Chapter Text
This… had not gone at all to plan, Alastor thought morosely to himself.
When he had sold his soul to a demonic entity in a blood ritual last week, he had not expected them to be able to collect on their deal for some time. Not for a long time as a matter of fact.
Twenty years, twenty years of his life he had spent collecting forbidden knowledge.
Charming his way into underground practices, engaging in covert correspondence. All for the purpose of acquiring banned books, the keys to unlocking insight into the hidden nature of the world. He had used his natural gifts past down from his family’s heritage to master the dark arts, he had become skilled in secrets of the occult that were known too only a few.
He’d even made a modest sum along the way, providing services no other practitioner in the city would, to clients of a… less than moral disposition.
He’d learnt early on the basic conjuration for prolonging one’s youthful vigour by a decade or two, as it was passed down through his maternal bloodline. But he’d been intrigued since boyhood of tales of talented artisans living for centuries, making it part of his life’s work to uncover what had been lost by generations of persecution.
He was on the brink of success.
No, he had not intended on ending up in Hell for some time yet. But it seemed Hell had other plans for him.
Burgundy eyelids lifted slowly as Alastor opened his eyes to stare at the cloven hooves in front of him, crimson dewclaws shifting slightly as he flexed them. He huffed, not remotely impressed with his new body. His new owner had assured him it would be temporary, that as he grew in power, he would be able to shapeshift into a more humanoid form.
Alastor craned his long neck to look up at the wall clock above the mantle, a long pendulum swinging gracefully side to side in its’ mahogany box. The short hand inching slowly toward the VI, not much longer now.
Overlarge ears flicked as they picked up the distant dits and dars of Morse code on the air, it seemed he had the ability to actually hear radio waves. No one was broadcasting their voice though, all he was picking up was the occasional wireless telegram. It would appear Hell’s technological progress ran slightly behind the living world’s, perhaps he could corner the market?
He’d been at the top of his game on Earth, the stations ratings were never higher than when he was on the air. Every broadcast his adoring audience hung on his every word, yet they had no idea what he looked like. Hell, even the higher ups at the network had no clue.
Alastor had been quite resentful the first time his Manager had insisted he call out sick, on the day the Big Cheeses were due to grace them with their presence with a site visit for a companywide photograph. But as demeaning as the charade was, he couldn’t deny that he unfortunately agreed with Ted’s reasoning. An in person meeting with people like that would have gone down very poorly, probably costing him his job.
After a few years he’d found himself taking a fair bit of satisfaction in giving the top dogs the run around, delighting in repeatedly denying them in their desires to meet their star performer, while everyone else who worked with him sung his praises. Ah yes, he’d had those yuppy producers wound around his fingers… now he didn’t even have fingers.
Soft ruddy fur fluffed out as the demonic little cervid creature heaved a rueful sigh, glancing back up at the ornate wall clock and its’ stubbornly slow minute hand.
It could be worse he supposed. The entity that now owned him seemed nice enough, she had even had some of her hellspawn minions go check on the living world for him. Apparently, the man who shot him was from old cotton money, his hounds had made such a mess of both him and the fresh corpse he had been disposing of that it had not been obvious what he had been up to that evening.
The toff had been hunting illegally, at night and out of season. Typical, the rules never apply to the rich do they. Some things never change. They had been so eager to cover it all up and sweep it under the rug that they had just assumed he had stumbled across two nances meeting up in the woods for an illicit midnight tryst.
Both families had subsequently been handsomely paid off, of course. And hinted to that if they tried to speak out, word of their dearly departed loved one’s deviancy would get out and bring shame and social ostracisation down upon them. Alastor didn’t much care about that, it was far better than been publicly revealed as a serial killer, that was for sure.
