I, uh, I never got an apology from a sinner before." He had never gotten an apology from anyone, really, except Charlie, when she was young and prone to accidentally incinerating his projects.
He moved to hold Ruthie's waist when the glint of his ring caught his eye.
We need to present a united front.
Yet, where was her ring? She hadn't worn it in decades. Lucifer was pretty sure she had no idea where it was. Too busy sucking up to the bastard that tried to raze all of Hell and Heaven to the ground because Ruthie was rude to him once. The bastard that had delighted at their daughter's distress and treated her tears like a personal victory. The bastard that had spat upon her own legacy just for clout.
We are divorced, Lucifer.
It didn't hurt so badly, this time. Felt a bit like removing a stinger instead of just jostling it around. He could live with being divorced by someone who was willing to jump to bigotry and lies if someone else made her angry enough.
Without preamble, he took the ring between his teeth and slid it from his finger. He could feel Ruthie's gaze on him as he slipped it into his inner pocket, then moved to hold her properly so they could continue dancing. She didn't mention it, kept their conversation light as they swayed from swing to blues to even some shuffle.
When he finally worked up the nerve to ask if he could lead her in a Peabody, she had agreed rather easily. It had been a little awkward at first, trying to lead so much Radio Demon into step, not helped by her little snickers whenever he stumbled. They had found their rhythm, though, about half way through the song. He had even gotten Ruthie to squeak in surprise when he lifted her into a spin for a change. She had giggled, once the surprise wore off, and even let him do it again.
He would have to find her a proper dress, next time. Let her experience a real whirl. Maybe he could wear one too, if that would help it feel less strange to her. He didn't think he looked all that great in dresses without some makeup and long hair, but he didn't mind looking silly for Ruthie.
And perhaps that would be his downfall.
No sooner than the thought entered his mind, his heel caught on something—his other foot? Ruthie's foot? Some unseen garbage that had been left on the floor?—and in a flurry of pinwheeling arms and flailing legs, he found himself on his back, gasping for the air he had lost on impact.
Ruthie lay over him on her elbows and knees, wide eyes darting from Lucifer's hands clinging to her waist and arm, to his burning face.
Of course. Good things could never happen for long with him around. "Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I totally fucked it up, I didn't even see what—!"
Ruthie snorted.
She covered her mouth, shoulders hitching with the giggles she failed to muffle. "Your little face," she cooed, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. "Aww, don't look so distraught, Lu, all beginners slip and fall! Nothing to be ashamed of!"
"I'm not a—! I've been dancing before you were even a thought in the universe you arrogant—!"
Whatever else he had intended to say was smothered by the hands squishing his burning cheeks. "Oh, you are downright edible when you're irate."
What? was all he could think: echoing over and over until it didn't even sound like a word anymore. He could feel the warm huff of her chuckle against his flushed neck. Why was she still laying on him?? They were in public! There was already some kind of scandal, apparently, what was she thinking?! "…She's watching, isn't she?"
Ruthie hummed, eyes flicking to her left. Lucifer spotted the top half of Lilith's inverted glare. He really shouldn't be entertaining this. Especially not where Charlie could see. He should be the bigger person here; one of them had to be.
Yet, he let Ruthie sink down, using him as a pillow and kicking her feet as she grinned up at him. A fake smile if he had ever seen one, accompanied by too-controlled breaths and fists bunching up his shirt. He furrowed his brows, rising on his elbow to meet her glassy eyes. "You okay?"
Her lower eyelid twitched. "Peachy. Though, it truly is a miracle Charlie turned out so pleasant, what with you and that troglodyte of a woman to look to for guidance."
Lucifer frowned. He would let the name calling go; she deserved to get a couple in. Still, it was pretty crude for Ruthie's standards. He had only ever heard her speak that way about Box and her step-father. What could Lilith have even done in the three seconds it took to pass by other dancers? "Yeah?" He tried to encourage, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.
Ruthie's cheeks darkened and she hunched. "I'm not so vain as to wither and weep when my visage is mocked; I have the rather disturbing fan-mail to disprove such whining. Though, when someone—" she growled, curling further into herself. "When someone who presents herself as dignified opts to ogle me and make comments on… on how ill-fitting my pants are for my anatomy, I find myself rather…" she huffed, squeezing fistfuls of Lucifer's coat. "I suppose I should be glad Velvette was there to keep me from ruining all of Charlie's hard work in setting up this event."
Lucifer blinked the fire out of his eyes and forced his horns down. Reactive anger was not what she needed right now. "I'm throwing my ring off a bridge." He never had been good at following his own advice.
"Wh—Lucifer, that's—" Ruthie cleared her throat, looking away again, "as flattered as I am that you seem sweet enough on me that you would go and do something like that, it's an awfully dramatic action to take for one little slight, don't you think?"
"That's not a little slight, and she's done way more than that. I know all those digs at your looks are supposed to sound trivial, but they're not. She knows where to swing to hurt you most right now, while all of this is still new, and it's not okay. Also, she's gone crying to that Box asshole to lie about us and the hotel just to—I don't know, make our lives harder? That guy made Charlie's life a nightmare for months, and now she's teaming up with him just because she's jealous. I don't even know of what! She doesn't want me back, so even if she really does think we're dating that wouldn't make any sense! And she clearly doesn't want you, so I don't know what her fucking problem is, but it's going to hurt Charlie, and it's already hurting you, and I'm not just gonna sit here and—!"
Ruthie pinched his lips between her finger and thumb, tittering and dragging her half-lidded eyes up his visage. "So, you're amiable to some payback?"
He huffed, shaking himself free of her fingers. "Depends. What do you wanna do?"
She hummed, tapping her chin with one claw as she sat up properly. "Well, if she insists of spreading playground rumors, why not give the people something to write about, hmm?"
Lucifer's heart leapt into his throat. "Wh-what do you mean? Like, we should—?" He hesitated, glancing up at the balcony to see Charlie eyeing the both of them. She was too far away to see her face, but Lucifer felt it safe to assume she was, at the very least, confused as Hell, watching the two of them lounge on the floor like they were cuddled up for a movie. "Ruthie, you are literally so gorgeous it should be illegal, and I want to kiss you, make no mistake, but I'm not going to do it in the middle of Charlie's party. I don't wanna give her another scandal to deal with. I'm not sure she even knows her mom and I are divorced—"
"Lucifer. She is not blind."
"…Okay, fair, but still. I don't want to drag her into this stupid feud."
Ruthie huffed, a crackle of static betraying her annoyance. "I suppose I understand."
"We could try something later?" He hopped to his feet, offering a hand. "Something a little more subtle."
She buzzed, considering as she untangled a thorny vine from around his ankles—wait what? "Courtesy of our shared migraine," Ruthie explained. She exhaled, then flung the root across the dance floor, directly into Lilith's path. She stumbled, dragging her partner down with her in a heap. Ruthie chuckled and accepted his hand, wobbling a little when he pulled her upright. "A rain cheque, then."
Maybe one little kiss wasn't such a bad idea—no, no! Bad Lucifer!
"Yeah," he breathed, squeezing her hand.
A round of woops commanded his attention. The two Overlords were demonstrating a saucy tango as the younger one cheered, pointing at Lilith and her partner as they scrambled to their feet. "That's right, eat shit! I told you I could outlast all these bitches!" She jeered, smirking at the older woman, who huffed and spun her into a dip.
"Maybe one day you'll be able to do it without the strongest competitors sabotaging one another."
The younger woman gasped, launching into a tirade that Lucifer couldn't hope to understand through her accent. Ruthie seemed to though, snickering behind her free hand.
"Oh, such a close match!" Charlie's voice range from the surrounding radios. "But after eight and a half hours, we have our winners!" She raced down two steps at a time and scrambled under the velvet ropes blocking off the competitive dance floor, skidding to a halt in the center before announcing: "Velvette and Carmilla Carmine! Congrats on your hard work!"
The older woman nodded and shook Charlie's hand, a small smile on her face.
Though Charlie hesitated before offering her hand to Velvette, the young Overlord gave her one strong shake, then yanked her into a selfie. Which quickly turned into three. Then five. Then a cameo on her livestream. Charlie froze when Velvette pointed her phone towards her, gaping like a codfish and stumbling through her usual schpiel. Lucifer had never seen his baby girl camera-shy before. She was usually so good at commanding the spotlight. Just like her mom.
The same mom who stayed rooted in place, glaring at the gathering like everyone in it had personally pissed in her cornflakes.
A buzz and the skipping of channels followed Ruthie's footsteps, linked hands pulling Lucifer along behind her. She stayed out of frame, but stood by Charlie's side with a hand on her shoulder. "Go on," she encouraged, smile melting into something fond, "the stage is yours."
Charlie smiled at her, shoulders sagging in relief, then took a slow, deep breath. She faced the phone with her usual cheer, recapping the event, the notable contestants, and the victors. "It was a pleasure to host you both tonight," she said, flashing her dazzling smile at the Overlords. "From all us Hazbins, thank you for your continued support!"
The younger Overlord, who Lucifer had already forgotten the name of, flipped the phone back towards herself. "Y'know, Loves, the Hazbin Hotel might be tackier than a cork board, but one thing's for sure: the Morningstars and The Radio Demon can throw one smashing party!"
She wandered off the dance floor, chattering to her phone all the while.
The older woman sighed, and offered Charlie a slight bow. "Thank you for hosting us. It was good to see you and Vaggi again."
"You too!" Charlie beamed, tucking her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels. "Feel free to visit whenever you want! Uh, w-within reason! Our curfew's 11pm!"
The older woman smiled and nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." She turned to Ruthie, her gaze cutting over her shoulder for a moment. "Take care of yourself."
"Don't I always?"
Carmilla hummed, but did not comment further as she started towards the door.
Was she going to talk to him? Maybe not; they hardly knew each other. Yeah, it would be weird to talk to him more than once, she'd probably had enough the first time—"Have a good night, Your Majesty."
Shit, pay attention, pay attention! "Yeah! Uh, yeah, w-will do! You too!" He snapped a finger gun at her with his free hand.
Her smile wavered, and Lucifer's chest tightened. Great. He had blown it again by being immature and stupid and un-funny and—but instead of turning to ash, the joy on Carmilla's face brightened. With a chuckle and a wave, she made her way out the doors.
"…Did Velvette just give us a free shout-out?" Charlie whispered, leaning towards Ruthie with wonder in her eyes.
"Oh, nothing in Hell is free, Sha. I'm sure she'll be looking to cash in a little favour from us sometime in the near future." She booped her nose, earning her a snort. "But a shout-out is a shout-out! Congratulations."
Charlie beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet and shaking her hands. "Holy shit! We're actually making allies! Kind of! But still!" She surged forward, clinging to Ruthie's free hand. "We're gonna make this fucking work!!"
It had been so long since he had seen Charlie so happy. Lucifer would give her anything, everything he could, so long as she kept smiling like that. With a snap of his fingers, the lobby morphed from dance hall back to stained carpets and mismatched walls. The confetti littering the floor split into sparks and disappeared. The leftover pizza boxes snapped shut and made their way to the spare fridge in the kitchen.
He swallowed his wince as the lingering wounds on his chest and back pulsed with the effort. They were scabbed over, but still protested when he put on grand shows of power. Probably nothing. Probably just phantom pains. Like his wings sometimes, when they burst into reality of their own accord and ached like they were being torn and burned all over again.
"Mom?"
Lucifer snapped out of his daze. He followed Charlie's eyes, catching Lilith as she hesitated by the double doors. "Where are you going?"
Lilith exhaled, slow, controlled, then greeted Charlie with a small, empty smile. "I have some errands to run."
"Y-you're coming back, though, right?"
Lilith blinked in confusion, then laughed and tilted her head. "Of course I am, Honey. Give me space to breathe for a while." She chuckled, airy, slippery, before softening her smile. "Great work tonight, by the way. I'm so proud of the leader you're becoming."
Charlie went rigid, shoulders squared like a soldier. "O-oh! Uh, th-thanks! Um… yeah. I've been trying really hard."
"It shows." She pushed open the doors, cutting her gaze towards his and Ruthie's linked hands with a snarl before starting down the walkway. "I'll be back tomorrow, don't wait up for me."
Lucifer struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. He squeezed Ruthie's hand, her nail grazing the newly bared skin of his ring finger. What would sinners try to do to The Radio Demon if they thought she had shacked up with him? At this point, Lilith was the only member of his family the public actually liked. If they thought Ruthie had wronged her… one way or another, it was going to be a bloodbath. And Charlie would be left to clean up the mess, like usual.
So what if he and Ruthie held hands once in a while? It was hardly any different than what Lilith and Posie had been doing for decades. Much more mild, actually. Lucifer would confirm that he had consented to their open marriage until he was blue in the face, but she had too. She had encouraged him on multiple occasions to take another lover, find another partner, so he wasn't cooped up all the time. He wondered if he had, would she have really been okay with it?
She was already throwing out cheating accusations when:
A) They were divorced, and,
B) He and Ruthie weren't together in any way, shape, or form, because she was fucking aroace (or something close to that).
Charlie had been through so much already. The last thing she needed was her mother fueling a scandal and tarnishing her hotel's name. If only Lilith actually cared about anything but her own impulses.
…Huh. That kinda sounded like something she would have said about him.
Lucifer chuckled, letting go of Ruthie's hand and snapping a portal into existence. Someone might have called his name, but it snapped shut too quickly for him to be sure.
The Hazbin Hotel's rooftop garden had taken quite the hit from the December acid rainstorms. During the third century of his banishment, the Heavenly Counsel had cooked up a plethora of weather conditions to test out on Hell before unleashing them on earth. They had ensured his powers could do nothing to stop it.
Relying on Ruthie to keep their flora and furniture healthy had only worked up until Adam's injury began eating away at her magic. Lucifer felt terrible for gloating about it, now. The atrium was littered with holes, melted glass hanging like ribbons in the aftermath. The cobblestone walkways were covered in little scorched craters. Couches and tables had been reduced to scraps. What once had been a rather impressive garden by Hell's standards was nothing but amorphous brown sludge.
There was a metaphor in there somewhere.
He scooted around simmering piles of shit, making his way to the edge of the roof. Hell was never quiet, but if he flew high enough, the blinking lights and buzzing chatter was almost peaceful. Like a bustling city settling down for the night instead of a tumor that never slept. Patting his shirt pocket, he withdrew the slim golden band. It winked, reflecting the reds and blues of the nearby entertainment district. Eugh. Maybe if he buttered her up enough, he could get Ruthie to kill that TV guy for him. Did it still count as him hurting sinners if he gave someone else the power to do it for him? Maybe Ruthie would know that, actually. Deals were kinda her thing. Whether or not she would be honest, though, was another issue.
He clenched his fist, feeling the imprint of the ring against his palm. It left a thin orange rim on his skin. A brand. Not unlike those foolish sinners with their necks wrapped in leashes. Fuck, how the mighty had fallen, huh? Of course it wasn't exactly the same; the whole idea behind marriage was to create a union built on love and trust, and the ring had represented that, in the beginning. Now, though…
The familiarity wasn't even there anymore.
The Lilith he knew and loved—she would have never stooped so low as to spit on someone's very personhood just because she was jealous of their imaginary relationship with the ex she didn't even like. She would have never risked their daughter's happiness for her own satisfaction. She certainly wouldn't have put Charlie's life's dream at risk for the sake of revenge. Or maybe she would have, and Lucifer hadn't known her very well at all.
Gritting his teeth, he let Hell's fire engulf his fist, indulging in the pain of scalding gold against his skin. A deep breath, and then he roared, flames curling out of his mouth as he flung the ring as hard as he could. It streaked across the pentagram like a comet. Sinners peaked out their windows as it flew by, shooting one another questioning looks.
In Vee Tower, away from Lucifer's view, Lilith—sitting cross-legged in the waiting room with a magazine in her lap—glanced out the window at the flicker of new yellow light. She looked away with a slight pinch in her brow before it fully disappeared.
Lucifer slumped, forcing his breathing to slow and spitting the embers that had crawled up his throat onto the ruined cobblestone. Tens of thousands of years. Firsts and milestones and promises. The Morningstar family.
Ash on the winds of some lower ring.
There was a knock against the rooftop door as it creaked open. "Dad?" Charlie peaked her head out, offering a wobbly smile. "Is everything okay?"
Lucifer's hands were halfway to his face when he realized he had no tears to dry. His breath came easy. His throat was lax. His heart was warm and light. "Yeah," he breathed, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Everything's fine."
Charlie pushed the door open all the way, and Lucifer balked a little when the evening lights highlighted Ruthie's frame, looming in the shadows. He blinked hard a few times and rubbed his eyes. Still there, now sporting a lopsided smirk. She paused to take in the damaged garden while his daughter rushed to his side. "You just left so suddenly. I was worried…" she hesitated, drawing her hands to her chest as she scanned him.
"I'm okay, Honey. Sorry for scaring you. I just needed some air." He faced the maroon sky, watching the dark gray clouds swirl as another bout of acid rain brewed. Despite the dark cluster, Heaven remained unobstructed. The closest thing to his stars Lucifer would ever see again, until Charlie was born. He hadn't been able to Create like he usually would after The Fall; every star had crumbled into cosmic dust the moment it left his palms. It had taken decades of trial and error, spells and rituals mixed and matched from every earthly and other-worldly culture, to find a way to nurture his own little star.
On the days his depression threatened to drown him, he would shift back to his Creator's body, remembering how it felt to have a living creature growing inside him. How it felt to Create life again, despite God's best efforts to take his gifts away. How before they had even given her a name, Charlie had quailed, demanding every functional ear in the room. Even back then, she had found a way to make people listen. He remembered holding her to his chest, marveling at how such a tiny, fragile creature could be so loud. He remembered her little hand clinging to his finger. Her big, beautiful eyes blinking open for the first time, locking on him. The way she had smiled, like she knew she was safe. Like she knew he would always cherish her. Like he was worth the world to her at one glance.
"Dad?!" Hands grasped his cheeks, and he blinked, startling when he registered the wetness streaking his face. "I knew something was wrong, I'm sorry, Dad, I know this has been r-really difficult for you, and I should be doing more when Mom gets like this with you, I know it's not fair, I'm sorry, I promise I'll be better, please don't leave—!"
"Charlie, Sweetie, hey," he covered her hands with his, stepping close enough to press his forehead to hers. "Hey, it's okay, Sweetheart, breathe. These are happy tears, I promise. I'm not going anywhere, Charlie, I love you." He guided her to him, wrapping her in his arms like he had when she was little. She still was little, to him. Always would be. "Don't worry about me and your mom, I can handle a little arguing."
"She made you cry, Dad! That's not okay! That's not normal!"
