#alastor and his lack of respect for peoples privacy

[radvelvetcakez]

Alastor: *pulls back the curtain while Lucifer is showering* Alastor: Hey did we - stop screaming it’s me - did we run out of cereal?

[countlessrealities]

Your boyfriend.

Alastor cocks an eyebrow on one side, a confused expression touching his face. Adam must be referring Vox, considering the context of his words, but he still takes a moment to decide whether he should feign ignorance or bother to correct that assumption.

Eventually, he picks the latter option, just to force the other to continue a conversation he's obviously done with.

"Vox is not my lover. I don't understand where people are getting this ludicrous idea from," he ends up saying, managing to sound offended. "And I don't see why I should waste our time with that sort of activity. The walking picture box happens to know how to talk properly, unlike my present company."

His grin takes a pleased hue, as if he had been mentally patting his back, even if it's hard to guess why. Is it his comeback? Is it how unsettled Adam looks just because they are standing next to each other? Perhaps the fact that he knows what the other is hiding under his clothes? Or something else entirely?

"I see. Could the problem be the lack of privacy? I can respect that," he concedes, completely disregarding what has been said about Vaggie. The former angel doesn't need to be told that he liked "that bitch".

However, instead of dropping the subject, he turns towards the crowd of demons surrounding them. His scleras turn back, radio dials replacing his irises, as shadows erupts out of his back. Three tentacles grab the unfortunate guy who happens to be the closest to them, and rip him apart under everyone's horrified stares.

"O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅU̴̡̢̱̳̳͓̗͔̮̔͜͜͜T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ O̵̧̗͕̹̼̦̗̮̱̝͆͊́́̈̿̋ͅF̵̜̜͎͉̯̜̓͂ M̶̧͚̪͉̯̜̰͎̘̀͋̇̀͗̍́͆̑̏͂̿̊̚Ý̴̥͙̘̇̈́̇̃͒̿́͘͘͝͝ͅ Ś̸͙̺̥̰̯͙̭͆̏͂I̸̺̺͎̰̥̜̯̼̮̰͖̜͂͆̿̈́̿̔G̶̺̥̎̄͌͑͂̔̏̓̂́̈́͜͝͝͝͝ͅḨ̵̛̘̤͙͔̝̫̖̻̦̞͙̺̅̿͘͝T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕."

The rest of the presents, including the employees, don't need to be told twice. In the blink of an eye they are rushing for the exits, most of them screaming and trying to get out as quickly as possible, even if it means walking over someone else.

With a satisfied hum, Alastor shifts back into his usual form, waiting for the last patron to have left, before turning towards Adam once more.

"So? Do you know the sex of that little snack yet?"

"I guess you could do that. Why don't you also ask her what your boyfriend's up to while you're at it? I hear she's been keepin' up with him, too. Maybe you guys can hang out and peruse the fuckin' dictionary together, asshat."

His disinterest in this discussion should be more than apparent, the expression worn plainly on his mask as he stares ahead at the menu board. He's struggling to focus on what he wants to order, drastically unsettled by the vibes suddenly surrounding them, but at least he can try to look unbothered.

Though, his disinterest turns into blatant disgust with the accusation, lip curling up in a slight sneer as he turns his stomach away from Alastor's attention. The urge to tighten his wing-cocoon around the egg is unhappily suppressed; the shifting underneath his robe isn't going to help his case.

"I'm touching my stomach, so that automatically has to mean something? Bro, I'm fat and I'm hungry, what the fuck do you want from me?" It does mean something, but he doesn't appreciate how easily Alastor picks up on that. "She doesn't wanna be your fuckin' apprentice, either. Nobody liked that bitch, including her."

This conversation is already becoming too tiresome for him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man." Especially not in front of this entire establishment. "Unless you're congratulating me on the upgrade to my digs, there's nothing to say here."

[a-hazbin-spider]

There wouldn’t be much to suspect, at least not as he is now. In fact, the entirety of their initial meeting in the lobby, Angel was almost certain he would be put through more or used anyway. He had no idea what it was that he should be doing or how much to trust. Even bathing had him… nervous that maybe he’d find fun when his guard was let down. Perhaps he’d feel his head sink hnder tge water and really be at someone else’s mercy entirely.

Instead, fake or not, he’s being cared for. And Alastor gets to hear his voice dip down, and be so honest. Husk gets to see sincerity more than most others, but he hadn’t quite made this mistake around him. Not yet. Hopefully not ever. Being an even bigger loser? No thanks. But between being bled out and this taking him out of left field, the care softened him up, after being beaten back without it enough, it must’ve lured his mind into some weird form of subspace. Hopefully none of this needs to be admitted, or found out. But. He can’t say he minds that he’s feeling safe and not worrying about the clock ticking away at how much longer he had to simply dying again.