But Alastor was glad those he left behind would not bear the cost of him being caught in the act, it was a substantial weight off his mind. He suspected that was why this Rosie character had done it, so he would be more focused in obeying her commands. After informing him of everything that had happened, she had made a point of telling him that he could no longer affect the affairs of the living and that it was time to let go.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what the reaction would be once his relatives got around to checking out his shack located out deep in the bayou. It was only a matter of time and he hadn’t exactly left it in the cleanest of states. It wasn’t as if his dabbling into the dark arts was unknown to certain people, but he had made a point to hide just how deep it went. Would they be horrified? Unsurprised? Both?
Would they disavow him? Scrub his name from their hearts and never speak of him again? Or would someone endeavour to continue his work?
Alastor’s train of self-pitying thoughts were interrupted rather rudely when he was suddenly hit with an immense wave of hunger, the pangs so strong they left him dizzy. Hunching over in pain as he waited to it to pass, the newly spawned demon heard his innards rumble like an oncoming storm surge.
His head swam as the worst of it passed, it was only then he realised his ears had pinned themselves back against his skull without any input from him. That had been getting worse, growing in intensity since his arrival in Hell.
Rosie had informed him that it was due to the type of demon he was, eldritch she had called him. That he required something more than just food and water to survive down here. And that if he didn’t get what he needed, it would continue to get worse until it drove him completely mad. That he would end up rabid and probably cast into Wonderland, if he didn’t go there voluntarily before he hurt someone he cared about.
It all sounded rather ominous to him.
What a children’s novel about a fantasy land filled with talking rabbits and silly tea parties had to do with a district of eternal damnation, he had no notion whatsoever. Some of his most treasured memories involved being snuggled tightly into his home-made quilts, struggling to stay awake as his beloved Monman read him fantastical stories of Alice’s Adventures.
He wondered where she was now…
Rosie had told him he was free to roam wherever he pleased, but from what little he’d seen of this demented place in the few hours he’d experienced, between manifesting in Hell and being picked up and shoved in a hessian sack by those freaky eyeless thralls of hers. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea.
The lost fawn-like demon had been chased down alleyways twice by creepy hatchet wielding maniacs, looking to make him into venison, before being found and brought before the Cannibal Queen. Given how unstable he was on his new feet, he didn’t particularly want to repeat the experience.
He still didn’t know what task he needed to complete for her to free himself, apparently he would find out when he was strong enough to begin his work for her.
Yes, he needed to be stronger, he only hoped this Rosie was good for it.
Alastor looked morosely over at the big ceramic bowl on the other side of the kitchen floor, his name printed in big bold letters. No, this had not gone to plan at all.
An ebony tipped ear twitched involuntarily, as the dull thumping of someone ascending the steps to the back door reverberated through the floorboards. The tall corpse like woman in an outdated walking suit, sauntered into the kitchen while humming a jaunty tune, her arms full of an afternoon of vigorous shopping.
“Oh, there you are Pet!” She greeted him merrily, casually offloading her purchases onto the counter and removing her gloves, before leaning down to scratch him between the ears. Alastor fought the urge to pull away as she affectionately ran her hand around the cone of his ear, he was still new to all this and did not want to get on her bad side.
A smug smile crossed her face as she withdrew, humming her approval at his obedience. “I was hoping to find you here my deer, in fact a I have a special gift for you tonight.” She turned away from him and busied herself with items on the benchtop that were out of his view.
Alastor waited patiently for her continue, trying desperately to ignore the grumbling coming from deep within him.
“I’ve got exclusive reservations at Dante's Inferno with Franklin this evening, so you’ll be on your own till late. While I’m gone I want you to have a lovely little treat.” She turned to him, waiting expectantly for him to respond. He was getting used to this dance by now, she wasn’t going to feed him until he showed her the proper deference.
Alastor dipped his head, the same way he would as if tipping a hat. Not that he would ever wear one inside, his mother raised him better than that.
“Now, Now, Use your words.” She chided him mildly, amusement already forming on her lips.
Urgh, Alastor shifted uncomfortably. He hoped she would tire of this silly and humiliating game soon. Resigning himself to his fate, he opened his mouth to say thank you.
As expected, a plaintive bleat echoed throughout the expectant silence of the large kitchen.