"I mean, it's pretty normal for me, I cry all the time!"
"Dad!"
"Honey, I promise they were happy tears. I was just reflecting a little, that's all."
"I meant the other day."
"… Oh." Heat flooded his cheeks. He was never going to live that down, was he? "Yeah, hah, phew, that was, uh, pretty embarrassing."
He grunted as she returned the embrace, squeezing him like he may fade away if she ever let go. "You don't have to just sit there and take it until you crack, Dad." She sniffled, balling his shirt up in her fists. "I don't know why she's treating you this way, but I know you don't deserve it."
You don't know that. You can't know that. I ruin everything I touch. He opened his mouth to once again dismiss her concerns, but a blat of feedback cut him off.
"She's right," Ruthie buzzed, throwing an armful of melted planks and charred pots into a large pile of debris that definitely hadn't been there when Lucifer arrived. "It's inappropriate, immature, and quite frankly, irritating, listening to her blather the same three complaints over and over again until she either gets bored or you break down. I will not allow this to become a habit; my reputation is already limping to its early grave as is, I will not be seen as your personal pacifier on top of it all."
He should probably be insulted. It wasn't like he had pressed a holy gun to her head and forced her to hold him until the shaking stopped; she had free will like everyone else. "Yeah, right. You're just jealous she managed to make me cry before you could."
Ruthie sniffed, her nose scrunching up as she grimaced. "I was never trying to make you cry. If I was, you would have been a puddle the moment you walked in that first day."
"Puh-lease, you're not nearly as mean as you pretend to be."
She huffed. "I don't need to be mean to make you cry. I could pay you the barest minimum compliment and you would be a mess for hours."
Charlie sniffled, lifting her head and wiping her face on her shoulder. "You don't have to sit and take it either, Ruthie."
Ruthie blinked several times, expression blank.
Charlie took the opportunity to bulldoze through the momentary crack in The Radio Demon's facade. "I know you're just instigating because you want to feel in control of the situation, I've lived with you long enough to see the signs. That tells me this hostility towards you was there way before she came to the hotel."
Lucifer gaped, eyes darting from Charlie's determined frown to Ruthie's blank smile. Had they given it away, somehow? He had thought he, at least, was doing a pretty good job of keeping it under wraps. And Maggi was way better under pressure than him, it couldn't have been her!
Ruthie barked out a laugh, running her hands through her hair as she shook her head. "Oh, this is hilarious," she muttered, though Lucifer and Charlie knew her filter well enough to make the words out anyway. "I've gone and shown my hand to the entire Morningstar family. Brilliant."
"So you knew Mom before, then?"
"Rosie introduced us."
Charlie nodded. "That makes sense… so, did you get off on the wrong foot, or…?"
"Oh, only about a month ago, at Vox's ridiculous Gala." She sighed, adjusting her coat and trotting towards what remained of the outdoor loveseat Lucifer had Created. Brows pinched, she collected the debris in a wave of green magic, rebuilding the lost material until a patchwork version of the cute little duckie couch hit the roof with a soft thud. Ruthie sat gingerly on the edge and patted the empty space to her left.
Charlie walked over, Lucifer not far behind, and sat as instructed. "The first lesson I had intended to teach you," Ruthie began, reaching over to pat Charlie's hand over her knee, "before Vox rubbed his grubby little hands all over the narrative, was to never, ever, make vague deals. No matter what the potential dealer offers, no matter the value, you do not devote your time to something that may never see a conclusion." She sighed. "You are very lucky. Vox's little ego trip saved you decades of frustration."
Charlie frowned, tilting her head in confusion.
"I, on the other hand, did not stumble upon such a forgiving fate."
Why did I do this so late at night help me *cries*
Rosie could count on one hand the amount of times she had been nervous. The first time felt so far away, now. She had been young and mouthy, despite her older sister's warnings. Her father had thrown his coffee in her face and screamed at her. Or had it been apple cider? She couldn't recall, but she knew it had been hot, and the burn had scarred her eyes. Not quite blinding her, but she certainly wouldn't have been able to drive safely, even if women had been allowed to do such a thing back then.
She had long since forgotten what he had said, but she remembered her eldest sister scooping her up and comforting her in their bedroom.
The second time had been decades ago, the first time she had ever seen Lilith truly lose her temper. She had come to the emporium fuming, and Rosie still didn't know what exactly she had been upset about, only that it had something to do with Lucifer. She had screamed, thrown knickknacks, shattered whatever would break in her hands. Not dissimilar to Rosie's father after too much whisky. She hadn't approached until the rage simmered down to exhaustion and misery. Neither of them ever brought it up again.
The third time had been but a month ago, when Ruthie had held all of Hell hostage in exchange for her staff. That self-satisfied sneer had haunted Rosie's daydreams ever since. Whether or not Ruthie would have let Hell implode to get what she wanted didn't matter. She had known Rosie would never let her lover's daughter perish in a preventable storm. No matter the cost.
A free roaming Radio Demon was a small price to pay to prevent annihilation. At the time, Rosie had been sure she could get her back. Their last little number had certainly soured their good rapport, but Rosie had always considered herself a fair, honest woman. She liked to push Ruthie's buttons, as all good friends did, but she never asked for anything unreasonable (the seven year hiatus had not been her idea, so she didn't count it).
And she did consider the woman a friend. Steadfast and reliable. A charmer, and funny to boot. With a sharp mind and sharper tongue. Almost like a younger sister (oh how she had prayed for one during her life). Of course she had been intrigued when she had first held Ruthie's soul, fresh out of their deal, and it had been distinctly feminine, despite the lower tenor Rosie had heard through the radio. She had known many a trans woman in her life and death, that part had been fairly mundane. What had surprised her was that Ruthie seemed entirely unaware. Meeting her in Hell the next day, seeing the way she presented, talking to her, had told Rosie all she needed to know.
They had certainly gotten some funny looks during Ruthie's first few months in Hell, when she had not yet adjusted her vernacular to the higher standards of Cannibal Town. She had seemed rather eager to do away with the filthy words and backwards ideas of her earthly environment once it became clear that doing so would not earn her any ire. Happy to mind her business and leave others to their own so long as she could find her entertainment elsewhere.
It wasn't until Lilith's return that Rosie had felt herself getting nervous for a fourth time. The Queen had not been pleased to learn that their trump card had squirmed her way out of their deal. She had demanded information, weak points they could exploit, to force The Radio Demon to heel. Rosie had made the mistake of letting her mind wander back to that very first day she had held her soul. How she had yet to tell the other woman what she knew, wanting to give her the space to accept it on her own. There were some things that weren't meant to be held over people's heads.
Evidently, Lilith disagreed.
"What do you want."
Rosie hesitated at the library doorway.
Ruthie stood before the large windowsill settee, back facing the door. She was stacking folded blankets and adjusting the plush toys adorning the nook. Charlie's work, no doubt. Perhaps Lucifer's too, if the surplus of ducks was any indication.
She wore her usual getup, the only difference her more natural, curlier hair, loosely tied out of her face. Ambient static pitched irritably with every sharp movement she made. Her jaw was locked in a rictus grin.
"To check in," she hedged, taking a cautious step into the room. She knew another apology would not be appreciated.
Ruthie sighed, static crackling as her shoulders heaved with the effort. "You need not let your guilty conscience drive you. It's unbecoming of an Overlord of your stature."
"This isn't about a guilty conscience. I'm just worried about you."
Ruthie scoffed, glaring over her shoulder. "Now that's rich. If you're so worried, why not stop her from enacting this ridiculous plan?"
Rosie grit her teeth, swallowing hard around the royal purple chain constricting her neck. "You know I can't do that."
"Then go bother someone else."
"Ruthie—"
"Don't." She whipped around. "Don't you dare say that name."
Rosie bit the inside of her cheek, knowing better than to question her. She kept her distance as Ruthie's static squealed and spat. Watched her fists shake as she dug her nails into her palms. Listened to her shallow, tight huffs through gritted teeth. She smiled so wide her blackened gums were on full display.
Her hands unclenched, rising to pull her coat tighter around her. "You have no idea how humiliating this is."
Rosie flinched, but did not allow herself to back away, to hide. She had put that hurt in her voice. The least she could do was face it, not let Ruthie wade through it all alone. "You're right. I don't."
"And you never will!" Ruthie laughed, sharp and humorless. "Decades of work cementing my reputation as a threat, gone at the whims of one ill-tempered hag. Why, I'm surprised she hasn't blathered to Vox and had the news plastered onto every billboard in the city! Hah! I'm not sure Vox would even do it! He would probably keep it to himself and salivate over keeping me docile by threatening to expose me. I'm not sure which is worse!"
Rosie bit her tongue, opting to let the insult to her lover go. She knew a fearsome reputation wasn't quite what Ruthie was afraid of losing, but allowed her the dignity of hiding behind the claim anyway.
"I don't even know what she hopes to gain from doing this. I'm certain it does nothing to further whatever goals she may have. You'll both get on just fine without me."
"You know Lilith is a particular woman. She likes things her way."
"Oh, I'm well aware." Ruthie sneered, shoving past Rosie on her way out the door.
Rosie took a deep, slow breath, then jogged to catch up with her. "Listen to me, I don't like this any more than you do. I firmly believe there are some things you don't poke at, that's why I didn't tell you for so long. I knew you'd find out on your own eventually. But I can't control what she does, Ru—" she sighed, "there's nothing I could do or say to change her mind. For some reason, she wants you specifically on our side, and she thinks blackmail is the best way to go about it."
Ruthie's ear flickered, feedback hissing loud enough to make the hall lights flicker.
"I know this is unfair. I'm sorry it's come to this. I was really hoping your womanhood could have been something fun and cathartic for ya." She looked down, letting her own daydreams rush over her. "I always hoped we'd talk over coffee, then maybe have ourselves a little fashion show. Like a couple of girls trying on their mama's dresses while she's out." She and her sisters had done so several times. Thankfully her father had never found out; he would have bloodied all their noses for tarnishing what he had left of their mother.
Her heart warmed at the thought of Ruthie's genuine smile lighting up the room once she brought out the dress she had tailored specifically for her. Different from her usual style; a rich emerald evening gown that would round out her chest, long poet sleeves that ended in black frills, and layered skirts that hung right above her ankles for extra modesty. Appropriate as it would have been, Ruthie didn't strike her as a flapper type of girl. "I even had one in mind for you—"
"Well you may as well burn it, for all the good it'll do you now."
The waspish tone broke Rosie out of her sweet fantasy. She swallowed all the objections that wanted to spew. Ruthie wouldn't hear them when she was this upset. Rosie didn't blame her, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't hurt. "I need you to understand that I didn't want this."
"I don't care," Ruthie snapped, her branching antlers gouging the wallpaper. "Whether you wanted it or not, it's my problem now, and I'll handle it alone, as I always have."
"You don't have to handle everything alone. I'm sure Charlie at least would—"
"I am done talking about this," Ruthie hissed, rounding a corner to make her way downstairs. The lounge had amassed a small crowd, chief among them: Charlie, Vaggi, Lilith, and Lucifer, all huddled around a table looking over a large sheet of paper that appeared to have several crude crayon drawing all over it. On the couch opposite to Hell's royal family, Rosie recognized Husk, and that pink-haired cyclopes that had fought with them on extermination day. They were chatting with fellow residents who appeared to be familiar enough with them to relax despite the powerful company.
That changed when The Radio Demon made her way down the stairs, feedback loud enough to rattle the photographs on the walls. Husk, the cyclopes, and the other guests all stopped talking and whipped around. Their eyes locked on Ruthie; prey observing a passing predator, hoping she wasn't hungry and would ignore them.
Charlie cringed at the buzz, looking up with arched brows.
Vaggi watched Ruthie like she feared she would tear the hotel down if someone made one wrong move.
To Rosie's confusion, Lilith looked up from her phone and smirked. The way she usually did when she managed to fluster Rosie with clever innuendos (more often than she would like to admit). Seeing Ruthie angry wasn't exactly promising, considering she had ordered Rosie to track her down specifically to trick her back into another deal—a demand Rosie had never planned to obey.
Whatever thrill she had found shattered when Lucifer perked up with a happy little gasp and leapt to his feet. "Alley-Cat!" He all but sprinted towards The Radio Demon, who jumped a little at the sudden proximity, but didn't hiss and spit like Rosie had come to expect. Instead, she leaned down to examine the small rubber duck Lucifer had all but shoved into her face.
"Check it out! I just finished her." He tapped the duck's beak, and it sat up straight, lifted its wings, and began to flap on its own. It didn't achieve flight, just sat in The King's hand and flapped, but Ruthie hummed approvingly, dismissing her staff and taking the duck very carefully when Lucifer offered it.
"Very lifelike. I see you even made sure to incorporate high-speed wings into the design. Impressive attention to detail."
To Rosie's utter bewilderment, Ruthie bent at the waist and booped Lucifer's snout. The King giggled, hunching his shoulders to try and cover the vivid yellow blush rising in his cheeks. His tail arched in the air, bobbing up and down like a pleased cat. Ruthie then pinched his cheek, pulling away a glob of glue that had dried there with a fond huff. "Messy."
Lucifer stuck his forked tongue out.
Rosie blinked, failing to process the borderline domestic scene before her. She had never seen Ruthie give praise so freely. She had certainly never seen her dismiss her rage so quickly. Two months ago she would complain about The King every chance she got. What had changed?
"A mess is right," Lilith muttered just loud enough for the lounge to hear as she returned to her phone. "Too bad he can't put that attention to detail towards something useful."
Lucifer slumped, eyes downcast and tail tucking between his legs.
Rosie gaped, looking between her lover, the despondent king, and an irate Ruthie. Where in the world had that come from? All he had done was show off a duck. She knew Lilith and Lucifer still had unresolved problems, but that had been extremely uncalled for. And extremely out of character. What had she and Ruthie interrupted for that to be the tone Lilith would take?
Charlie's eyes widened, and she snapped her head up with an outraged "Mom!"
Lilith tutted, opened her mouth, then—
The nearby radio buzzed, shifting from channel to channel: hosts and songs and celebrity interviews bleeding together.
Well, you heard it here first, folks—so sad—Queen—of the underworld~—never, in a million years—sto-to-top talkin' that blah, blah, blah~—krzzt—not for me, all that stuff~
Doris Day continued to croon as Ruthie, without looking up from the duck, swayed along to the music.
"My, my, Madame, if I recall correctly from the good old history books, art has always been significantly useful." She stroked the duck's beak. It stopped flapping, going dormant so she could more easily tuck it back into Lucifer's hands. "Art rejuvenates and empowers and entertains. It gives people hope. It expresses what simple parler cannot. And," she adjusted the collar of Lucifer's baby blue dress shirt, "it takes skill to properly execute. Only those with a capable mind can make true art."
Lucifer was staring at her like she had plucked a star right out of the sky and handed it to him. Rosie watched his throat bob as he struggled to blink the wetness out of his eyes. Strangely, Ruthie only huffed fondly and gave his cheek a gentle pat before turning a shit-eating grin unto the squinting queen. "Bitching, on the other hand, is easy, thoughtless, and contributes to nothing."
Lilith gasped, indignance flaring in her eyes.
Lucifer slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as saucers as he flitted between Lilith and Ruthie before giving up and staring at his bare hooves.
Vaggi was half-gaping half-grinning, clinging to Charlie's arm like she wasn't sure whether to shake her in delight or cower behind her for cover.
Charlie laughed manically and shot to her feet, hands up in surrender. "Hahaha, okay! Funny jokes! Wow, what a beautiful day it is to not start an argument in the lounge!! How about that?!" Her gaze darted between her mother and Ruthie, pleading, frantic.
Lilith did not even look at her.
Ruthie hummed, turning away from Lilith and offering Charlie a much softer smile. "Of course, Sha, don't you worry about us." She started towards the couch, guiding Lucifer alongside her with a hand on his lower back. He shuffled along seemingly on auto pilot as she sat to Charlie's right, directly across from Lilith, and pulled Lucifer down beside her. "Now, what were you four discussing before Rosie and I so rudely interrupted?"
Hearing her own name broke Rosie from her stupor. She met the disinterested eyes of her lover for a moment before Lilith's attention was back on Ruthie, sharp and frigid. Hesitantly, she made her way over and sat next to The Queen, leaving a bit of space between them. The wrong decision: Lilith growled, snagged her around the waist, and yanked her thigh-to-thigh with her.
Rosie's cheeks heated as she scanned the room. The other sinners had left, thank goodness, but Charlie and Vaggi were staring, mouths hanging open, and Rosie had to look away. She wasn't opposed to a little rough-housing and wandering hands in her relationships, but not in public, and certainly not in front of her lover's daughter.
Lilith's hand burned against her thigh, kneading the flesh like a fussy cat. Anger rolled off The Queen in waves, souring the usual fondness that would bloom at her affections. But these weren't affections, not really. Lilith wasn't even looking at her; locked in a staring contest with Ruthie. The Radio Demon's lids were half lowered, as if entertaining a demanding child with a staring contest. She leaned forward, one elbow on her crossed legs, resting her chin on her palm as her ears slanted towards Charlie.
"So, we've had a lot of success with more transactional welcomes, which isn't ideal, but, one step at a time," The Princess was saying, chewing on the tip of her pen as she bounced her leg. "I want to focus on something more artistic, this time. You're right Ru—" she cut herself off with a gasp, eyes bulging as she attempted to cover her slip of the tongue with a cough. "Uh, ahem. Sorry. You're right, uh," she made an aborted gesture in Ruthie's direction, "buddy," she cringed the moment the endearment left her mouth.
Ruthie grimaced, though Rosie noted a stretch at the corner of her smile.
"Hah, uh, yeah, a-art is really important, s-so we should encourage sinners to, uh, embrace their creativity!!" She made a double thumbs-up. "Yeah."
Ruthie huffed out a laugh, then mirrored Charlie's awkward gesture with a soft smile. "Capital idea. Will we be making macaroni necklaces?"
Charlie snorted, her shoulders finally relaxing. "I don't think all the alcohol in Hell could convince my people to do that."
"Finger painting?"
"Take this seriously, Shitlord," Vaggi sniped, though she was failing to hide her smirk in her shoulder.
"Lighten up, Fledgling," Ruthie parried, which earned her a middle finger and an eye roll. "On a more serious note, perhaps something a little more active than arts and crafts is in order. I'm sure our fine denizens have bundles of nervous energy they've yet to expel after such a hectic month."
Charlie nodded, tapping her chin with her pen and shifting to bounce her opposite leg. "Like a dance party?"
Ruthie perked up. "Ooo, a Walkathon! It's been decades since I last indulged! Why, back in my heyday, Mimzy and I were the talk of any competition we entered." She shielded her mouth and stage whispered, "and not just because of our finesse on the dance floor!"
