nomoreroom | An Alastor RP Catchall

"That!" He pointed at Alastor, "That's it! It's like a boredom craving. Humans eat because they need to survive and I just like the way it feels on my tongue." God it was good the radio demon pointed that too. Otherwise it was just gonna be on the tip of Raphael's tongue all night.

"That would be preferable." The angel nodded as he started the drive onto the paved street towards I-10. Car radios were a lot smaller now and built into the car. "Yeah, FM is used more for music and AM for news and more community radio stuff. There's an XM now although this man didn't have it. Gives off a much clearer sound. Go ahead and mess with it. I'm partial to just about anything."

"So if you're bored enough to eat down here, does that make heaven that much more of a gas?" He's curious, okay? Genuinely curious. He's not so simple as to just believe it when a bunch of bitter, rowdy drunks inform him that heaven is for boring squares and nothing interesting happens up there.

There has to be a reason people see it as a reward, after all.

"Sounded just fine on AM." He invested because he wanted to be rich. ... More rich. He wouldn't have dug in his heels about it even if he hadn't, can't stand against progress, but there was something preferable to the old sound. A thought he made obvious as he openly just picked AM. Nothing by way of music that he figured he'd like, he'd heard snippets of what was popular in this current year. No thank you.

"Is...is heaven a what?" He asked confused. Raphael knew some slang but this...he couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

As for the radio choice Raph gave a small smile.

"Let me help you out." He switched back to FM but the radio station he chose played a Big Band oldie song from 1937.

"A hoot! A riot! A blast! Is it fun up there, feathers?" To be fair, not a lot of people used the phrase 'a gas' anymore, but Alastor was, technically, an old man.

He was about to argue about switching back to FM, the crackle and hiss of the static pleasantly nostalgic, but as the beginning's of 'Minnie the Moocher' suddenly blasted brazenly from the speakers, he finally, immediately, shut up, his eyes lighting up.

Perfect.

Normally that would earn Alastor another 'deer' nickname but at an actual positive question about Raphael's side of the tracks he let it pass.

"Well we do have Cab Calloway." He told him as he kept his eyes on the road and drove into Baton Rouge itself.

"Just like there is every kind of blessed person in existence there is every kind of amusement. Since in our case people are mostly good we live in an...well, an almost political anarchy. We don't need laws or regulations because no one can accidentally die and people are pretty good natured."

See, he can ask nice things every now and again.

He'd really gotten into Cab, the last few years of his life. Really a pity, he was going to see him live at some point before the... incident. Though he now appeared to be distracted by the life outside of the windows of the truck, the simple fact that those ears had rotated back were proof enough he was still listening.

"So Hell!" Well, no, but let him elaborate-

"No point in making rules because of the general population."

It made sense. It was the people that made a place enjoyable or miserable. Heaven or Hell. Proverbs 15:17 and all.

Raph noticed Alastor's fascination with the change the modern world made and started to look for parking.

"What part of Lousiana are you from?" He asked.

Hell is other people, and likewise so was heaven, just like earth! It was just a matter of the asshole to angel ratio that was different.

"Why, New Orleans, of course!"

He'd seen city lights before, of course, he'd been to Baton Rouge before, how could he not? But it'd grown since the thirties, lights and sounds he'd never seen, the sheer size of the buildings and the absolute amount of people more on par with the hectic buzz of the Pentagram than what he originally remembered, all countered with the soothing pitch black of the sky, rather than the hellfire orange of the pit.

He was obviously eager to get out, one hand already locked on the handle of the door.

"Well, that's not too far. It's only an hour away, maybe forty five if there's no traffic."

Seeing Alastor's hand on the handle though suggested that might be too much of a car ride. Instead Raphael parked on a side street and turned off the car. After manipulating the parking meter he turned back to Alastor.

"The beignet place is around the corner if you want or we could just walk."

New Orleans would still be there the next time Heaven wanted him out and about. With one hundred years to do his job, at some point in time, he was positive he'd be seeing the city again, sooner rather than later.

Indeed, Raphael was right to assume that the demon wouldn't tolerate sitting in the car for too much longer, and he was out and no doubt hovering about just barely within range of the angel the second the car was parked.

"And turn down my first decent beignet in years? Not a chance. Doesn't take all night to eat a couple beignets, we got plenty of time to walk around."

"If you wish." The angel replied sticking his hands in his pockets and walking down the sidewalk.

"It's your first night out of the pit so I was gonna let you take point on this."

Raphael went to the shack to order a small box of the fried dough goodness. He brought them to one of the nearby tables.

"So what is the appeal of 'down there'?" He asked as he took a bite. Mm, God bless humans and their culinary prowess.

"Don't plan on letting me have run of the trip next time?" None of these trips up better be up and back again, goddamnit.

He's picked a table, nice and out of the way of everyone else, at a perfect vantage point to... you know, watch everyone that could possibly come in.

He snagged one for himself, as the box was set down in front of him, immediately popping it into his mouth.

"Easy, mobility! It's all about potential upward movement!" He chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the treat for a second, before continuing.

"Well, downward movement, to you, I can only suppose."

"I'm trying to be nice." Raphael lifted a brow at him. He could only imagine what eighty five years in a cramp, territorial pentagram could be like.

The angel chewed his treat thoughtfully as he thought about the whole predicament. To be honest this was the first in many thousands of years he ever thought of the damned except how to get rid of them.

"A hypothetical question, our deal is still good. If you couldn't reincarnate, couldn't go back to earth, would you stay in Hell? Would anyone down there?"

"Sure, right now! But what about next time? And the time after that? I don't mind playing nice with you every time we come up here, so long as we get a little union break top side."

Another beignet vanished down that fanged maw, Alastor chuckling.

