#[ just a little snippet in reaction to some things Alastor is not directly involved with ]

[radioiaci]

He'd made no mention of the strange sensation of loss that had rippled somewhere from head to toe as the rabble rousing had begun to peter out for the night. He'd not anticipated it to last very long- there were still preparations to be made, danger-free days granted or not. And Alastor knew that he and Rosie were not the only ones involved in this farce of an oncoming doomsday.

But as he nursed a glass of champagne to both celebrate the deed of the day and to lament, quietly, that he might never get a chance to repair the thing he had broken, something had struck him somewhere at his core.

It was like the feeling of knowing that something you always carried upon your person was no longer there. In fact, the radio demon was prompted to ensure that he still had his staff with him, though it had been tucked away into the metaphysical space for protection during the wedding. But that had not gone missing. It was something else.

Alastor pulled himself away from the commotion for a brief moment, venturing to the edge of the rooftop terrace of the Hazbin to glance down to the hill that overlooked the Uptown district. Beyond that, the remainder of the Pentagram shown, the foreboding clock tower ticking away with its ominous loom.

He did not know what to make of the strange feeling. But it did not feel right. There was no way of him knowing the fate that had befallen Lilith (@hells-sirenqueen), whether or not she would have found herself returning back from the confines of whatever Death had managed to find her at the hands of a cursed sword in Adam's grasp. He was not clairvoyant.

Perhaps, he thought, it was simply the reality of dread settling deep into his bones.

He supposed he would not know.

Alastor took another drink of his champagne.

The clock ticked on.