Charlie tilted her head.
Vaggi grimaced. "Don't people end up in the hospital during those?"
"Only those foolish enough to overestimate their endurance!"
"Um," Charlie interrupted, raising a hesitant hand. "Walkathon?"
"A very popular type of dance competition, from my days on Earth." She sat up straighter, brushing non-existent dust off her slacks. "Why, some couples went on and on for months at a time!"
Charlie snorted and rolled her eyes, but before she could dismiss the claim, Lucifer—who had buried his head back into his duck—slowly turned to look up at Ruthie, eyes wide as saucers. "Why are you all like this??"
"Wait, she was telling the truth?!" Charlie blurted.
Ruthie's static cut out.
Lilith sat straight up, her sclera bleeding black as her gaze darted from Charlie, to Ruthie, to Rosie, then to Lucifer.
"Nope, that was 100% certified true," Lucifer said, oblivious to the tension. He threw his hands up in exasperation. "First the dancing plague, now this."
"I'm sorry, the what?" Vaggi asked, leaning forward with a sickened grimace.
Rosie's eyes widened a fraction. Charlie knew? Did Vaggi know too? Had Lilith already—? No, that couldn't be; she couldn't use it as blackmail material if someone already knew. But that meant… Rosie caught Ruthie's eye. The other woman grimaced and looked away, her brows pinched as some of her simmering anger bled through.
She had come out to Charlie? Willingly? Her Ruthie had been vulnerable on purpose? Rosie discreetly pinched herself. Not dreaming. Roots below, she never thought she would see the day Ruthie so much as breathed a word of their conversation to anyone. Perhaps her fondness for The Princess wasn't as performative as she thought.
Rosie winced as Lilith's nails bit into her thigh. She looked up to find her lover panting through gritted teeth, blackened eyes boring holes through Ruthie. The Radio Demon had looked away, resting her hands in her lap and giving Lucifer her full attention as he raved about some epidemic from 1518. She appeared unbothered, if one failed to note her sunken ears, and the way her fingers twitched at every sound.
"Those people danced until they died," Lucifer said, gesturing wildly as Charlie and Vaggi gaped in horror. "Worst part? We don't know where they are."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Heaven can't find 'em, I can't find 'em," he gestured to Lilith, "your mom couldn't find 'em, they're just, poof, gone."
"Lucifer, honestly," Ruthie tutted, her filter crackling at her wispy, soft tone, "you're scaring the poor things." She offered a toothy grin to the girls. "Walkathons are nothing like that, don't you worry. The only consequence for stopping is being eliminated from the competition."
"Sounds like something someone who wanted to sacrifice us all to Cthulhu would say."
"I would never do such a dastardly thing to Charlie and Vaggi."
Lucifer guffawed. "What, but the rest of us are fair game?!"
"Oh without a doubt. I'd do it just for fun."
"Hah! Yeah right! You'd be bored out of your mind without me around."
"I'm sure I would manage—"
"For fuck's sake, does it ever end?" Lilith snapped, crossing her arms and glaring at the not-quite couple across from her. "Are you two just allergic to being civil adults?" She cut her gaze to Lucifer, who flinched and shrunk. Very briefly, he looked at Ruthie, at the sliver of space between them, before jerking his gaze back down to his lap. "I know restraint isn't your strong-suit, Lucifer, but I'm sure even you can manage to not demand attention for five minutes while Charlie tries to actually run her business."
Lucifer hung his head, squeezing his hands in his lap.
"Mom—"
"And you, Alastor," she continued, and Rosie did not like the way she emphasized Ruthie's deadname, "you could stand to incorporate a little variety into your ideas. Must you turn everything into a competition, even when you know you're out of your depth?"
Ruthie hummed pleasantly. "Competition breeds motivation, my dear queen. Something our sorry bunch is sorely lacking. Now, of course our rabble would not be barred from dancing should they not wish to compete, but I believe a healthy goal to strive for would do wonders for those with less pleasant thoughts occupying their minds. Like Husker and our dear Cherri Bomb. They have been quite morose since Angel's departure."
Charlie's head dipped, her eyes watering.
Ah. Rosie had wondered where the spider had gone.
"And," Ruthie continued, giving Charlie a chuck on the chin to encourage her to meet her eyes, "the promise of a reward is sure to encourage participation."
"What would we offer?" Vaggi wondered, frowning in thought.
Charlie hummed, tapping her chin with the pen she had been chewing on. "How about: the winner gets to choose what we have for dinner the next night? F-food is really important to a lot of people; maybe it'll give them a chance to share a taste of their home with everyone else?"
Rosie couldn't help but smile. Charlie really was too sweet for Hell. Food was the way to anyone's heart. It had certainly guided her to Ruthie's on many occasions, and that woman had enough walls up to make America's newest dictator blush. She caught the aforementioned demon smiling softly at Charlie, who returned the look, though with a lopsided tilt.
Vaggi squeezed Charlie's hand. "That sounds great, Hun—" she said, just as Lilith tsked.
"It seems fairly pedestrian." She did not look away from Ruthie's pinched snarl, did not see her daughter deflate. "Why not give them something a little more exotic? I'm sure many of our would-be guests have lost someone to your father's unintentional extermination—"
Lucifer curled tighter into himself.
Charlie grimaced. "Mom—"
"Why not give them a chance for a little bit of payback? Maybe a dunk tank, or perhaps throwing tomatoes?"
"Okay, I get it!" Lucifer snapped, making everyone jump. The King was on his feet, huffing smoke through gritted teeth. His horns blazed with molten brimstone, glowing softly in the dim evening. His eyes were wet as they shifted to gold on red. "I'm a useless moron who wandered into an obvious trap and now everyone's either dead or miserable and it's all my fault, again! I'm sorry for being such a waste of space! Is that what you wanted?!"
Before Rosie could even think to stop her, Lilith shot to her feet, towering over Lucifer and growling. "Don't you dare try to pin your whiny little tantrum on me, Lucifer Morningstar! What I wanted was for you to grow the fuck up and be the man our daughter and I deserved, not this sad, empty clown who signs away people's lives to a yearly purge just so he can go back to hiding in his toys sooner!"
Rosie scrambled to her feet, reaching for her lover's clenched fists. "Lilith—"
"Don't touch me!"
Rosie grunted as a force hit her chest, knocking her onto her back. She grunted as the wind rushed out of her, squinting up at the ceiling as the overhead light tripled. Hands, Vaggi's hands, were pulling her up. Her head spun as she struggled to piece together what had even knocked her over in the first place. Vaggi's mouth was moving, and Rosie heard her voice, but no words. She looked over her shoulder, to Charlie, all horns and red eyes. She shot her occasional, worried glances, then turned her attention back to her parents.
There was yelling.
A rumble of reactive magic.
Pleading.
And, behind it all, static.
A buzz that grew and grew until it swallowed every other noise in the room. Rosie's ears were ringing by the time it disappeared; as if it had never been there.
The first noise she heard was a shallow sob.
The second was a scoff.
The third was a familiar, comforting tongue. "Gade mwen."
Rosie opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—catching a glimpse of The King's hitching shoulders as he struggled to breathe through his tears. Ruthie stood in front of him, both hands on his shoulders as she bent to meet his eyes. "Lucifer." The King attempted to curl into himself, but Ruthie—to Rosie's shock—pulled him to her chest, holding him in place with one hand against his back, the other holding his bloodied nails away from his arms. "Luce, rete, rete. Rilaks."
Lucifer sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut and squirming in her hold, though he didn't seem committed to escape. Ruthie hushed him, swaying to the rhythm of the wordless jazz that crooned from the nearby radio. "Non, non, gade mwen."
Muffling a sob in her coat, Lucifer peeked up at her, chest hitching as he fought to swallow his tears. Ruthie only smiled, small and pleased. "La ou ye. Pa kriye. Pa gen pwoblèm." She released his hands. He tucked them against his chest, sniffling as he allowed Ruthie to guide him away from the lounge, pressing to her side all the while.
Strangely, she let him.
Charlie sniffled, a whine catching in her throat as she reached after them.
Ruthie threw a reassuring smile over her shoulder. "I believe a recess is in order. I'll be back in half an hour at the most to work out further details with you. Until then, you ladies had best have yourselves a much deserved drink." She shot a glare in Lilith's direction, her lip curling in disgust.
When she met Rosie's eyes, her brows rose very briefly. Perhaps surprised to find her on the floor.
Swallowing the shame that threatened to spew from her mouth in the form of grovelling, Rosie pushed herself onto wobbly legs, using the couch for balance. She studied those brilliant, cunning eyes, committing every mark, every crease to memory. Ruthie's company had been a lovely treat while it lasted. She hoped the other woman would find her own dress, in time. "Mwen regrèt sa."
Ruthie looked away, her static pitching as she led The King up the stairs. "Trè byen, vini avè mwen."
She watched Lucifer scrub his cheeks as he soaked up the touch, rubbing his forehead against Ruthie's ribs as if using her to scratch an itch. "Mèsi, Ruru."
Ruthie tsked, but made no further comment as the duo disappeared around the upper right corner.
So he knew too. Interesting. If she had had to put money on it, Lucifer would have been the last name she would have picked for Ruthie to confide in. Perhaps he had simply known because he was The Devil? Perhaps because he was—or had been—and angel? Perhaps Ruthie had been much closer with him then she had led Rosie to believe. Masterful work, if that was the case. She hadn't seen Ruthie so worked up about someone since Vox. For it to all have been an act to mask a growing friendship? Plausible, knowing Ruthie, but Rosie didn't think it to be the case. Ruthie was good at hiding emotions, but showing them, even if only pretend? Not so much.
Lilith turned abruptly, rubbing her temples and sighing. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I hate arguing in front of you. I just can't stand to see him treat this like a joke when it's clearly so important to you. It's not fair for him to just sit there and banter with his new boyfriend while the rest of us do all the heavy lifting."
Rosie grimaced, her insides twisting at the misgendering. She didn't think Lilith was doing it maliciously. Charlie and Lucifer might know already, somehow, but Vaggi was still a mystery. She hadn't seemed surprised by Charlie's earlier slip of the tongue, but she had also been rather distracted.
"They're not dating," the former angel said, sharp eyes cutting from Rosie to Lilith. "They're just weird."
Lilith huffed out an empty laugh and shook her head. "Is that what he told you?"
"I asked, and got a very firm 'no', followed by what basically amounted to 'I would rather kill myself' in response. So, no, they're not together."
"People lie, Hun. Especially sinners like him."
"There would be no reason to lie to either of us about that," Vaggi said. "It would just complicate our working relationship, and Shitlord hates complications that don't only fuck over other people. The Radio Demon's nothing if not professional."
Lilith barked out a laugh, whipping around to glare at her. "You call that professional?"
"What, participating in the discussion and offering input instead of just slumping into the couch and seething? Yeah, I'd say that's plenty professional."
Even at a side view Rosie could feel the cut of Vaggi's cold steel glare.
Lilith bared her fangs, jaw locked and fists clenched at her sides as she took a sharp breath, readying a verbal hurricane.
"I think a recess is a good idea," Charlie said first, head hanging low and arms wrapped around herself. Without looking up, she shuffled away from the coffee table and towards the kitchen.
Vaggi sighed, scooped up the four empty mugs Rosie hadn't registered before, and trotted after her girlfriend.
A sheet of gloom draped over the lounge. The air was thick with Hell's usual humidity and the lingering acid of the royal couple's argument. Rosie had expected an eruption at some point; what she hadn't expected was just how antagonistic her lover would act. If she didn't know her so well, she would have thought she was trying to get Lucifer to snap. Him or Ruthie, honestly, but Ruthie did not 'snap'. In all their decades together, she had never seen the other woman do more than huff and speak in a waspish tone.
Strong, cold hands took hers. "Oh, Doll, are you alright?" Lilith brushed down her skirts, patting away dust bunnies and severed roach legs. "I'm sorry, I honestly wasn't trying to push you so hard, I just wanted to keep my personal bubble." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I never could knock Lucifer down when we wrestled, even when I was trying. I forget you're all not as sturdy, sometimes."
Rosie shrugged and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm alright. You know I don't bleed, anyhow."
"Yes, but I'd hate to blemish that sweet face of yours."
Rosie accepted the tap on her nose with a hum.
"Care to join me in my room? We can talk more in private."
They made their way to the elevator in comfortable silence. Rosie had hoped to squeeze a few more minutes out of Charlie, ask how she had found out about Ruthie, maybe figure out if Vaggi knew too, but Lilith's company had been sorely missed over the last seven years. It would be nice to have her in a relaxed setting, just the two of them. No past ties to trigger her need for control, no instigator to rile her up. It would be nice to just be girlfriends again.
Instead of third-wheeling her own relationship as she watched her lover drink and lament over how little attention her ex husband was paying her.
…It had been a life-altering relationship for Lilith. Rosie understood that. She was a patient woman. It was simply frustrating, sometimes, hearing her complain about the same things without making an effort to change them.
Rosie adjusted her hat as they stepped out of the lift, unsure of what else to do with her hands. She wanted to hold Lilith's, try to ground her, but she wasn't sure it would be welcome. Her lover had been rather touch-averse these past few weeks.
Months.
Years.
It wasn't her fault. She was stressed. All she wanted was a life she didn't feel trapped in. She deserved that, after everything she had gone through. Rosie wanted to help her find it. A middle ground where she didn't have to… be around her bad memories so much, but could still pop in to check on Charlie from time to time. Being stuck here with Lucifer must not be doing her mental health any good. Perhaps that was why she wouldn't stop talking about him and snapping at him.
The door to Lilith's suit creaked as she pushed it open. She waited by the entrance, gaze cutting to Rosie expectantly. Rosie shuffled inside quickly. The room had been almost completely remodeled by magic. Reds and pinks bleached to white and lavender. Sharp edges filed down to elegant curves. Extravagant rugs and art adorned the floor and walls. An imposing canopy bed sat in the very center of the room, rich violet curtains drawn shut. A half empty bottle of wine rested in a bucket of ice on the nightstand.
With a half-sigh half-growl, Lilith sank into one of the high-back chairs near her metal fireplace, drawing the wine and a crystal glass to her side with a crook of her finger. She poured until it looked fit to overflow, then took a long, slow sip. Rosie watched her swallow, watched the furrow in her brows melt, watched her finally relax. She turned to Rosie, one brow arched. "Are you just going to stand there like a voyeur?"
Rosie chuckled and made her way to the other chair.
As she sat, Lilith snapped another glass into existence, offering it without looking up. "No, thank you."
With a huff, the spare glass disappeared. "It wouldn't kill you to imbibe once in a while."
Rosie's smile tightened. She had explained at length why she didn't drink multiple times. It was getting tiresome. "I prefer to keep a sharp mind at all times."
Lilith whipped her head towards her. "What are you trying to say?"
Rosie jumped, feeling like she had tripped despite being seated. "Just that I don't drink. We've had this discussion before."
Lilith scoffed and looked away, setting her glass down much harder than necessary.
Rosie let out a slow breath. "Lily, I'm not Lucifer. I'm not going to judge you for indulging, certainly not behind your back. If I have a problem, I'll say it to your face, as I have for the past 20 years."
Her lover tensed, then sighed, slumping back in her seat. "I know. I'm sorry." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's just so infuriating, it makes me crazy."
Aaand there went a pleasant evening.
"Sitting there playing with his stupid ducks when Charlie's trying to talk to him. Honestly he's lucky I was even keeping him up to date on the conversation. I don't know why I even bothered! If he's so willing to suck up to the first leech to give him a crumb of attention, why should I be carrying both his and my relationship with our daughter? He can pay attention his damn self next time!" She scoffed, snatching her glass and taking a gulp. "And of course that fucking brown-nosing cretin has to butt into every conversation I try to have with my daughter and my husband. Like he fucking has a right to be here anymore. I don't know what sort of game he's trying to play, but I have half a mind to—!"
"Wait, wait a moment," Rosie held up a hand, head spinning as she failed to keep up. "Who's this brown-noser you're talking about?"
Lilith frowned in confusion. "Uh, Alastor? Rosie, come now, you were sitting right there."
"… You mean Ruthie."
A scoff and a wave of her hand was her only response. "Whatever. The red bitch."
Indignance burned up Rosie's chest, settling at the back of her throat. She brought her clenched fists into her lap, away from the vulnerable arms of her chair. "No. Her name is Ruthie. You know that; you went to great lengths to learn it."
The bitterness in her tone was not lost to The Queen. "Are you seriously going to argue semantics with me right now?! After everything he put me through today, you're taking his side over something so small?"
"Lilith—"
"Don't interrupt me!" She flew out of her chair, whipping her glass across the room. It shattered against the wall. Splotches of red stained the rug and wallpaper; blood in fresh snowfall. Two darkened hands slammed on either side of Rosie's chair, blocking her in. Lilith's sclera bled to black, her burning lavender irises foggy with Port and outrage.
For one moment, Rosie was small, cowering from her father's rage without her sisters to hold her through it.
"That little shit has done nothing but mock and belittle me in front of my daughter, in front of my husband, since the moment I stepped into this sham of a hotel! I can't fucking breathe without him making some comment about it! He acts like I have no place in my own damn life, and now you're getting on my case over a stupid word?!"
A flash of movement to her right.
The crunch of splintered wood.
Rosie flinched as the fist burst through the chair, inches away from her cheek. Lilith huffed an alcohol-soured snarl into her face, jaw trembling with how hard she clenched it. "I invited you up here in the hopes that at least my lover would be supportive and comforting, but if you're just going to blame me for other people's cruelty, you can get out!" She ripped her arm out of the chair, chest heaving, drink-bleary gaze burning with hurt.
Rosie swallowed dryly. Her muscles were locked, rusted in place like the tin man. Confusion, outrage, and distress took turns squeezing her lungs until she could hardly suck in a proper breath. She could barely hear Lilith's sniffling over the blood rushing in her ears. Hesitantly, she lifted a trembling hand to the hole in the chair. Brushed her fingertips over the cracked wooden planks, the exposed stuffing, the loose nails. She slid her touch to her own cheek. Felt her jaw shake with every inhale.
"Well?!" Lilith whirled around, tears staining her flushed cheeks. "What are you still doing here?!"
With a jolt, Rosie scrambled to her unsteady feet. She stumbled backwards, out the door and a good two hallways away. Only once she could no longer hear her lover's weeping did she lean against the closest wall, fighting to catch her breath.
Had… that really happened?
She knew Lilith had a temper, but she had never behaved so… brutishly. Had Rosie truly struck such a sore spot? She didn't think she had said anything too untoward. Perhaps Lilith was more drunk than she had thought? But even drunk, Lilith had never raised a hand at her before.