"Now let's not talk about things that won't happen." Or rather, he'd rather not talk about something that could happen, in case it did.

Didn't want to foil any plan B's, just in case he still needed them.

"As for everyone else! I don't think they have much of a choice, now do they? Not like they can just walk out."

"Like I said, I'm in no hurry to go to Hell unless I have to. I have no problem being 'top side.'" He replied, "I guess what I'm trying to ask is do you like it in Hell? If there were no exterminators, no Final Judgement, would Hell be 'your people' as Charlie calls them?"

Now was Alastor worried Heaven would turn his back on him?

"Now, why would you be asking me a thing like that, Raphael?" Ah. He did know his name.

That expression remained ever relaxed, and he rolled the next beignet between his fingers, the claws sinking here and there into the soft, warm dough.

"This doesn't have anything to do with business."

He should be happy that it isn't an annoying nickname. But the use of his actual name sent a shiver of danger down his spine as if he'd forgotten that Alastor was an actual demon in every sense of the word.

"Isn't it?" Raphael asked lightly, "Considering the Final Judgement and all."

He took the last pastry never taking his eyes off the serial killer.

Still a demon, and meeting the angel's eyes with that same, permanent, unreadable smile.

"Raphael." A laugh, static turning harsh what must have once been such a jovial, bubbly sound.

"The deal's already done. The only way this conversation could be relevant is if you planned on breaking that deal.

But, an angel wouldn't do that, right? Lying to a demon, lying to a human, lying to anyone else, lying's a sin.

And you wouldn't sin. I know you wouldn't." Vaguely, but quite perceptively, the static grew sharper, light flickering just behind the demon's eyes as one long, sharp claw peeled away a piece of the dough.

"You wouldn't lie to me."

Damn it that smile was slowly grating on him. Raphael didn't have problems showing his true colors but the fact that Alastor was constantly unreadable was bothering him.
Right now the angel was looking nervous that he had made a mistake, paranoid of the demon's true intentions.

No, this couldn't be a mistake. It was sealed by God. Then again God worked in mysterious ways.

"I can't break the deal. It's bound by Heaven." Raphael answered slowly. True...unless Gabriel could find a loophole.

"That still doesn't mean I can't ask how you think or feel about things." He continued on cautiously, "You wouldn't hide things from me, would you?"

"Awful specific to ask about, considering the situation. Now you have to understand, I've spent eighty five years, and eighty five years is a long time for a human, former and current, living with murderers, rapists, thieves and liars of all colors, shapes and sizes.

I know when I'm being lied to." He left that there, as it was, moving easily to the question posed at him.

"As long as you hold your end of the deal, I wouldn't hide a thing from you." Saccharine, that tone, the underlying hint of violence ever there, as he tossed the chunk of dough he'd torn free into his mouth.

"You get what you give."

His hand moved underneath the table ready to snap him back to Hell if he decided he was going to try and tear him apart in this restaurant. Now Alastor struck the healer as having more control than that but one never knew. Raphael was handling fire here.

"Yes, specific." He agreed, "But considering the situation appropriate. No other alastor has ever completed their service. If you succeed you'll be the first sinner to leave Hell since the Resurrection."

First demon to leave Hell with a loyalty to Hell.

He had plenty of self control, and it was being very carefully exerted right now. A lesser demon might have already launched themselves across the table to try and grab a fistful of fur or snag a horn in an attempt to bounce the angel's face off the table.

Alastor simply tore off another chunk of his beignet, that unblinking stare still locked on Raphael.

"Then I'd suggest making room in the record books for me."

He's going to do everything in his power to ensure that deal is kept. They're important.

"Don't be so jumpy, friend." Back to nicknames.

"I wouldn't pull anything stupid. You can trust me."

The angel remained silent and did nothing. Clearly this line of questioning had backfired. In all honesty he had asked only as a curiosity; to see what chance Charlie had with the hotel.

Maybe Raphael had written the contract wrong. Maybe Alastor had found his own loophole or had some ulterior motives. There were rumors of his connection with Vox and a 'Rosie' woman who looked like she came out of 'Hello Dolly!'.

On the other hand maybe Alastor was innocent of Raphael's suspicions. Maybe he really was that desperate to escape Hell. Maybe he found the place as repugnant as the angel did and the sort of nonchalance he held for it was a survival mechanism of sorts.

Still it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion. His other hand under the table made a quick sketch of the mark he left on Alastor's hand with energy before sending it to his brother, Gabriel.

Edited 2019-05-09 17:50 (UTC)

Eighty five years living with people who'd stab you in the back for a cold beer and a crisp high five did tend to leave one a bit suspicious of the motives of others. Throw in the fact that the being before him was his utter antithesis and Alastor frankly, honestly, only trusted Raphael as far as he could overhand huck him. In the end, the fault wasn't truly Raphael's. The angel was in an extremely difficult position; Alastor didn't trust anyone.

The angel was also, however, an excellent means to an end, and Alastor didn't need to trust someone to use them.

The rest of the beignet vanished down that fanged gullet, the former pressure and air of threat vanishing like a brief afternoon storm.

"I'm more than willing to work for Heaven up until that one hundred year mark rolls around. I don't want to hurt anyone I don't have to." While up here. He'll hurt anyone he likes in Hell.

"Nothing to worry about, friend, my word's my bond! Good as gold."

Raphael nodded willing to play along for now.

"How was the beignet? Better than Hell's?" He asked.

What is even this? Raphael heard the almost laughing voice of his brother Gabriel in his head. You should leave the writing of contracts to me, brother dear.

Raphael could only send back a ? in response. He didn't have the gift of communication that Gabriel had.

Well for starters you don't even have the nontransferable mark here. Who knows in whose hands this deal could end up with. Who the hell is this Alastor guy anyway? Let me all the details when you come up!

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