And Alastor. He was kind enough, wasn’t he? Through it all, he hadn’t listed any demands per se, and had shown him respect for his privacy. That just… doesn’t happen. Even when he’d pushed for responses before, by now, the tough questions stopped. Leaving only ones for preference- or maybe just ones to keep him up a little while longer as not to pass out here.

Not that the glance down to weird tarsal claw-paws on his equally spindly appendages was particularly something that would calm him, his face was actually able to feel a bit of a burn on it despite it all. Even Angel internalized how weird they looked now- how especially without his boots, they were shorter, less of the look he wanted. And- ugh. Spider feet. People hate bugs. Lacking judgement did however seem to put him at a bit of ease. Most imperfections or criticism have him in a quick expectation to fix or cover it up. Alastor treating him with a normalcy. He’d even shown Angel his own hooves to make a point (Angel would withhold his thoughts on them being cute, and the hooves looking like they’d been stylishly polished). Something in between the terror of being wrong, and the sheer need to be Right. Relaxing in its own right.

Like eating for once could offer him relief. Sure the rough treatment tonight left him less than agreeable with how he moved and whatnot, but he had also habitually wound up all but starving. It probably makes him look a bit more like a wet rat nibbling like this, but dammit he looks like a happier wet rat. No doubt one that was regaining fluid and sustenance for himself.

He’d let his second set of arms retract before long, being sure to let Alastor’s shirt keep from stretching. The slight bagginess over his frame- was a little odd not going even past his mid thigh, but was no doubt comfortable! Much like the atmosphere, steadily filling with a soft sound of jazz, as the food was shared between them.

“Tea an’ coffee?” He perks a little. “Yeh, actually. Don’t a’ways. Get tha’ time fa that. But coffee n’ a cigarette usually. Gets me. Through tha’ day. Tea has lotsa kinds. N’ I can’t name one I ain’t liked. Do you like em..?” Maybe he’d feel silly later about useless yammering being slurred out, but he seems content with the arrangement. With his body no longer trying to shut down, color repaints his face and lips a bit. That just so happens to spruce up his mood too. Being clean, dry, and fed will help with that.

Luckily for himself, he doesn’t get attached to many articles anymore. Not only does he rarely have any chosen by himself, or gifted. But they’re mostly costumes that he spends loathsome nights in only to bring poor reminders or simple numb indifference while he dolls up as instructed. Even if it looked good on him or whatever, there were plenty things he fashioned himself for the sake of his purpose.

Angel had been known to get… destructive with things like that too. Sometimes an outfit will be in tact, but it will have to go through Angel’s own meltdown that piled on abuse and stress can drive him to.

Brr. It was a little breezy, but it wasn’t a huge problem, the shaking was customary at this point, he’s since gotten used to it, and had been grateful for the kindness that both circumstance and his caretaker as of tonight were sparing him. Alastor even let him have clothes. And hadn’t tossed and tugged haplessly- rather had been lifted and guided gently. Hard to say how much of him was still there, his mind had been rather wishy-washy with remaining conscious and present. He wasn’t smacked or yelled at to force him back either. Alastor was sure to be shown the gratitude for his mercy. Times like this were rough, beaten into submission, Angel is successfully in place like a dog.

While the deer is up inspecting the contents of his wardrobe, the arachnid had taken to sipping the water rather well. Reasonably emptied the glass most the way actually, he was thirstier than he’d thought, but had managed to be careful about chugging. There is an odd rumbling noise to be heard that reverberates in his chest every so often, as he looks to be relaxing considerably, in the spot so generously set up for him.

Clothing brought his attention right away, almost forgot, honestly. And it was a rather pleasant thing. He hadn’t thought the other would really share nice comfy clothes with him, all this was close to bringing a tear to his eye, the plate had already made them sting in a threat to do so. Which he will insist was just an eyelash or something equally as benign- like he’d accidentally stretched or bumped a wound. It really is strange that he feels so many capricious mood flips regarding his… guard. Maybe it’s just how his brain seems to still be ebbing with its own function. Little control to be had and trying to take control over what he did have. Like forcing another more lucid looking smile on his face. Even though his eyes left much to be desired.

“Oh wow… Thanks, Alastor.” He muses softly, pleasantly feeling the fabric between his fingers. He had made quick work to cover his lower half, and mentally apologized with how he’d for sure need to scrub for later while he let his rather bony silhouette be covered comfortably- careful not to reopen anything the deer had worked so hard on. He actually felt good like this. Felt once more as though he was safe, clean, felt more like a person than he does in a typical aftermath.

“S’okay. So-sorry ya gotta see my ugly feet, n’ tha’ weird legs.” In all honesty that was a reason among many that he had been hesitant. He does make a slight attempt to butter it up a bit, as the plate gestures to share.

“Wanna eat wit’ me..? ’Went through tha trouble.”