Chest tight, Rosie sank to the floor, hand hovering over her racing heart. It wasn't quite the same as raising a hand; she hadn't actually struck her. And she never would, of that Rosie was certain. She supposed mounting frustration was simply one hell of a poison.
Rosie would return to her once she had sobered up. They still had to plan around Ruthie's obvious scheming, and Lucifer's unpredictable involvement. Much as Lilith yearned for a fresh start, away from the drama and chaos of the pride ring, and even from Hell, they couldn't do that until Charlie and the hotel were taken care of.
Ending it was no longer an option—not that Rosie had ever seen the value in that, but, well, she wasn't the one holding the leash—so that left Plan B: help Charlie establish enough connections in Heaven that even Lucifer couldn't fuck this up for her, then find a nice white sand beach to settle down on. At least for Lilith. Rosie had no intention of leaving her cannibals behind (and she was not looking forward to that conversation).
Sucking in a slow breath, she pushed herself to her feet, using the wall for support.
Rosie was no stranger to breakups. Husbands, boyfriends, toys, she had eaten so many over the years she had lost count. It was in part thanks to her late deal with Lilith that she had managed to stay ahead of them all. No man shall ever outsmart, outwit, outmaneuver, outlast, nor out-muscle, lest they find themselves at the mercy of my appetite.
She had spent far too much of her life at the mercy of power-hungry men. Of course she had bested them all eventually, but the extra security was a great comfort. Though, she supposed the both of them really should have foreseen the Ruthie loophole.
Rosie frowned again. They hadn't exactly talked about it in depth, but she had assumed her lover was not in the business of bigotry. She hadn't thought it was a discussion they needed to have, all things considered. Trans women, hell, any type of trans person, any type of gay person, was a dime a dozen in Hell. As mundane and unnewsworthy as a blood stain on the pavement. If Lilith had such a problem with it, it would have come up before today. No, this was a Ruthie-exclusive transphobic tirade.
How petty.
Rosie herself had been angry with Ruthie plenty of times—the woman had a gift when it came to pushing buttons—but she had never felt the need to spit such personal vitriol. Ruthie was a woman when she was charming and polite, and she was still a woman when she was a pain in the derriere.
Not that Ruthie would have been bothered until recently. Still, Rosie had always referred to her as a woman in her head. It was simply what she was; Rosie had held the physical proof in her hands. To deny her that, and over something so childish as competing for another man's attention—the man she had divorced, no less—it left a bad taste in Rosie's mouth.
She knew Lilith wasn't quite over Lucifer (she still called him her husband for someone's sake—unless he was around to hear it), but that level of possessiveness was unbecoming. Rosie herself had certainly enjoyed having dominion over one so dangerous and powerful as Ruthie, and the two of them had been somewhere between coworkers and partners for decades, but The Radio Demon had won her freedom fair and square. If she wanted space, Rosie would respect that to the best of her ability.
Missing her would pass.
It always did.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she hesitated before the library door. She could feel the familiar prickling of Ruthie's magic as she brushed her fingertips over the wood. Wards. They nipped at her the closer she got. Simple enough to disassemble, since she knew Ruthie's magic so well. Instead, she withdrew her hand, intending to keep walking until she found someplace private to think.
And then she heard a snort.
Throaty, loud, and sonorous.
With a tilt of her head, she shuffled closer and pressed her ear to the door. There was another snort, followed by muffled gasps, and a tinny chuckle. Someone was talking, but she couldn't make out any words. Another snort, and then a burst of layered laughter, loud enough to rattle the nearby flower pot. Rosie shook her head, willing her ears to stop ringing. Without thinking, she plucked a loosened magical thread from the wards. Once they unraveled, she slowly turned the doorknob. The moment she opened a slit to peak through, high-pitched and breathy giggles hit her like a wave.
On the worn brown leather couch, its back facing the door, sat Ruthie (though Rosie could only see her ears and the top half of her head). She looked to be wrestling with someone, and clearly winning, if her cocky laughter was anything to go by. A petit black hoof adorned with red dew claws that faded to apple's flesh on the bottom hung over the arm of the couch. Muscles locked, occasionally kicking at nothing. Over the other arm, she could just barely see two hands, blackened claws occasionally twitching, locked at the wrists in a death hold by a much larger, red-tipped grip.
Another series of hiccups and snorts filled the air. "F-fUck yoU—!" Lucifer was cut off by his own squeal.
Ruthie laughed like she had expected as much, and she ducked lower. The sudden toot of a blown raspberry made Rosie jump. Lucifer shrieked with laughter, his hoof kicking at nothing, his claws flexing uselessly. Rosie saw his hat laying at the side of the couch, clearly having lost its battle with gravity as Lucifer failed to throw Ruthie off of him.
"R-Ruthie—!"
Another raspberry.
"Ruthie—!"
Another.
"You—youuu!"
Another.
"S-stop you—haha! Thi-this is ridicu-u-ulous!"
"You crumble so nicely, Lulu."
"Stop—!" Lucifer sang with laughter, choppy breaths hitching with each aborted kick of his hoof. "I swear to whatever the fuck's listening I will find a way to kill you!"
"I'm shaking," Ruthie drawled, dipping lower and earning herself a hiccuped sob.
"Nonononono—!"
"Look at how you tremble, and I'm not even touching you~"
"Sh-shut up you fff—!"
Ruthie chuckled as Lucifer failed to throw her off again. "Lovely. A smile really does suit you best, ti kanna." She grinned, shifting closer, and Lucifer squealed, both hooves kicking uselessly under the assault. "How cute you can be. I could just squeeze you until you pop."
Lucifer shrieked, twisting and writhing as Ruthie began to tickle him in earnest.
Rosie shut the door with a soft click. She tip-toed away, unable to keep the grin off her face. She was glad that, despite everything, Ruthie managed to find herself a home in the hotel. Managed to find a group she was willing to come out to, even if her hand had been forced. She hoped she still got to enjoy her womanhood, despite all this stress.
With a huff, Rosie made her way down the stairs, back towards the lounge. Maybe Charlie and Vaggi would welcome some extra input on catering for their potential Walkathon.
Notes: I am once again apologizing to Lilith (and to everyone else) for writing her like this (they could never make me hate you queen but I needed an antagonist for the story to work).
If you see the name 'Rosie' where it should say 'Ruthie', or vice versa, no you don't (let my dyslexic ass liiive)
Haitian Creole translations (pls note I am in no way fluent in this language, but I am fluent in both France french and Quebecois, so I did recognize several words once I sounded them out, though I have no way of knowing if the grammar is correct):
Gade mwen= look at me
Luce, rete, rete. Rilaks= Luce, stop, stop. Relax
La ou ye. Pa kriye. Pa gen pwoblèm= There you are. Don't cry. It's okay
Mwen regrèt sa= I'm sorry
Trè byen, vini avè mwen= Very good, come with me
Mèsi, Ruru= Thanks, Ruru
Ti kanna= Little duck
Vaggi didn't consider herself to be paranoid. She liked to think she was one of the more level-headed people at Hazbin. So, when she stepped out of the elevator and spotted Alastor on his way up the stairs, carrying two mugs; one seemingly his usual bloody dark roast, the other covered in whipped cream, marshmallows, and cinnamon sugar, she resisted the urge to approach. He and Lucifer had been getting along lately (if one could call pigtail pulling 'getting along'), so it wasn't unusual to catch The Radio Demon on his way to a visit.
She bit her tongue as Alastor approached the unassuming door, not sparing the sign any glances.
Lucifer was a grown man. He didn't need her protection. If he could be used as a holy battery pack and bounce back after a nap, he could handle Alastor's terrible puns.
Yeah. He'll be fine.
…Maybe she should linger. Just for a few minutes. Make sure Alastor wasn't pulling his usual creep-shtick. Not that she thought Lucifer would fall for that, but, well, she hadn't thought he would wander into an obvious trap, either, but. Here they were.
Lucifer's door swung open, narrowly avoiding Alastor's face as it slammed into the wall.
Vaggi jumped, stumbling back a few steps as The Queen of Hell stormed out of the room. Lilith's hair whipped around her from the force of her magic. Cold, grimy energy coated the hall like infection; the humid air reeking of sour milk. Vaggi staggered into the wall, her legs fighting against the weighted rage, as if she were wading through silt.
"Feel free to come find me when you're ready to act like an adult!" Lilith made a cut across the air, and the door slammed shut behind her. With a huff, she started down the hall, only to freeze when she spotted Alastor.
Vaggi saw his back tense. His ears twitched as he forced then up straight. His grip on the mugs tightened, making the abundance of whipped cream and marshmallows shake. "Your Grace," he greeted evenly, stepping aside with a small bow and placing the mugs on the railing.
The half of Lilith's expression Vaggi could see twisted from a snarl to a restrained, closed-mouth smile. "Mm. Lucifer's little Alley-Cat coming to drop his spoils by the door, I see."
Vaggi shuddered at the reminder of Lucifer's new nickname choice. It sounded like the type of thing a romantic partner would call their boyfriend; way too cutesie for someone like Alastor. Worse even; Alastor seemed to like it—at least when Lucifer said it. She swore she saw him wriggle in delight the last time Lucifer had called him that. Weirdos, the both of them.
"I would be careful, Majesty," Alastor hissed through his teeth, static pitching as his ears flicked backwards, then stood straight up again. "Our king is very particular about his nicknames, and he's not fond of sharing."
Lilith bared her fangs.
"Oh, but I'm sure you must know that already, considering just how long you were married."
"Longer than your life and afterlife combined," Lilith growled, black and purple energy crackling with every step she took, trudging into Alastor's space. "Long before you were even a concept in God's decrepit mind."
"I'm certain," Alastor said, leaning his hip against the balcony railing. "Well, do enjoy your time apart. Goodness knows you've indulged plenty in the single life."
He spoke very plainly, but the fact that he brought it up at all told Vaggi it bothered him. Alastor typically avoided any talk of romance and sex in general, even 'entertaining' topics like breakups and fights. She knew from one enlightening, drunken conversation (mostly one-sided) that Alastor had never even bothered to seek out his first kiss, though he had allowed a few when he was alive. Three women and one man, if she recalled correctly. He hadn't remembered any of their names or faces, only the disinterest and disgust he had felt when their lips touched (which he described in just enough detail to make her cringe, the prick).
…Fuck, maybe him and Lucifer really were friends, if he was upset on his behalf about something as mundane as an unfaithful partner. Not that Lilith had really cheated on Lucifer; Charlie had reluctantly admitted that their relationship had been open, and Lucifer had confirmed it when she asked. It felt a little unfair that Lilith had been the only one exploring while Lucifer waited for her to come home, but he had assured both her and Charlie that it was what he preferred. Vaggi believed him; Lucifer didn't seem like the type who could handle more than one lover. Ew, okay, no more using the term lover anywhere remotely close to Alastor and Lucifer's friendship. Alley-Cat was enough of a headache.
FWAP!
Vaggi jumped, snapping her head up.
Alastor's head was turned, his eyes locked on the wall to his right. He blinked, brows high in shock as he slowly turned back to the fuming queen.
She lowered her arm, her hand still held flat and tense. "Watch your tone with me, Pet."
Vaggi could barely breathe.
"Don't worry 'bout them, Kitten," Adam had purred, grabbing her face, forcing her to turn her back on her sister as Lute dragged her away. Vaggie could hardly hear her garbled shrieking over the blood rushing in her ears. "Lute's just gotta tire herself out a bit. Hey," his grip on her face tightened, "how'd you like to help tire me out?"
Alastor's hum vibrated with feedback. His shoulders rose as he inhaled, and then he spat, directly onto her shoe. Lilith shrieked like she had been stabbed and scrambled away. "Ooo, two for two. Rosie doesn't like to share her nicknames either." He tilted his head. "You're quite hopeless when it comes to your partner's preferences, aren't you?"
Lilith snarled and reared back to strike him again.
Vaggi moved before she could resister what she was doing, parrying the backhand and knocking Lilith off her feet with a sweep of her leg. The Queen grunted as she hit the floor. With a hiss, she scrambled to her knees, only pausing when she registered the angelic spear tip pressed to her nose. Vaggi grit her teeth, hands trembling as she realized what she had just done. If Charlie ever found out…
She hardened her stance. "I don't care if you're The Queen of Hell or God Himself; you do not get to hit our staff." She yanked her spear back to her side, slamming the butt to the ground. "And I'd better not hear you call him a pet, ever again."
Lilith snarled, shooting to her feet so quickly that Vaggi barely registered the hand at her collar until she was dangling above the floor. "You arrogant little—!"
A heavy gust knocked the wind out of her.
A boom! echoed in her ears.
Static shook the walls.
When Vaggi squinted her eye open, half of her vision was blurred by red. Coarse fabric scratched her cheek. A rickety, croaking snarl ripped through the air, making her very bones buzz.
"That's quite enough."
Vaggi blinked, pushing away from The Radio Demon's enormous chest. Alastor was cradling her in one large hand like some sort of damsel, the other squeezing Lilith as he snarled in her face. "Our Charlie may be naively optimistic, but if there is one thing she will not tolerate, it is mistreatment towards those she holds dear." He lifted Vaggi slightly, as if for emphasis. "Unless you want your threat to her paramour's person—as well as that lovely little talk you had with her father—to act as her alarm clock tomorrow morning, I suggest you find somewhere else to be."
He squeezed just tight enough to make Lilith grimace before dropping her like a doll he had lost interest in. She hit the floor with a groan as Alastor shrank back down, still managing to hold Vaggi with one hand. She tried not to be awkward about it when he set her down next to him, taking two large steps out of his personal space and dusting herself off. She caught him adjusting his monocle, then swiping blood off his chin with one lick. His left cheek was swollen, four thin claw marks adorning it.
The sight left Vaggi's stomach in knots. Why had he just let her hit him? She knew he could have shadowed out of range, or blocked the hit, hell even biting her hand would have worked! It wasn't like Charlie would be mad over it, her mom had hit him! She would have understood; she wasn't that much of a doormat. Did Alastor think otherwise? Vaggi had never seen him just, take disrespect like he had been doing with Lilith. If anyone else had dared to call him Alley-Cat, they would have been chewed and swallowed without preamble. What was he so afraid of?
Lilith growled as she staggered to her feet. If looks could kill, Alastor would be dead a thousand times over. "You're never going to keep his attention if you're content to paint that disgusting of a picture in public. It's a wonder no one mistakes you for a troll." With that, she spun on her heel and stormed towards the elevator.
Vaggi watched her slam the call button until the shaft finally arrived. She stomped inside, repeatedly pressing the ground floor button while snarling at the two of them. Vaggi couldn't help but scoff. "Couldn't be that desperate to get away if she's willing to wait for that old-ass elevator."
Alastor hummed out a laugh and spun towards the railing. He retrieved the two mugs, somehow still intact and warm. "Ah, but Vaggi, Hell's illustrious queen is above taking the stairs like a peasant."
"So she'll take the elevator like a lazy peasant?"
Another soft snort. "I do not claim to understand the minds of the privileged."
A blur of movement caught her eye.
Alastor's shadow had stretched down the hall, eyeing its master with wide, pleading eyes as it mimed scratching at Lucifer's door. Uttering a staticky sigh, Alastor waved a dismissive hand. The shadow beamed and slipped under the door. Alastor, though, stayed behind, eyes locked on Vaggi as he brought his own mug—back to the classic 'oh, deer!' today—to his lips.
She shuffled in place, unsure if he was waiting for her to leave, or if he was waiting for her to say something. "So… you and Lucifer seem to be getting along—"
"No, we are not 'together'," Alastor snapped, static pitching in annoyance, "and if anyone else deigns to ask, I'll be eating 50 sinners at random on my next stroll to Cannibal Town."
Vaggi cringed. She couldn't say she wasn't at least a little relieved to hear it, but still; dramatic much? "Don't," she sighed, shaking her head. "No one's trying to insult you, or whatever you think."
"Hm."
She huffed. "Look, I know you want something from him."
"But of course." He shrugged one shoulder. "Everyone wants something from everyone. Charlie wants love from you, and you from her. You both want power from me, utilized to protect our hotel. I'd like some common sense from Charlie, and a tad more decorum from you," he gestured to her with his mug, smirking.
Vaggi rolled her eyes. "And what do you want from Lucifer?"
"Power, of course." He chuckled at her bristle. "Now, now, none of that. I'm certain he won't allow me to run amok with it. Do relax."
"If you do anything to hurt Charlie or the hotel—!"
Alastor's ear flicked, his brows pinching as he took another sip. "I have never intended to do any such thing, and I shan't change my mind any time soon." He finished his own drink, sending it away in a blip of darkness. Cradling Lucifer's in both hands, he reheated it with a whisper of buzzing magic. "You're all quite the enjoyable collective. Quirky. Interesting. Entertaining. And I always take good care of what's mine."
Vaggi gave him a dry look. "Wow. That was almost sweet."
Alastor wrinkled his nose. "I should certainly hope not."
"Don't worry, your precious reputation will survive."
"Hm." With a snap, his swollen cheek was swallowed by shadowy glamour, concealing the injury.
Vaggi chewed the inside of her cheek, hesitating only for a moment before approaching The Radio Demon. Alastor watched her warily as she lifted both hands, and blew frost into her palms. She shaped it into a flat circle, and gave it a boost; watching it fly up to his face and plant itself on his hidden injury. Alastor's eyes widened as it faded into his skin.
"That should help with the swelling."
He brushed his fingertips across his cheek. "Well, that's handy. Pray, from whom did you pick up that little trick?"
It was as close to a thank you as Vaggi would ever get. "Every Exorcist knew basic medical magic. For training mishaps. Fuck knows Adam and Lute couldn't be bothered to stop eye-fucking for five minutes to come tend to new recruits."
Alastor grimaced. "Ah. Repugnant behaviour."
"Tell me about it."
They lapsed into silence again. Without a mug to sip, Alastor resorted to twirling Lucifer's, watching as the whipped cream slowly melted, then reforming it with a wave of magic. Every time Vaggi made to leave, his gaze would dart up, locking on her until she stopped, then drifting back down to the mug again. Part of her was annoyed; it was well past her own bedtime, and she was missing out on precious hours to cuddle with Charlie.
Another, bigger part was curious. And a little concerned. Alastor was never this quiet. He kept looking up, then averting his gaze, his ears pinning back whenever he met her gaze for too long. Eventually, he growled, closed his eyes, and, through the radio perched on the table to Vaggi's right, he spoke.
I—have—something to—tell you.
It was choppy and garbled; bits of songs and show segments slapped together, like those ridiculous 'spirit boxes' humans claimed could communicate with ghosts.
Vaggi furrowed her brows. "Oookay?"
Alastor sighed through his nose, ducking his head to hide behind his bangs. He cleared his throat, then unlocked his jaw to speak normally. "Apologies, it… is quite challenging to get my tongue around it. But, it will be public knowledge soon enough whether I like it or not." He hunched. "At the very least, I'd like to tell you all on my own terms."
"Alastor, you're kinda freaking me out."
"Oh, you flatterer." He laughed, though it was empty. "It's nothing bad. Just." He grunted and gestured vaguely with one hand.
Vaggi turned fully to face him. "Okay. I'm listening." She watched him open and close his mouth a few more times before groaning and pressing the heel of one palm to his forehead. His shoulders hitched, though Vaggi couldn't tell if it was from laughter or… something else.
He shook his head, then sighed, deflating as his jaw locked once more. The radio buzzed to life, jumping from channel to channel. For a while, there was only static.
Then:
My name is—Ruthie~—and—I feel like a woman~
Vaggi gaped.
Blinked rapidly.
Looked up at Al—at Ruthie, who had hunched even further forward, like she was ready to melt into a pool of shadows and live out the rest of her days under a rock.
She was coming out to Vaggi, of all people? Well, she supposed she would have to know eventually, but she still felt strangely honored. That Ruthie would take the time to tell her, instead of letting her find out on her own, or letting someone else tell her.
She smiled, small and proud, and approached the nervous Radio Demon, extending a hand. "Thank you for telling me. It's nice to meet you, Ruthie."
Ruthie scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm before bringing it back down to grip Lucifer's cocoa like a lifeline. Her throat bobbed, and the radio choked on a static-laced whimper before going dormant once again. With a soft exhale, she unlocked her teeth, dipping her head to stare at the melted marshmallows.
Hesitantly, she took Vaggi's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you." She spoke as if someone had turned the volume down on her voice box, but Vaggi heard her anyway. Slowly, she let go of her hand, hovering her palm over the cocoa to reheat and redecorate once again.
Vaggi offered a nod in acknowledgement. She never would have guessed this was the conversation she would be having before bed, but, The Radio Demon was nothing if not unpredictable. She wondered how long Ruthie had known this about herself. Who else knew? Who would she be comfortable telling before Vaggi? Rosie, maybe. Or that Mimzy friend of hers. "Hey, what did you mean everyone will know soon whether you like it or not?"
Ruthie tensed. "Don't you worry about that. Things will resolve themselves eventually."
"I'm not gonna ignore it if someone's trying to out you, that's not fucking okay. Is it fucking Vox? I swear to god I'll kill him—!"
Hands, wispy and cold, grabbed her shoulders from behind, squeezing once.
"It's not Box."
Vaggi whipped around and caught Lucifer mid-step out of his room. Dressed in his usual oversized sweater and sleep pants, he shut the door carefully, cringing at the cracked plaster from Lilith's earlier slamming. His cheeks were blotchy, the usual pink dots flushed a ruddy red surrounded by sunny orange. Limp, messy hair hung over his shoulders, mussed as if he had been running his hands through it. Crimson eyes shot with golden blood vessels crinkled as he offered her a tired smile. "Hey, Maggi. Sorry you had to, uh, see all that before." He wheezed out a laugh. "Ahem. Lilith's, uh, really not taking mine and Ruthie's friendship well." He shot The Radio Demon a playful glare. "And that little instigator isn't helping."
Ruthie grinned, and Vaggi never thought the sight would be a relief. "I can hardly help it. If she's going to prance around, bragging about how much better off she is without you, she should hold her tongue when someone else decides to give you a try."
Vaggi cringed. "Ew. Don't say it like that."
"I'll say whatever I want, however I please, thank you very much."
Lucifer laughed, the sunny orange flush spreading over his whole face. "Anyways. Lilith thinks we're together—gosh, I wonder why—and she isn't happy about it."
Vaggi frowned. "Why? You're divorced, it's none of her business."
Lucifer guffawed, doubling over and slapping his knee. "Oh, boy! Hah! Good luck telling her that! Haha! Hah…" He cleared his throat. "Anyways. She, uh, well…" He looked up at Ruthie, gnawing on his lower lip as he searched her eyes.
Ruthie sighed and turned to face Vaggie properly. "Before I arrived in Hell, I made a deal with Rosie. For a long while, she held my soul, so, she knew about," she gestured to herself, "this, long before I could even fathom it. After the ordeal with Vox, I managed to free myself, and she felt obligated to break the news, as it were. Much as I loath to admit it; I never would have considered it if left to my own devices."
Vaggie nodded in acknowledgement. "As long as you're happy. But what does Lilith have to—wait, she knows?"
Lucifer cringed.
Ruthie nodded. "Lilith has been entangled with Rosie for quite some time. She always finds out what she knows, eventually." She huffed. "It's beyond Rosie's control. I understand that well."
"You're still allowed to be upset with her," Lucifer assured. "I'd be fucking pissed."
"You're already 'fucking pissed', Lu."
"Sure am!" He chirped, huffing out fire.
Ruthie shook her head, finally handing over the hot chocolate. Lucifer trilled, his tail perking right up as he clutched the mug with both hands and took an eager sip. "Fuuuck yes." He sidestepped closer to Ruthie and nudged her arm with his forehead, rubbing like he was using her to scratch an itch. As common a tactile affection to angels as a hug was to humans. "Thanks, Ruru."
Ruthie scoffed, shoving him away and crossing her arms. "Stop with that ridiculous nickname already," she hissed, cheeks visibly flushed despite her thin coat of fur.
"N'aww, you like it."
"Imbecile."
Lucifer gasped dramatically. "Mean to me!!"
"You like it."
He snorted and took another sip. "Yeah. I have terrible tastes in women."
Ruthie laughed, covering her mouth with one hand.
Vaggi wondered if she was already in bed with Charlie and this was all a surreal nightmare.
"Getting back on track, once Lilith learned of my freedom, I suppose she wanted a way to try and… keep me in check. Perhaps blackmail me into handing my soul back, or into her own well-manicured hands." She chuckled. "She certainly doesn't know me very well."
Vaggi lifted a brow. "Okay. Not trying to victim-blame, because what she's doing to you is fucking gross, but you knew she knew this deeply personal information about you, and decided to openly flirt with the ex she's weirdly possessive over?"
"Worse. I decided to befriend him."
"And flirt with him," Lucifer drawled, bumping her hip with his.
She bumped him back. "Only when she's around to see it."
Vaggi pinched the bridge of her nose. Someone was going to have to explain to them what the definition of flirting was and it wasn't going to be her. She had done enough today. "Okay. Well. Ruthie, congrats on the estrogen. Sir, congrats on the girl who is a friend. I'm going to bed."
She turned on her heel, already feeling a migraine coming on.
"G'night, Maggi!" Lucifer called after her.
"Sweet dreams," Ruthie added.
Vaggi waved over her shoulder as she made her way downstairs.
Halfway to hers and Charlie's room, she cursed, remembering the inventory sheets she had intended to collect from Ruthie before bed. Grumbling, she trudged onward, opting to catch her in the morning and grab it then. She was probably tired, after Lilith's whole malfunction in the hall. And nervous, if what she said about Lilith's intention was true. Vaggi would leave her and Lucifer to their weird bedtime ritual, tonight.
She couldn't imagine the mother Charlie had fawned over outing someone out of jealousy, but, Charlie did have a bad habit of overlooking things. Especially in pursuit of her own desires. Vaggi liked that she was so driven, but she was getting a little tired of pointing out the obvious, only to watch the obvious slap her girlfriend in the face after being ignored.
Their room was dimly lit when Vaggi stumbled in. Charlie was sitting up in bed, a small stack of papers in her lap as she spoke to someone on her phone—the new one she had bought after the ordeal with Vox. A simple flip phone that could only call and text. Vaggi had one of a similar model. Her girlfriend offered a soft smile and wave before returning to her conversation.
Vaggi flopped down on her front, letting the well-loved cotton smother her pounding headache. A warm hand began to stroke her hair. "30 should last us plenty until next week... Perfect! Thank you… I'll pass it along, for sure! Bye!" There was a click, and then the bed dipped, and another hand slipped through her hair to rub her back. "Long day?"
Vaggi grunted.
Charlie hummed a few aimless notes, and with a pop, a full glass of water and two Tylenol appeared on the nightstand.
Vaggi reluctantly sat up and took the pills. "Thanks."
"No problem." Charlie adjusted the papers in her lap; the very inventory sheets Vaggi had neglected to grab. "Thanks for getting them sent down. I hope R—" her eyes widened, and she attempted to cover her hesitation with a cough. "Uh, I hope our favourite hotelier didn't give you too much trouble."
Vaggi shuffled to sit up properly, chugging the rest of the water and setting the glass aside. "Have you met Ruthie yet?"
Charlie sighed in relief. "Oh, good, she told you. I hate having to misgender her around everyone else—wait! She told you?!"
Vaggi nodded. "Just now."
Charlie squealed and grabbed her arms. "Oh my god, Vaggi!! She trusts us! She's opening up!!"
"I dunno about that. She said," Vaggi hesitated. How much would Ruthie have told Charlie? "She said it might be out in the open soon whether she wanted it to be or not, so she was telling us, or me at least, on her own terms."
Charlie deflated. "Yeah. She mentioned that to me, too, but she wouldn't tell me anything else."
God damn it.
"I mean, I know it probably has something to do with," she sniffled, "with when she was trapped with Vox. I know he can hypnotize people, but I didn't think she was susceptible to—"
"It's not Vox," Vaggi assured, resting her hands over Charlie's and squeezing. "She did tell me that, at least."
"Oh. Oh, good." She let out a long sigh. "I was scared he would out her to everyone across the pride ring. Maybe even Heaven, now that he has those… thingies Baxter built." She slumped back against the mountain of pillows. "I don't know who else would… I know she and Dad got off on the wrong foot before, but they seem to be getting along now. And he would never!"
"Considering I ran into her on her way to Lucifer's room, no, I don't think it's him."
Charlie tilted her head. "She was going into Dad's room?"
"Dropping off some hot chocolate, yeah."
Silence fell over the room. Charlie brought both hands to her chest, fidgeting and biting her lip. "Do you think…? I mean, she's kind of been… and he's been…"
"They're not together, Ruthie was adamant about that when I asked." Vaggi couldn't help but chuckle. "She seemed outright offended that I'd even consider it."
She tried not to show it, but Vaggi could tell by the slumped shoulders that Charlie was relieved. "Okay. Phew. Finding out about Rosie and Mom was enough of a surprise for me for one week."
Vaggi nodded and sunk into bed, tucking the plethora of new and childhood blankets up to hers and Charlie's chins. Her girlfriend hummed in approval, catching her hand to press a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. Vaggi smiled and let herself be guided to hold Charlie's face. "I still don't know how I feel about it. I know Dad said he knew and was okay with it, and Mom's certainly said her peace." She sighed. "And I know Rosie's good to her. I guess I just don't understand how Dad didn't… I dunno. Feel abandoned? Replaced?"
Vaggi stroked her cheek with her thumb. "I guess you'll have to ask him."
Charlie pouted. "He won't talk to me about it. That's why I'm so nervous." She nuzzled into Vaggi's touch. "I know there's polyamorous relationships and open relationships out there, obviously. This just doesn't feel like that. I mean, I don't even remember the last time I saw Mom wear her ring, even before the divorce." She sniffled. "It doesn't feel right. Every time they're in a room together, Mom looks like she's ready to rip her hair out unless Dad's all," she grimaced, "despondent."
Vaggi shuffled closer to hold Charlie to her chest. Her girlfriend eagerly leaned against her, nuzzling into the crook between her neck and shoulder with a huff. "Was it ever like that before?"
"I don't remember," Charlie admitted, her voice strained. "I hardly saw Dad unless I went looking for him. I don't remember seeing them fight much, but they never spent time together." She whimpered. "Maybe that's why they're fighting so much now."
Vaggi held her tighter. "Well. Ruthie and I did have a little talk with your mom, earlier. She was just leaving your dad's room when Ruthie was coming up. I think we got through to her a little." She hoped.
Charlie hugged her tight and tangled their legs together. "I just want them to be in the same room without Mom snapping at him over nothing."
Vaggi kissed her crown. "We'll make sure she knows that before she tries to join any staff meetings."
Charlie sighed, relaxing in her arms. "Thanks." She purred as Vaggi ran her hands through her hair, lightly scratching where her horns would emerge and massaging the back of her neck. Only once soft snores filled the silence did Vaggi stop. She reached across her snoozing girlfriend, setting the inventory papers aside and turning off the bedside lamp. She hoped Charlie wouldn't let wish fulfillment prevent her from standing up to her mom when she inevitably tried to ruin Ruthie's life.
Chapter 2: Now Made Without Butylated Hydroxytoluene
Charlie had always been fascinated with human traditions. She devoured books documenting Carnivals, Independence Days, and Days of Remembrance and Reconciliation. Her VHS collection was overflowing with amateur documentaries on Merrie Monarch Week, Eid-al-Fitr, and Kapa Haka Festivals. Even the popular ones enraptured her; pastel bunnies hiding little chocolate eggs, costumes and candy and moonlit nights, decorated pines and gifts and family. So many little pieces of humanity, of the freedom and light they all had inside them. How could she see so much vibrancy and not believe that all the souls who found their way down here could be better?
Of course, she never brought it up in front of her dad! Humanity itself was already a touchy subject for him, and the last thing she wanted was to stress him out! Especially now that her mom was back, whew boy, that was… still a thing! Gosh was it a thing.
All things considered, he was taking it well. He only locked himself in his room for five days this week! Going on six, but hey, it was better than all seven days last week! He… he would come around.
At least her mom was trying to talk to him, get him to come out more often. She usually left the room alone, angry, and silent, but hey, she was trying! And Charlie understood, she knew her dad was… difficult. Especially for her mom. But he meant well. She knew he did. She wished her mom could see that. It wasn't exactly comfortable to sit next to her while she drank from the top shelf and ranted about how useless he was, hah… that didn't feel like the type of thing adult children did with their parents.
Well, except maybe Alastor.
He could tell her his mother helped him hide his victims and she would believe it.
The aforementioned sinner clicked his tongue and tapped the stand-mixer she had forgotten about with a red-stained wooden spoon. "Don't over-mix, Sha."
"Oh shit!" She yanked the plug out of the socket, stopping it instantly.
Alastor chuckled. "The off switch would have sufficed, but that works too." He spared the simmering tomato soup a glance, then leaned over the mixing bowl to inspect the meringue. He lifted the mixer, studying the bit of cream that held its semi-curled shape rather well. "Stiff peaks. Well done."
Charlie sighed in relief.
"Now, don't celebrate yet." He retrieved the large bowl of custard she had mixed on the stove earlier. "Fold in half of the meringue until it's well combined. Then, we'll see about the rest."
Charlie gulped, eyeing each bowl dubiously.
"They will not bite you."
"I just don't wanna fuck it up. We've been doing so well…" She eyed the sinkful of reject dishes, all of which she had managed to ruin. A skipped step, too much milk, over-mixing, forgetting the custard on the stove while she chatted about potential new trust exercises, which Alastor had just let burn. The jerk.
Alastor hushed her. "Not so loud, Charlie, it'll hear you." He pointed to the bowls, grinning like the gremlin he was. "Never show your fear in front of baked goods, or something will go wrong. Now," he tapped her hand with the spoon, "get to mixing!"
She wanted to ask for his help, or better yet, ask him to do it for her, but she had been doing that too much lately. Alastor had been the only one with his head on straight during Vox's smear campaign. The minute he left the hotel, everything fell apart. She hadn't realized just how much he was taking off her plate until it was all dumped back on. He had waved away her apologies (probably just as sick of them as everyone else was getting), but she could at least tell he appreciated the lighter workload. It put him in a good enough mood to hold her hand through her first attempt at cooking, at least.
She had tried to bake before, a couple times. Alastor had banned her from the stove after her failed attempt at brownies had gunked up the oven and stank up the kitchen for months. How was she supposed to know not to fill the pan all the way? Why make so much batter, then?! And what did they mean baking powder and baking soda were different things?! How much of a difference could it possibly make to include the entire egg when the recipe called for just the whites? It was so wasteful, otherwise! How was something that looked so cute so stressful?
"That'll do," Alastor said, startling her. He studied the mixture, hummed, then took the bowl. "Good try. It's salvageable." He pressed the tomato-stained wooden spoon into her hands. "Go keep an eye on that soup while I fix this up."
Maybe she should be insulted, but they had been at this for hours, and at this point, she was just glad to have something made.
Throughout her human holiday binges, the two that always stuck out to her the most were Father's Day and Mother's Day. Even though her relationship with her parents was… well, Charlie was still grateful for the both of them. Her father had taught her how to dream. Her mother had raised her to fight for those dreams. She wouldn't be who she was today without them. They deserved something nice, some acknowledgement, at least. She knew she wasn't the best daughter. But they came back anyway. The least she could do was make them some food and a nice card.
Maybe one day she would be able to make it without being led by the hand through each step…
"The soup, Charlie."
She cursed and stirred a bit too fast, spilling some excess over the side. It hissed when it hit the burner, a small plume of black smoke rising. "Fucking damn it!"
"Now, now," Alastor said, eyes widening at her outburst. "It's alright, just a little spill. Nothing to get worked up over." He set the mixture aside, wiping up the half-charred soup with the rag hanging from his apron. It was a much softer look than Charlie had expected from him; clearly well-loved, faded to yellow over the years and decorated with little frills on the collar and the skirt. She wondered if maybe his mother had worn something similar. "There, see? All better."
"Thanks… sorry." She went back to stirring, the soup loose enough to tell her it had not charred the bottom of the pot. "I guess I'm just… I don't know. Nervous?"
"Whatever for?"
"I've never done this before. Any of this. Our family wasn't really close like this. We didn't do holidays. My first Sinsmas was, heh, just me, Razzle, and Dazzle, in the empty hotel." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up. "I ate a lot of cotton candy."
Alastor hummed in acknowledgment. Like a wisp, he drifted behind her, leaning far enough left to snatch a baking sheet that held two ramekins; already brushed with butter and sugar. Charlie chewed on her lip as she watched him transfer the mixture into each bowl. Nothing spilled. There wasn't even any spare batter clinging to the sides of the dishes. How was he just naturally good at everything? It wasn't fair.
"Well, then, you can hardly be blamed for stumbling your way through it. I find it quite endearing. My mother did as well, during my finger painting days." He scoffed, ears lowering. Charlie wasn't sure if he was fond or embarrassed. "She insisted on keeping those dreadful hand-made Mother's Day cards on the fridge well into my adulthood. Every single one." He shook his head. "Why, if I had attempted something like this for her during our first Mother's Day, I believe she would have cried tears of joy while eating, regardless of how well-made it actually was."
"That's… really sweet." She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "You had a beautiful family, Alastor."
He hummed. "Eventually, yes." He opened the oven with an exaggerated bow, tucking the souffle inside and removing the miniature apple pie they had constructed earlier in the same motion. Once safely on the cooling rack, Alastor caught her gaze over his shoulder, his one visible eye soft as he added, "And how lucky am I that I managed to find another?"
A small, sharp part of Charlie wanted to question him. Of course, his actions backed him up, but it didn't feel like something Alastor would ever admit to. Unless he wanted something.
It was hard, though, to focus on logic when every other part of her was trying not to squeal and cry and cling to him until she was sure this was real. Maybe he just felt safe enough with them (or with her, at least) to be a little more honest. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn't have come back if he didn't care, especially not after how her dad had treated him. "We love you too."
Alastor pulled a face like he had bitten into a lemon. "Hrmph. Sappy."
Charlie laughed, wiping the last of her tears away. He loved them too. In his own way. She could feel it.
Garlic and butter wafted through the air as Alastor removed her mother's stunning entree from the lower oven rack. A stuffed lobster, that Charlie had managed to cook properly the first time, thank fuck. She had had more than enough of watching living things die in front of her for one lifetime. "Mmm… stunning. Very well done, Princess."
Charlie snorted. "You did most of the work."
"But you put it in the oven! Equal labour, I say."
"What's equal labour?" Muttered one of the two voices Charlie had dreaded hearing.
"Dad!" She flung herself in front of the lobster, blocking it from her father's groggy view. "You, uh, can't be in here right now!"
Her dad paused on his way to the pantry, furrowing his brows. "…oookay. Um. Whyyy?"
Shit. "Uh…" She looked to Alastor, who chuckled and turned to garnish the lobster. Of course. There was only so much kindness she could expect from him in one day. "There's a Hell Skunk!"
She cringed.
Alastor snorted.
Her dad blinked one eye at a time. "A Hell Skunk?"
"Yep! Suuuper stinky, really bad! Alastor and I are handling it, as owner and host of the hotel! You should go before it gets into your clothes! Like right now!"
"Uh, I don't smell anything—" his nostrils flared, and he immediately perked up, slit pupils expanding as he locked onto the forgotten cooling rack. "Is that apple pie?"
Damn it! She should have seen that coming, he had always had a sixth sense for anything apple.
Alastor laughed and playfully elbowed her. "Well, it seems our jig is up."
Her dad squinted. "What jig?"
Charlie deflated. "I wanted to surprise you and mom… I know it's not Father's Day or Mother's Day, but you're both here, and I—I just wanted you both to know I love you, and that I'm glad you're both supporting me." She averted her eyes, fidgeting. "I know we don't really do things like this, but I—I think it would be really nice to start. You're my family, and I love you. Heh, I already said that… w-well, that's okay! Because I love you a lot, so I'll just say it a lot. Yeah." She cleared her dry throat. "So, um, anyways," she snatched the pie off the cooling rack and put it on a plate. "It's still hot, a-and we haven't started on your grilled cheese yet—vegan cheese, don't worry, I remembered! But, uh, happy Father's Day dad—!"
Charlie nearly dropped the plate as she was scooped into a bear hug and twirled around the kitchen. Her dad was weeping into her apron, louder than she had ever heard him dare to cry. "Oh, Sweetheart, my baby, I love you so much, Charlie," he was saying, still spinning them around the island. She hoped he couldn't feel her heart racing through her stomach. Her free hand shook where it gripped his shoulder. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she sucked in a breath, letting them fall. As they spun, she caught Alastor's fond gaze—his smile smaller, less showy—as he buttered the garlic bread before placing it on the pan to toast. Her dad finally set her down and squeezed. "I love it. I love you. Thank you. You are the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful daughter anyone could ever ask for. I love you too, Sweetie, more than anything. I—I don't say it nearly enough."
She couldn't swallow her sob even if she wanted to. "I fucked everything up so many times, hah, l-look at all the dishes!" She gestured to the overflowing sink. "I-if Alastor hadn't helped me, I would have given you inedible slop—"
"Now, now," Alastor drawled, flipping the bread. "Do not pin this overtly saccharine escapade on me. I believe even you could have handled grilled cheese and tomato soup, if nothing else."
Her dad hugged her tighter. "Hey, you shut your bitch mouth! My sweet baby girl could cook anything you could, but better!"
Instead of arguing, like she had expected, Alastor huffed, amused, and turned back to the stove. "The claims we make for those we love." He shook his head as he removed the sandwich from the pan. He cut it diagonally, plated it next to a moderate bowl of soup, and slid it across the island. "You'd best put that plate down before you lose all your hard work, Sha."
Charlie squeaked, practically throwing the apple pie onto the island. Alastor caught it with a flick of his wrist, pushing it to sit next to the sandwich. "Lovely. Now, I'll get a head start on the clean up. Why don't you go find your mother before this gets cold?" He handed her a tray, holding the lobster and the finished Grand Marnier Souffles.
Feeling lighter than she had since the start of Vox's smear campaign, Charlie took the tray with both hands. "Good call. Thanks, again, for your help, Alastor." He waved away her gratitude, but she caught the way his smile softened before he turned away. She turned back to her dad, who was staring at the simple meal like it was an exuberant offering at an alter. Almost like he couldn't quite believe it was for him. Instead of unpacking that, she bent to kiss his still wet cheek. She had never done it before, but had seen other families do it on TV, and had always wanted to try. "I hope you like it, Dad."
Her dad made a wet, throaty sound, then twisted to kiss her cheek back. It lingered, warm and sure against her skin. Love and gratitude and promise all at once. "I already love it. Thank you, Charlie."
She smiled, pride curling up in her chest like a content cat. It was a relief that he wasn't upset about Alastor being involved. Maybe they were getting along better now? Alastor had been lingering around him more often. Maybe he had apologized? In his own Alastor way? She opted not to look a gift horse in the mouth and made her way through the lobby, up the stairs, and towards the guest room her mom had taken. She… hadn't been too pleased about the small space, but had laughed it off when Charlie had offered to modify it with magic (or more accurately, get her dad or Alastor to do it).
No, no, don't bother. I'm sure I can make… something out of this. She had said it like the idea of trying physically pained her. Charlie had wanted to offer again, but she also hadn't wanted to be overbearing. Her mom had already—kindly—asked for a chance to breathe while she adjusted to the new living situation. But it had been a week! She was probably ready to talk now, right?
Not that Charlie didn't see her around the hotel; she came to staff meetings and the increasingly tense debriefs with Heaven. And she spent plenty of time outside her room; lounging in the lobby with her preferred wine, skimming through the library, enjoying the view from the roof, really she was mapping out the place pretty well! She just didn't want to be disturbed. Which was fine! Everyone needed space, sometimes.
Charlie swallowed the lump in her throat and knocked on the door. It would be fine. Why was she nervous? She was her mom, she would be happy to see her! She hadn't done anything wrong. The food was good, Alastor made it, of course it would be good. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine—
The door swung open. Her mom stood tall, pinching the bridge of her nose, nursing a half empty glass of wine. She tsked, opening her eyes, only to paused and soften when she spotted her. "Hi, Honey. What did you need?"
Charlie swallowed dryly, lifting the tray a little higher. "I, uh, wanted to give this to you."
Her mom's eyes widened, and that same warm pride rumbled in Charlie's chest.
"I, uh, I know it's not actually Mother's Day yet, and we never really celebrated, but I'm really glad you're here with me, and I wanted to show it. So I made you dinner." She held the tray out. "I love you, mom. Happy early Mother's Day."
Her mother didn't speak. Didn't make to take the tray. She only stared, like she was frozen in time.
Charlie hunched into herself, goosebumps breaking out over her arms. "I—uh, y-your favourite is still lobster, right? I'm pretty sure I heard you mention it a few times, when I was growing up…"
Her mom blinked. Smirked. Covered her mouth as she laughed. "Oh, Charlie, you should know better than to lie to my face like that, I know you too well!"
Her heart sank. "What?"
"Honey, come on, you didn't make this. I know you cannot cook like this, the last time you cooked you somehow managed to burn pasta noodles!" She laughed, putting down her glass to grip her stomach. Charlie frowned, tray lowering as her arms began to tire. That had been when she was a teenager. It had been years since then, she wasn't that incompetent in the kitchen. Right? Alastor had said she did a good job… but he had done most of the work.
Her mom let out a long, slow sigh, wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks. "It's beautiful, though, where did you get it?"
She lowered her head. "I… I did make it. I mean, I had some help, but…"
Her mom smirked again. "Ah, right, of course. From the local Red Lobster?"
Charlie's grip tightened on the tray. "No, from Alastor. He's an amazing cook, and I wanted to try to make something nice, so he helped."
The silence returned. Biting the inside of her cheek to stave off embarrassed tears, she looked up. Her mother's expression was carefully blank, but there was a familiar storm brewing in her eyes. It made the hair on Charlie's neck and arms stand on end. Her mom usually only made that face when she was angry with her dad.
"I see." She finally reached for the tray. Charlie's heart had barely finished its first jovial flip before the meal was pushed back towards her. "You know, I can tell you worked hard on this. You must be exhausted." She paused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Charlie's ear. "Why don't you take this back to your room and share it with your girlfriend? Look, there's even two souffles, one for each of you." She smiled. "You deserve a nice dinner too, Honey. And lobster is very romantic. I'm sure Vaggi will appreciate it."
Charlie blinked. Looked down at the tray. At the souffles she had fucked up again and again and again until finally getting it right. At the lobster Alastor had insisted she drop into the boiling pot, to build character (at least he had allowed a brief hug afterwards). At the herbs Alastor had lectured her on, which ones mixed well with lobster's unique flavour and paired nicely with an orange souffle dessert. At the rind Alastor had taught her how to candy, for an eye-catching edible decoration.
It did look and smell great. Vaggi would probably love it.
But she had made it for her mom. Did… did she not want it, and was just trying to be polite? Did she not like it? Was it too much at once? Had Charlie not given her enough space, and now she was mad at her? Was she creeped out? Was she going to leave again?!
A screech of feedback made her jump, jostling the lobster and nearly knocking one of the souffles off the tray. Her mom cringed, her brows creasing as she snarled. "What the hell was that?" She brushed past Charlie, down the hall and towards the stairs.
Charlie blinked at the spot where her mother had been. She should follow her, sort out whatever fight was breaking out. Probably Alastor, if the static was any indication. Probably her dad, too, then. Of course. She had had too many nice things today; time to balance the scales.
She took a step. Paused as the now lukewarm lobster stared her down. Empty, beady eyes reflected her own scowl back at her. One of the souffles had sunk in the middle. Taken out of the heat too early, probably. But what did she know. She hadn't made it; not really. Alastor had done most of the work. Her chest tightened. Something hot clawed up her ribs, settling in her throat, peeking through her gritted teeth.
She wanted to throw the dishes at the wall. Stomp the lobster into the carpet until it was unrecognizable. Crush the souffles in her fists and see if she could splatter the meringue on the ceiling. She wouldn't even have a right to be upset about it; she had barely done anything. Alastor would be furious if he found out. He would probably never cook with her again.
Fine by me.
Charlie let go of the tray.
Alastor's fond smile flashed before her eyes, his uncharacteristically gentle encouragements, the yawns he held back for her sake as she rambles about her stupid ideas while fucking up all their ingredients. A wave of guilt hit her hard, and she lunged for the tray.
Wispy, chilled hands collapsed over hers, helping her steady the clattering plates.
She shot her head up, meeting the glowing green eyes of Alastor's shadow. Had it followed her up here? Had it heard what her mother said? Had it seen her almost—her racing thoughts froze when the shade leaned forward to butt her forehead with its. The droning static it always emitted tightened to a whine. It still grinned, but its ears were low.
It was the same look Alastor himself had given her, that awful day he had collapsed in the kitchen. She had scooped him into her lap, frantically checking his temperature, poking and prodding to search for injuries. He had barely had the strength to bat at her hands as she had ripped open his shirt and uncovered the infected angelic wound; so wide it his neglect that it nearly covered his entire chest. She had screamed for her dad, and Vaggi had rushed off to find him while Niffty and Cherri stayed to try to play medic.
She hadn't even realized she had been weeping until Alastor's trembling hand had brushed her cheek, his fingertips wet as the limb collapsed back to his side. He had blinked slowly, eyes cloudy ad he offered a small smile. Don' cry, Sha. Us Hazbins need our leader's dazzlin' smile.
The shadow purred as Charlie panted through tears she barely felt, barely noticed. She decided that she hated cooking and baking. Maybe she hated food in general. The shadow seemed to catch on, and it took the tray before she could fuck it up any worse, tucking it into its own body to stow it away somewhere.
With a grunt, she tugged her own crusty, stained apron off and balled it up. Alastor's shadow grabbed it, not yanking it away, but staring at her with wide, almost pleading eyes. She swallowed, throat tightening around a whimper as she let it go. The shadow's smile softened, and it folded the apron properly before tucking it under its arm.
It patted her hands, giving them a squeeze before pressing them to her chest, dropping into the floor, and slithering off.
Another shrill squeal of static pierced her ears, making her lose focus.
Growling, she dropped her hands, and stomped down the hall. Her own choppy breaths echoed as she scrubbed her cheeks with her palms, pulling her horns back in and casting a glamour spell to hide the blotchiness in her cheeks and the red on her eyes. Nothing she hadn't done before.
Her guests couldn't see her falling apart over a stupid lobster and souffles. A smile was a valuable tool, after all. She forced one as she made her way down the balcony stairs. Upon reaching the lobby, she narrowly avoided a massive black tendril as it lurched forward. She jumped, shooting her head up and spotting Alastor, hovering with the support of four other tentacles, snarling as he clambered across the floor like some sort of eldritch daddy long legs. The front of his suit was wet, his chin and cheeks stained a watery orange. There was a small glob of melted cheese stuck in his hair. "You," he roared, pointing one gangly claw diagonally across the lobby, "are a dead man!"
Despite the threat, there was an amused lilt to his voice, a sharp uptick in his smile that betrayed his enjoyment.
Across the lobby, Charlie spotted her dad, absolutely dripping with tomato soup and covered in bits of sandwich and cheese. "Little late for that!" He jeered, then yelped as a tendril came down like a hammer, crushing one of the bar stools. "Also, not a man!"
Her dad squealed as he narrowly avoided a flying pot, the one that had held the tomato soup; now empty. "You won't be, when I'm done with you!"
"Wow, didn't take you for a force-fem kinda demon!"
"Lucifer Morningstar!" Alastor bellowed, cheeks bright red—and not from the soup.
Charlie stared in shock as her dad just laughed and shook his behind at Alastor, like this was a playground game of tag. Maybe it was, to them. It was admittedly kinda cute, watching two of the most powerful being she knew hurl bits of soup at one another like rowdy children. It was more wasted food, more wasted effort, but the anger didn't have time to take root when she spotted the small tray on the coffee table. Her dad still had half a sandwich left, with visible bites taken out of it, as well as a mostly empty bowl of soup, spoon still resting inside. The pie tin, too, sat mostly empty, about two slices remained. He had eaten some of it, at least.
"C'mon, Alexis, aim like you mean it—!" Her dad yelped as a stray tendril snatched him out of the air. Alastor slammed him into The Wall, leaving a small indent. A spare tentacle yanked the pie tin to Alastor's side. He grabbed it and hefted it above his head.
"A fitting end to a clown such as yourself!" He slammed the remaining pie into her dad's face.
His laugh was muffled behind the tin as he squirmed, legs kicking as he dangled above the floor. "Joke's on you, this is a delicious way to go!" He nailed Alastor in the ribs, making the taller demon grunt. Her dad wriggled out of the tentacle's hold and swept his leg, knocking Alastor off balance just enough to shove him into The Wall. "Hah! Sucker!"
"Unhand me!"
"No can do! I'm in desperate need of a hanky, and tomato soup won't stain red."
"Come near me and I swear to god I will not rest until I find a way to cut you!"
"Aww, you're so cute when you're angry—"
"What is going on here?!"
Charlie jumped, bumping into the railing.
Her mother stood fuming at the foot of the stairs, taking in the messy lobby like she planned to use it as evidence. How long had she been there? She had left way before Charlie herself… did she get lost on her way down? That didn't make sense, it was literally right around the first corner from her room. Had she just been watching them the whole time? Why hadn't she stopped them sooner?
Her dad froze, eyes locked on her mom like a cornered prey animal.
Alastor's smile thinned, sharpening in irritation.
"Lucifer, honestly?! In the lobby?! Charlie is trying to run a professional establishment here, and you're fighting with the host in plain view of the guests?!"
"W-we aren't fighting—!"
"Oh really? What do they call this," she gestured to the upturned room, "on your planet?!"
Charlie swallowed the new lump in her throat. She had seen her mom scream at her dad before, back when they lived together. It wasn't common, but it always made her uncomfortable. Yelling was no way to communicate with a loved one. She had learned that the hard way.
Her dad shrunk, arms dropping limp to his sides.
"Don't just stand there and pout about it! Fix this!"
Cringing, her dad raised a hand and snapped. The lobby righted itself in an instant; all the furniture repaired, all the wasted food thrown away, The Wall once again crater free. Her dad hugged himself, hunching and shuffling away from Alastor, who stared at him with furrowed brows.
"And you!" Her mom pointed at Alastor. "What kind of sad excuse for a host are you?! I've come to expect this level of immaturity from Lucifer," her dad flinched, "but you presented yourself as a proper gentleman, and you stoop to this level?! Do you care so little for my daughter that you'd spit on all her efforts in a public space?!"
"Mom, stop!" Charlie stood in front of her mother, arms spread, horns peaking out. Her voice came out strained and louder than she wanted, but her mom paused, studying her like she had spoken nonsense. Taking a deep breath, Charlie pushed forward at a regular volume. "That's not necessary. The lounge is fine, and no one was hurt," she glanced over her shoulder, "right, dad? Alastor?"
Her dad didn't lift his head. He was staring at his feet as he slowly rocked on his heels. His nails were digging into his arms.
"Of course, Sha," Alastor replied, his voice smooth despite the furrow in his brows. His smile was wide and toothy as he met her mom's furious glare. "My most sincere apologies for the ruckus. It seems it would behoove His Majesty and I to find a more private quarters for our little playdates."
Playdates? Was that what they were calling them now?
"Allow me to deal with the remaining mess." Alastor then, without preamble, bent at the waist and licked a long stripe up her father's neck and face. She was pretty sure she heard her mom choke out a gasp. Or it might have been her.
Her dad's entire face went bright yellow, his shoulders rigid, his fists clenching Alastor's shirt like it might keep him from simply falling through the floor. He blinked, slowly turning to meet Alastor's mirthful gaze. "Quite lovely, if I do say so myself." He looked to Charlie. "Very well done indeed, Sha! A tad chunky, but the flavour is there! Perhaps next time I'll indulge that 'blender' of yours!"
"What the fuck?!" Her dad finally shouted, shoving Alastor back by the face. "Did you just fucking lick me?!"
"Waste not want not, Your Majesty."
"I've seen you swallow sinners whole with that mouth! Don't put that thing anywhere near me—!" Alastor licked the hand smushing his cheek. Yelping, her dad yanked it back and wiped it on Alastor's shirt. His lips were quirked in a half-smile, trembling as he fought to hide it. "Ey! What did I just say?!"
"Mm, nothing important, I'm sure."
"Watch it, Athena, I'll lick you back."
Alastor dipped into the shadows just as her dad leapt for him, arms closing around the empty space he had just occupied. Charlie shuddered as cold air condensed and formed into Alastor behind her, static pitching anxiously. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, bitch!"
Alastor dashed up the stairs, the rush of air making Charlie stumble forward a few steps. She could hear him laughing as he fled. Not his usual fake 'ha-ha-ha's; genuine, short-breathed giggles.
Her dad took off after him, only pausing by the stairs to shoot Charlie a dazzling smile, and to pull the pie tin out of thin air in a show of red and white sparkles. One slice somehow remained, despite her certainty that Alastor had smeared it all over her dad's face, before. "I set one aside for you; Avril there mentioned how hard you worked, and you should get to enjoy the fruits of your own labour." He placed the flake covered tin in her hands and stood on his toes to give her another kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, again, Charlie, it was delicious. I love you."
With that, his smile turned sharp, and he flew up the stairs, "You can't run forever, Alley-Cat!" echoing in her ears as his laughter faded away.
… Alley-Cat?? Were they… no, that couldn't be; they hated each other two weeks ago! And she was pretty sure Alastor wasn't interested in dating, period. Rosie had only said he was ace, but he seemed too committed to his… work, to make any sort of relationship last.
Her mother scoffed, moving to hover at her side. "Unbelievable. And completely inappropriate. Do they always act like this?" She shook her head in exasperation. "I wish I had known sooner; I wouldn't have left you to wrangle such children on your own."
Yeah. If only there was a way to communicate wirelessly, so that you could stay updated on what's going on in my life. If only you could carry the update machine in your fucking pocket. Charlie swallowed the fire in her throat, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. She didn't want to argue with her mom in the lounge. Honestly, she really didn't want to see her mom at all right now. But she didn't want to be alone, either.
But Alastor and her dad were… doing whatever it was they were doing. Vaggi was out with Cherri and Husk, scouting around Vee Tower to check on Angel. Niffty was spending time with Baxter, trying to engineer bugs that would do trapeze, this time. Even Razzle was preoccupied with Keekee and Fat Nuggets.
"And the brazen flirting? Right in front of me?! Honestly, if I had known sinners would lose such basic manners over the course of eight years, I might have—Charlie? Honey, where are you going?"
Charlie paused by the front doors. She didn't remember walking, or putting her hand on the mahogany, or stepping out onto cobblestone. But she remembered where she went the last time she had felt this alone. She could see it in the distance, about as pastel as Hell would ever get, and carrying that strange odor of potpourri and decay. "If Alastor needs me for anything," she began, schooling professionalism into her tone, "please tell him I went to Cannibal Town."
She really ought to thank Alastor for introducing her to Rosie. The minute she had walked in, the other woman had ushered her to the couch and retrieved a plate and a fork for the slice of pie her dad had given her. She had fetched her a steaming mug of tea, sat beside her, and put a gentle hand on her arm. She hadn't pressed for information, simply let Charlie cry until she felt drained enough to be hungry. Her dad was right, the pie was pretty good.
"I'm really sorry, Sweetie," Rosie had said, rubbing her arm like she wasn't sure if Charlie would want a proper hug, but didn't want to seem cold. "That must've hurt to be dismissed like that."
"Has she ever done that to you?"
Rosie had looked away. "Oh, once or twice, but she didn't mean it like that. Your mom just has a one-track mind sometimes, is all. I guess I'm a little used to it."
"I never got the chance to be used to it!" The sobs had returned, and that time, Rosie did give her a proper hug.
"I know, I know." The hand smoothing up and down her back had been a welcome anchor. "It's okay. Let it all out, now. I'm right here with you."
It had been nice to talk about her mom with someone who actually seemed to know her. Or at least the her she was, now. Charlie had remembered a fierce, passionate woman, who took no nonsense and pulled no punches. All traits her mother still carried, but often pointed in the wrong direction. Rosie had spoken openly about her own hypotheses; maybe being forced to kneel to Adam had left her with issues on communication, maybe being denied a childhood left her bereft of the emotional skills one would usually develop during those early years, or maybe Hell had changed her, and then Heaven had changed her again.
It had all gotten too heavy for Charlie, after a while. Too much theorizing over one unenthusiastic response to a random act of kindness. She felt like an idiot. Like an ungrateful brat. Alastor probably knew what she had tried to do to the food. She had to apologize to him. She didn't really hate cooking, especially not if he was helping her. She had just hated the way her mom made her feel.
If she had just stopped to think before acting out of anger, she could have made new, better memories with the food. Call Vaggi and share it, maybe invite Husk and Cherri too; they both needed a pick-me-up. Leave it for Niffty and Baxter to poke and prod at. Hell, just give it to her dad, too. Well, not the lobster, since he didn't eat meat, but still!
She sighed as she made her way back up the hotel's walkway, clutching the small baggie Rosie had loaned her to her chest. Inside sat a roll of blood pudding sausages, sourced with the freshest ingredients Rosie could find at the butcher. Deer's blood was a non-traditional base, but Charlie knew Alastor would appreciate the thought. And it cooked just the same, only needing a tad less cream, since the blood was already so fine. Rosie had even thrown in a few of her own pickled tongues on the side; a delicacy that Alastor apparently adored and could never get quite right on his own.
Maybe he would take pity on her. He didn't seem to like her mom much (which was not helping her earlier crisis), and he hated it when people didn't appreciate his food. Though, she guessed trying to throw it to the ground and stomp on it would count as not appreciating it. Uhg. She just hoped he didn't yell at her.
She had definitely seen Alastor angry before, but he had never lost his temper in front of her. Maybe that was why he felt safe-ish to be around. Sure he was a murderer, which, not very kosher, but at least he didn't do it for kicks? Usually?? She knew he got something out of it—ew—but she had never seen him strike without reason. Not that his reasons were always sound, but—look, he wasn't completely batshit insane, at least. Not quite predictable, but definitely anticipate-able.
So maybe he wouldn't fly off the handle over one really stupid, really selfish tantrum.
The lounge was thankfully empty as she made her way to the stairs. The last thing she wanted was to explain to her mom why she was making food for Alastor, now, when she had specifically said it was a Mother's Day/Father's Day thing. He had been up at 4am too, and he hadn't been able to enjoy any of what they made thanks to his dietary curse. He deserved something nice too.
She approached his door, dread stirring in her chest. What if he was mad? What if he yelled? What if he quit for good this time? Oh, fuck, she really couldn't do this without him, the three weeks he had been trapped with Vox had been a nightmare. Okay, okay, no, she was not going to spiral. It starts with sorry, she reminded herself as she took the last steps forward.
The door creaked open.
She froze as Alastor stepped out of the shadows; dressed down in a knit burgundy turtleneck and dark gray loose pants that hugged around his ankles. His red plaid shoe slippers were faded from use. A thick crimson shawl hung over his shoulders. A thin pair of circular reading glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His smile was docile as he took in her likely disheveled appearance. "Welcome home, Sha. Looks like you had quite the adventure today."
She averted her eyes and bit her lip. "… I'm really sorry. About the—the lobster. And the souffles. I was acting like a brat and I just—I just got angry and I took it out on something that didn't deserve it. You spent your whole day helping me make it, and I practically slapped you in the face, and I'm so sorry, I—I brought you something to make it up! At least a little! I hope! Please…" She held out the baggie, her arms trembling.
Alastor's hands encircled hers gently. "Thank you." He brought the baggie to his chest and pushed it open with his fingers. His eyes lit up, and he looked up with a warm, lopsided smile on his face. "Couldn't get enough of the kitchen once you got a taste, hmm?"
"I just… Rosie said you liked it, and I wanted you to have something too. And I'm so, so sorry, I totally wasted both our time."
"Oh, hush. Time spent in good company is never wasted." He pulled out the roll of sausages with a delighted little hum and bit into one. Charlie had never seen him close his eyes to savour a meal before. "That's lovely. Oh!" He snatched the small jar of pickled tongues with what sounded like a squeak. "My, that Rosie truly knows the way to anyone's heart. I'll need to hide this from myself so I have some left for breakfast." He chomped down the rest of the sausage he had bitten into, then handed the bag and jar off to his shadow. "You didn't need to go through all that trouble. Fat Nuggets was quite delighted with his spoils."
She cringed, hugging herself and backing away. Hands on her elbows stopped her. "That's a good thing, Sha. He's been quite despondent since his poor owner went away. He's perked up significantly, now. It certainly relieved Cherri and Husker."
"Oh." She swallowed dryly. "Um. That's good."
One of the hands hesitantly rose to squeeze her shoulder. "I'm not upset with you."
The pressure in her chest popped, forcing out a deep, long sigh. Alastor chuckled and brought his other hand up to her other shoulder. "There you are. Don't fret. Why, if my own mother had said that to me, I believe I would have reacted similarly, even without the exhaustion you were already dealing with at the time."
"Wha—you heard that?!" Her heart dropped. "You saw?"
Two green eyes and a jagged smile rose from behind Alastor. "It was following, to make sure you didn't trip on your way up the stairs or something of the sort. Accidents happen." He squeezed her shoulders. "I do believe it's best to let people handle their anger in their own ways; however, I believe I know Miss Charlie Morningstar well enough to know that she would regret tainting the memory of her first successful kitchen adventure with anger and shame."
Charlie sniffled. "I wouldn't call that successful. She didn't even want it. She didn't even believe I had anything to do with it."
"That's not on you." He gave her a chuck on the chin. "If your mother wanted to be ungrateful, that's her prerogative. Next time, she can get up at dawn, and make her own meal to suit her own tastes." He grinned. "And we can ask which fast food chain she ordered it from."
Despite the lingering guilt, Charlie laughed.
He wasn't mad.
He wasn't leaving.
"Yeah. Next time." She sighed, embarrassment taking root. "Whew… well, I, uh, I hope you like the blood pudding. I mean, I know you like it, but, uh, I hope you keep liking it! Tomorrow, at breakfast." She coughed into her fist. "Yeah."
Alastor gave her shoulders another squeeze. He took a breath that trembled on the inhale. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. Whetted his lips. Averted his eyes.
Charlie frowned, heart sinking. Had she missed something? Was he actually upset? "Alastor?"
He grit his teeth. Took another shaky breath. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you." Her fear must have shown on her face, because he rushed to reassure her. "Not about the food, Charlie. That's water under the bridge. It…" He sighed. "It pertains to a topic of a rather… delicate nature."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes, yes, nothing bad. It's… it's something I have been, erm… it's something I believe will come to light soon, regardless of whether I want it to or not. And I'd like to at least tell you all on my own terms." He took another deep breath, grip unrelenting on her shoulders. "So, bearing that in mind, would you join me inside for a spell?"
She covered his hands with hers. "Of course, Alastor. You can tell me anything. You'll still be my friend afterwards."
That got a laugh out of him, weak and airy as it was. "Now, don't go making promises like that to a demon like me. But, I certainly hope to remain friends once this is," he swallowed, "out in the open. Hah." He slid his hands out of her gentle hold. "Why, I do believe I'm just stalling, at this point." He cleared his throat and gestured for her to come inside.
Frowning, she did as he bid, hearing the door lock behind them as they made their way to the two large chairs in front of his fireplace. What could he possibly want to tell her? Was this how she would find out he was dating her dad? Oh, fuck, she really hoped that wasn't it.
"As you know," he began, crossing his legs and folding his fingers over his lap. "My knowledge of all things identity-wise started and ended with the early 1930's, when I arrived in Hell. And, as you also know, Rosie has been a friend of mine for many decades now." He cleared his throat. "After my first few decades in Hell, she introduced me to a part of myself I had never been allowed to know, when I was alive. Which, of course, dubbed me her ace in the hole."
Charlie smiled, nodding for him to continue.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Snapped his fingers, pulling a cigarette from thin air, and took a long, slow drag. Upon exhaling, he slumped, bangs hiding his eyes as he murmured; "Recently, she has introduced me to another."
First time writing Charlie's pov so I finally got to vent out my mommy issues, yay! I am once again apologizing to Lilith for doing her like this.
Look at me, I watch a few seasons of Hell's Kitchen and think I know enough about lobsters and souffles to write about prepping them (thank you random recipes for helping me not look like a complete idiot).
Anyways Alastor and Charlie's friendship has my entire heart, thank you.
It will all be worth it, Lilith repeated to herself, jaw tight and fists clenched in irritation.
The seat she had been offered was surrounded by blank-eyed rubber ducks, each beady gaze boring into her with all the scrutiny of a bastardized Heavenly counsel. Even in his exile, it seemed Lucifer still craved their attention.
Their marriage, their people (who were only here because of them in the first place), their daughter: all unimportant, apparently, in his pursuit to convince Heaven to take him back, to let him be their kicking boy again.
It had hurt, at first. Forced to compete with concepts, with memories, in her own relationship.
Now, it was just pathetic.
So much power at his fingertips, and he wasted it on pity parties with rubber ducks. Whatever she had seen in him back in the garden was gone, now. Dead as the angel they had mutilated with those holy spears. Tens of thousands of years, wasted. Her daughter's childhood, wasted. The lives of her people, wasted, on a careless, selfish, coward.
She loathed him.
But, of course, things could never be that simple. Because now, apparently, he had decided to gather enough of his shit to be present for Charlie's dream. Just when she didn't need him, he showed up to waste everyone's time. How magnanimous. Father of the year, everyone.
She could see her daughter cringe every time he opened his entitled mouth.
Lilith wanted so badly to send him away, but he and Charlie were on better terms now. 'Talking again'. And if she knew her daughter, she was as weak to her own selfish desires as her father. Lilith was less inclined to blame her for that; Lucifer's genes had done some heavy lifting.
She would sort that out, in time. Charlie needed guidance, and it was foolish to believe anyone but Lilith herself could provide. Lucifer's 'advice' began and ended with running away. With hiding and rotting. Charlie was better than that. She was the last scrap of good Lucifer had left inside him; tenacious and determined and useful. Easy to guide. Willing to listen. Far too much of a doormat for her own good, but a soft heart could only take so much before it began to adapt.
And Lilith would be there to make sure she adapted in the right direction. The sooner she sorted out this mess, the sooner she could leave of this roach-infested prison.
"Oh, oh!" A portal snapped into existence, and Lucifer shoved his hand through it. He pulled out, what else, another duck. No different than the plethora of others that crowded the room: yellow and beady-eyed and useless. "I carved this one during the third year! See? It's made of wood from the tree we, uh, heh, made Charlie under."
Lilith grimaced.
"I, uh, I was thinking about the lullaby you used to hum to her, when she was born, so at first I just tried to incorporate the music notes into the design somehow, but then I remembered it's made of wood, so I can just make it play—"
"That's nice, Lucifer." She pinched the bridge of her nose, uttering what would be her first of many sighs. "But I didn't come here to talk about your ducks. If you haven't noticed, there's been a catastrophic status quo shift within the past three months, and our kingdom is in shambles. If you don't mind, I'd like to have an adult discussion with The King of Hell."
Lucifer deflated. "Ah… yeah, right." He looked to the duck in his hands, brows pinching as he placed it on his atrocious bed. The hideous pink sweater he had stolen from her centuries ago swallowed him whole, his striped pajama pants pooling around his hooves. She supposed she ought to thank whoever was listening that Lucifer didn't sweat, because it looked like he hadn't changed in weeks. His hair was limp and greasy, long enough to touch his shoulders. A reddish splotch stained the corner of his mouth. The wrapper for some kind of sweet stuck out of the neck of the sweater. "Of course. S-sorry. I, uh… I just really missed you."
Lilith hated the piece of her that twisted at the despondent look on his face. First loves were a hell of a habit to break. "Well, once we've tackled the major stuff, we'll have time to catch up." She cringed at the eager little gasp he uttered, the way he perked right up like a pet hearing the shake of a treat bag. "Stop. Not like that. We are divorced, Lucifer, that hasn't changed."
Lucifer flinched as though he had been slapped. "I—haha, I know, I know, don't worry. But you're still my friend… right?"
"That depends on how helpful you decide to be. You cannot cower in your room like a frightened child when Heaven comes to discuss progress this time. You need to behave like the king you are instead of expecting me and now Charlie to handle everything in your stead."
Lucifer hunched with every word, hugging himself and clutching his sleeves. "… I'll try."
Lilith huffed, irritated, but not surprised. "How many times have I heard that before?"
"I'm sorry! I—I don't know what else to say."
"How about 'I will'? Would it kill you to commit?"
"I—I—all I can do is try…"
"That's not true, and you know it. Quite frankly, I'm tired of having this same argument over and over again. If all you're willing to offer is your best, I suggest you step out of Charlie's way now, so you don't fuck this up for her any worse than you already have. The last thing she needs right now is extra stress." She bit her tongue, swallowing the angry words that wanted to follow. "But, if you're actually willing to be involved, then we'd be glad to have you."
Lucifer pouted, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "Of course I'm willing."
"Good. Then you need to start acting like it. For Charlie's sake." She stood, and several nearby ducks toppled to the floor. Grimacing, she toed them out of her path as she started towards the door. "Now, come on. Charlie has requested that we join the staff for breakfast. We need to present a unified front, as her parents."
Lucifer trudged after her, head hanging low, arms wrapped tight around himself, shoulders shaking with what she knew were poorly concealed sobs. There went the twisting again. Sighing, she snapped a tissue into existence and pressed it to his chest. "Don't cry in front of our daughter."
The last thing she needed was Charlie getting the wrong idea. She was already cross with her for… well, it was only an affair by technicality. Hers and Lucifer's marriage had been dead in the water for centuries; Lilith hardly thought herself the villain for finding someone new to occupy her time.
It wasn't as though she had been sneaking around behind Lucifer's back: she had broached the topic of taking on concubines once it became clear he was more content to wallow with his ducks then pay her any attention, and he had agreed to it. He had never done so himself—at least not that she knew of, and really she didn't care to know—but had given his informed consent for her to follow through. She had told him exactly who she planned to see every time, even offered to arrange meetings, which he had declined, insisting he trusted her and encouraging her to have fun.
Even when her relationship with one such additional lover had bloomed into something more, Lucifer had given his blessing for the two of them to formally date. He had seemed genuinely happy for her. Even yesterday, upon meeting the woman for the first time, he had shaken her hand with a big, toothy smile, and congratulated her. A bit theatrical, but that was just Lucifer. It was the first time in millennia that Lilith had felt an inkling of fondness towards him.
Charlie hadn't taken it well, which Lilith had expected, but the outrage on her father's behalf was hardly anticipated. Thank goodness for Lucifer's interference—and how strange it was to feel grateful towards the man for once. Clumsy as his explanation had been, it had soothed Charlie enough for Lilith's lover to give a more thought-out debriefing. She wasn't sure if Charlie's preconceived notions of Rosie made it easier or harder for her to swallow.
She had appeared to be fond of her, before learning the truth.
At least she hadn't thrown a fit when Lilith had taken Rosie back to her temporary room. Drab and pedestrian, but she could work her magic—figuratively and literally. A shame Charlie had inherited her father's tastes in interior design (read: none at all). A greater shame that Lilith had heard her fuss over Lucifer the moment she and Rosie rounded the corner, asking if he was really alright, if he needed anything, if he wanted her to do something about it.
In a way, she understood Charlie's concern.
Lucifer had always been unstable: quick to anger, quick to rejoice, quick to withdraw. But he was tens of thousands of years old, about as adult as one could get. In no world should a being of his caliber be sniffling into his sleeve after a little harsh criticism. Lilith couldn't be expected to walk on eggshells at all times for the sake of his ill-managed emotions.
But Charlie didn't know that; they had never let her see it. At least, Lilith hadn't. Of course, the moment she turned her back, he was turning her daughter against her without even trying. Biting back more vitriol, she waited until the nose blowing and choppy breaths settled before glancing at him. Blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes, but otherwise presentable.
She snapped her fingers, coating his face in glamour to hide the unseemly flush and tears, then opened the door for him.
"Now, show me where the coffee maker is?"
The walk to the kitchen was blessedly quiet. No chattering about childish crafts, no juvenile jokes, no complaining. It was almost peaceful. Irritating as he could be, Lucifer had always responded well to scolding. Part of being brought up in Heaven among his brothers, she supposed. Lost without orders to follow. Perhaps that was all he needed. Perhaps she should be more assertive with him.
The few sinners awake at the early hour gave them a wide berth, though Lilith could feel their eyes on her back. Lucifer could too, if his hunched frame was anything to go by. She supposed being strung up and used as a battery would leave him rather paranoid. A situation he could have easily avoided had he just thought before acting, for once, but c'est la vie. The things he walked into… she definitely needed to be more assertive with him.
Great. Just what I wanted. Two adult children to babysit.
Despite herself, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they walked. He immediately melted against her. Touch had always been another effective way to make him listen. She couldn't say she preferred it. The idea of touching him left her feeling rather repulsed, these days, but it wouldn't do to have him break down in the hallway.
The staff kitchen was rather small considering the amount of people it fed, hardly enough space for the island taking up the center. They had clearly been using it as a makeshift dining table, if the stools surrounding it and the lingering dirty dishes were any indication. Honestly, she knew Charlie had wanted to build the place up with the staff and residents, but that didn't mean they had to live like neanderthals.
Running water and staticy humming caught her ear as she made her way inside. She turned towards the sink, blinking in surprise as she spotted The Radio Demon washing dishes—by hand—and humming along to Daisy Belle.
She had not been pleased to hear that Rosie's pet had broken free. The Radio Demon's power would have made quite the difference under their control. It already had. Now, though, the sinner was surely seething, plotting ways to get some petty revenge, likely using Charlie as a target knowing it would hurt more that way. And her sweet, naive daughter would walk right into it with how much influence Lucifer had had over her for the last few months.
The sinner barely spared her a glance before returning to the dishes. Still as uncomfortable around her as the day they had met, she could see it in the lowered ears and stiff movements; scrubbing a mug like the tin man before his oil. A rather cruel irony to have dressed such a proud human in the suit of a deer, even without acknowledging the extremely racist elephant in the room—not that Lucifer had ever cared about that. He gleefully dressed them in whatever suit would cause the most pain; his own little way to harm without hitting. Often without knowing or caring why it hurt each sinner, so long as it did.
Though Lilith knew The Radio Demon was not born during the slave trade era, 1900's America was no stranger to the grimaces of entitled white men who remembered when people like the tenacious sinner were nothing but a slaver's prized bucks and does. She was almost impressed. Lucifer had managed to spit on his metaphorical glove and slap The Radio Demon right across the face without even knowing it.
Chicory and nutmeg hit her nose. She perked up, eyes locking on the coffee maker just to The Radio Demon's left. It seemed Rosie had passed down the recipe for her personal blend. Lilith hoped the former pet was grateful; not even she could squeeze the ingredients out of the other woman, and she owned her.
She let go of Lucifer and made her way across the kitchen. Heaven's amenities had been gourmet, but she had always missed her lover's specialized coffee. Nights at Rosie's had been the only memories to make her truly ache, during her little vacation. Late nights dancing, boozing, talking, fucking, watching the false sunrise with steaming cups of coffee and assorted lady fingers. She hadn't expected to find so much joy in another woman after Eve had betrayed them, siding with Adam during their trial.
But Rosie was so wonderfully different. Charming and conniving and thoughtful to boot. She engaged in difficult conversations. She listened when Lilith had a problem. She compromised. Didn't Lilith deserve that in a friend? In a partner?
She snagged a clean mug off the drying rack and filled it with coffee. Just barely enough left. Perfect timing.
A hand brushed her hip, and she hissed, putting distance between herself and the kicked-puppy look Lucifer was aiming at her. "Don't sneak up on me like that," she snapped, looking away and trying to smother the guilt. She hated fighting with him in public.
"… Sorry." He brought his hand back to his chest, cradling it like she had slapped it away, the drama queen. "I just—'S wondering if you could refill the pot? For everyone else?"
"Are your arms crocheted on?" She glared at him despite herself. What did he take her for, the help? Some subdued housewife? He could refill the damn pot himself if it was that important to him.
Bringing the mug to her lips, she cringed as an acrid flavour coated her tongue. Coughing, she held it away from her face and squinted at The Radio Demon. "This is bitter. How long have you been brewing it?"
The sinner didn't look up from the sink. "Hmm, quite a while, now. I suppose I simply forgot about it."
Lucifer snorted, splashing water onto the counter as he missed the coffee pot. "Old age catching up with you, Alison?"
"Actually, I was hoping you'd put your grubby little hands on it first."
Lucifer gasped and put a hand to his chest, the jerky movement spilling more water. "Alexandria! And I thought we were getting along!"
"My, my! Now what ever gave you that idea?"
Lucifer's attempt to flip the bird—juvenile nonsense—was interrupted by a steaming mug being pressed into his free hand. Where the sinner had gotten it, Lilith didn't know, but it was covered with whipped cream, marshmallows, and what smelled like cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. There was even a cinnamon stick protruding from the side.
Lucifer blinked one eye at a time (Lilith fought the urge to roll her eyes; she thought he was done with that stupid joke), studying the novelty mug like he had never seen it before. "What's this?"
"Hot chocolate." The Radio Demon pulled another mug from somewhere, reeking of that same chicory and nutmeg blend—without the burned undertone—and took a slow sniff. Never sipping; the sinner suffered the same curse as Rosie. Unable to indulge in anything other than rotten flesh and blood lest they spend the following days vomiting until they collapsed from exhaustion or dehydration. "You and Charlie tend to synchronize when you crave sweets. She's already had hers."
Lucifer glanced from the mug to the sinner, squinting. "Is this poisoned?"
"Only one way to find out~" The Radio Demon bent at the waist and pinched Lucifer's cheek.
To Lilith's shock, he did not bat the sinner's hand away, or even show a hint of discomfort or anger. He simply brought the mug to his lips and sipped. She watched his throat bob. Watched his eyes widen. Watched his skin begin to glow a soft, warm gold.
He could still do that?!
It had been a regular occurrence, before the fall. He would light up like the sun if paid the simplest compliment, if offered the barest minimum of kindness. She had assumed it was angelic biology lost to him since their descent. Why had he never done that with her?
"Well?" The Radio Demon prompted, looking far too smug.
Lucifer huffed, failing to hide his smile behind the pile of whipped cream and marshmallows. "It's alright."
"Well, if it's not to your liking, I could always take it back—"
"No! Fuck you! It's mine!"
The sinner guffawed as Lucifer clutched the hot cocoa to his chest, even lifting his leg to hold the other at bay. The Radio Demon took the opportunity to grab Lucifer's bare hoof and shake, as if it were a hand and they were making introductions. "Quit it, you're gonna make me spill."
"Well, if I recall correctly, you did promise to show me sloppy."
Lucifer choked on his drink. Cocoa splashed over the mug, staining his sweater and splattering on the floor. He fought for breath, wheezing and choking on coughs and aborted scandalized exclamations. The sinner just laughed and summoned a shadowy minion to tidy the small mess.
Was… was that mangy runaway pet flirting with Lucifer? Right in front of her?!
She felt the burn that accompanied her sclera bleeding to black. The sting of her horns poking out of her forehead. The itch of spines trembling along each vertebra, aching to stretch, to impale.
Who did he think he was?
Brazenly flirting with The King of Hell right in front of his wife?! Nevermind the divorce; he didn't know about that! Unless Lucifer had told him… but why would he have? Lucifer didn't have friends, he didn't talk to anyone; there was no way the sinner would know.
And as if Lucifer would ever be interested!
There had been hundreds, thousands of sinners before him who knew how to style their hair (what was that rat's nest on his head?), knew how to dress themselves (homeless used car salesman was hardly what she would call appealing), and knew how to fucking bathe (yellow teeth, breath to make a flower wilt, rot and blood clinging to him like a shadow, it was a wonder the place hadn't been fumigated yet).
He was nowhere near Lucifer's level. And she didn't even like the asshole!
She glared as the sinner slapped Lucifer's back, grinning like the Cheshire cat while he coughed into his sleeve. Imbecile, thinking Lucifer would ever look his way when his first love stood right to his left. With those lopsided eyes and that too-prominent nose and those fake little dimples. Lilith knew what a real dimple looked like, damn it, and The Radio Demon did not have dimples! He was just biting the inside of his cheek! Fucking weirdo.
"Stop—hitting me!"
"Oh good, you've recovered."
"No thanks to you, bitch-tits."
The childish name was met with a hearty laugh.
Lucifer shook his head and reached for the cocoa again.
Lilith snatched the half empty mug before he could grab it.
Lucifer jumped, looking up at her in shock. She tried to school her face into something soft. "I think that's enough caffeine for you. We don't need you choking before you can actually help out." She turned away from the flushed, hurt expression on his face, heading for the sink. Cold air replaced the mug she had been carrying.
She frowned, turning to meet the sharp grin of The Radio Demon, who held the mug out to Lucifer once again. "Now I know this must be quite the common mistake, considering His Majesty's stature, but he is not, in fact, a toddler, and does not need to be told what he can and cannot drink." He snapped his fingers, and the mug began to steam once more as he all but shoved it into Lucifer's hands.
"And neither Charlie nor I appreciate overzealous new hires sticking their noses into rooms they have no domain over. I'm sure our girl would be quit distraught to hear that the peace offering she's been desperate for the two of us to exchange was to be tossed down the drain in a fit of," he gestured vaguely to all of her, "whatever it is that's bothering you this fine morning. So, if that will be all," he turned on his heel and gently pushed a stunned Lucifer towards the door, "you two lovebirds had best skedaddle! It's my turn to prepare breakfast, and I do not allow loiterers in my kitchen!"
Lucifer blinked, looking from the mug, to the sinner, to Lilith, then quickly back to the mug. "R-right. Yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll just poof it in when I'm done with it."
"Much obliged, Your Majesty." The Radio Demon waved him away without looking up from the fridge he had stuck his head into.
Lilith watched Lucifer shuffle into the attached lounge and sit on the couch. She grit her teeth as she heard him finish the drink, the hotel so quiet in the early morning he failed to muffle the slurping despite his best efforts. Always his best efforts and nothing else. No results. No meaningful progress. Just empty platitudes.
The Radio Demon began to hum as he dropped an armful of ingredients onto the counter. Celery, onion, what looked to be cabbage, and other miscellaneous produce she couldn't be bothered to study. "I think," she began, letting her voice lilt into song. The sinner froze, posture straightening like the string of a bow. "You could do. With a little reminder of who you're talking to."
His smile tightened, his bony, grotesque fist shaking around a crushed celery stock. Lilith smirked, taking the opportunity to sway into his space. Rosie had mentioned how much he loathed that. "Don't you forget," she breathed into his face, relishing in the responding snarl, "I know your tune. With just a word to all of Hell, I could ruin you."
She drank in the sight of the sinner's throat bobbing. His ears drooped as he put down the ruined celery. "I think," he replied, voice smooth despite his trembling claws. "That you could do, with a little reminder of what you have to lose."
"Alastor!"
Lilith jumped, whipping her head towards the kitchen doorway. There stood Charlie, red eyes wide and frantic, hair unbrushed, pajamas creased and half undone. Her little girlfriend stood behind her, hoisting that spear of hers in every direction. Charlie panted like she had run a marathon, leaning against the doorframe. "We came as fast as we could, what happened?!"
Alastor put a hand to his ever-present smile. "Oh! Dears, I'm terribly sorry, I must have tuned into the wrong channel!" Static fizzled over his eyes, and the radio perched on the kitchen counter hissed one short blat of feedback. The subtle, shrill beep it had been emitting quieted. "There is no danger, you can both relax."
Charlie blinked, buffering in real time.
Her girlfriend groaned and slammed her forehead into Charlie's back. "Fucking Hell, Alastor, you gave us a fucking heart attack!"
"Yes, yes, dreadfully sorry, ladies. I do hope you're able to go back to sleep."
Charlie sighed, slumped, and pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. "I guess there's no point. It's almost six anyway." Her gaze flitted up to Lilith. "Oh, hi Mom! Uh… what are you doing in here?"
Lilith forced a smile. "Oh, we were just talking about our Rosie. All the secrets we've shared between the three of us." It was a risk, bringing up her not-so-new relationship so soon. She knew the other woman still rubbed Alastor the wrong way—how that had happened, she didn't know—but she didn't want to make Charlie feel pressured to be okay with it so soon. These things took time. Naive as her daughter could be, Lilith knew she wasn't stupid. She had to have known long before now that she and Lucifer were over. A new relationship, at least for her, was the logical next step.
Charlie cringed, backing into her glaring girlfriend's hold. Shit.
"All appropriate things, don't worry, Darlings." Alastor added, smiling still despite his hunched frame, recoiling from Lilith as much as he could get away with. "I'm sure Lucifer would be happy to share the couch while I prep breakfast."
Charlie's girlfriend spun on her heel, flipping The Radio Demon double birds before making her way into the lobby. Charlie herself huffed out a laugh and spared the sinner a soft smile. "I'll just be a second, I need to grab my apron."
"Take your time, Sha. I truly am sorry for waking you both. Sloppy mistake on my part."
"It's okay. Um… what's your number right now?"
Lilith frowned. Number?
"For you, a seven."
Charlie beamed, practically skipped into the kitchen, and wrapped the mangy thing in a hug. Pressing her face into his gangly, reeking chest. Clinging to his bloodstained apron. Smiling softly when he hugged her back, resting his jutting chin on her head like he had any right to hold her like that. Like she meant something to him.
"Alright, now, that's enough." He patted her cheek until she released him with a giggle.
"Okay, okay. Sorry. I just, I love you, Alastor."
The Radio Demon hummed, turning back to his cutting board. "So you've said many, many times. Now, hurry along while I set the mise en place, hmm?"
Lilith expected her daughter to pout. To tear up and whine at the casual dismissal of her feelings. Instead, Charlie laughed, like the rejection was an inside joke, and made her way out of the kitchen.
"Don't you forget," he met Lilith's fuming gaze, "how much I've meant, to the family you left behind," he snapped his fingers, allowing her to catch a glimpse of three mugs, two topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, one reeking of ginger, before they blinked into existence in front of the lounge's occupants. "And I'm not finished yet."
Lilith grit her teeth. How dare he. Disgusting, slimy little pissant. Gorging himself on her daughter's naivete. Sucking up to her pathetic ex wearing the skin of a housewife; oh, Luci, Dearest, I do hope you enjoy this obnoxious cup of cocoa, made with poison especially for you. Pathetic. Sad. He could never replace her. "Do you honestly think he would ever chose you over a real woman?"
She saw his smile twitch, she did, she did.
"Why, Madame, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Are you feeling alright?"
Lilith was going to make him wish he had never come back.
Notes
Promised myself I'd never write a fic with Lilith as the antagonist and now we're here *cries* sorry queen. I wonder why she exclusively referred to Alastor as "The Radio Demon" or "the sinner" for the first little while? Also ma'am you cannot froth at the mouth over your ex getting attention, that's not how being divorced works.
Fun fact: Rosie did not give Alastor her coffee recipe, he figured it out on his own after tasting it a few times (had to spit it out after cuz y'know, cannibalism curse, but still, bro has a magical pallet)
This has also been posted on a03 (@ Winter_Songbird)
"That's… really sweet." She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "You had a beautiful family, Alastor."
He hummed. "Eventually, yes." He opened the oven with an exaggerated bow, tucking the souffle inside and removing the miniature apple pie they had constructed earlier in the same motion. Once safely on the cooling rack, Alastor caught her gaze over his shoulder, his one visible eye soft as he added, "And how lucky am I that I managed to find another?"
A small, sharp part of Charlie wanted to question him. Of course, his actions backed him up, but it didn't feel like something Alastor would ever admit to. Unless he wanted something.
It was hard, though, to focus on logic when every other part of her was trying not to squeal and cry and cling to him until she was sure this was real. Maybe he just felt safe enough with them (or with her, at least) to be a little more honest. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn't have come back if he didn't care, especially not after how her dad had treated him. "We love you too."
Alastor pulled a face like he had bitten into a lemon. "Hrmph. Sappy."
Charlie laughed, wiping the last of her tears away. He loved them too. In his own way. She could feel it.