Rosie giggled with glee, slender fingertips doing nothing to hide her smile as a mortified Alastor wanted nothing more than to sink into the floorboards. Wispy shadows started curling up around him as he unintentionally started to do just that.
“Oh now, now, don’t sulk Pet.” With a wave of her hand Rosie banished the shadows away. “There’s no need for that. Come, see what I’ve got for you.” With that she turned and walked to ward his bowl, a reluctant red and black fawn falling in tow.
But what she placed in the custom ceramic dish took him completely by surprise…
It was a sinner, a small unconscious sinner, but definitely an “alive” one, he could see them breathing. They were roughly the size of her hand, maybe a bit of the wrist as well. Alastor balked, he had known full well that she had been feeding him sinner meat, hell she had fed him actual hands a couple of times. But this was different, this was a living breathing sinner.
Small hooves clicked softly as he stepped back in shock, head swivelling up to look at her with an incredulous expression. Rosie met his gaze with the look of someone who had been expecting this reaction.
“Oh, trust me sweetie, this isn’t something you want to turn your nose up at... You can feel it can’t you? That gnawing hollow feeling?” Her tone turning slightly menacing as Alastor looked back at the comatose sinner in his food bowl, feeling an instinctual tug toward it. “The one that is never satiated? Just out of the corner of your mind, threatening to consume you… It needs to be fed Alastor. And only another soul will do.”
The little deer felt an overwhelming sense of hunger swell from within, threatening to overwhelm him as he was unable to tear his eyes away from the peacefully sleeping prey…
SNAP!
Sharp hooves skidded across woodgrain as Alastor was startled out of his hypnotic stare, loosing his balance on his spindly legs and coming to a rather ungraceful stop when his backside hit the floor, only narrowly avoiding landing on his tail. It took him a moment to realise that Rosie had clapped her hands together sharply.
“Well then, I’m off! Have a good night deer, and behave yourself while I’m gone.” She announced cheerfully, the hem of her skirt rustling as she swished her way toward the exit. “I want that all gone by the time I get back now.” She instructed like a Victorian governess, before turning around to him one last time as she disappeared out the door.
“Tu es prêt à manger?” Her wicked smile fading into the darkness.
The demonic deer sat dumfounded on the kitchen floor, staring at where his mistress had just been. He turned back to look at the demon in his bowl again, before quickly looking at the doorframe once more. Not out of disbelief or anything, but because the moment he had looked at the sinner the urge had returned with startling vehemence.
Alastor both felt and heard his gut rubble with enthusiasm as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the sudden desire to devour someone alive.
Was this seriously happening? This WAS Hell he supposed. He had come to terms with eating sinner meat easily enough, especially since he’d been assured that people just regenerated here. He’d not exactly been a total stranger to some mild cannibalism in the human world either, people were willing to pay a lot of money for some of the more fucked up rituals.
There was also that one time, during the war… Alastor shook his head, big ears twitching as they flapped. He tried his best to dismiss the memory, preferring to keep that particular incident as repressed as possible.
But all that was different! The voice of his internal monologue protested. That was all just flesh, dead meat. This was a living person, or whatever passed for living down here anyways. This was someone’s immortal soul. Rosie had made it perfectly clear when he had first come to live with her, that if someone’s soul was destroyed, they simply ceased to exist.
Scarlet eyes slowly opened once more as the burgeoning demon regained his composure.
But the sinner was still there, dozing innocently in his dinner bowl, the sight causing his cravings to peak once more. The hollow ache in his abdomen twisting into an incessant demand to consume that he could barely control, let alone ignore.
There was no avoiding this, he realised.
Morally questionable or not, he needed this. He NEEDed to do this or he’d be driven insane, he’d spend the rest of creation as an unintelligible monster wandering the wastelands. He only hoped whoever this unfortunate demon had been, they at least fit somewhat into his modus operandi.
Alastor stood with an uncertain sway, checking the empty doorway one last time to ensure he was alone. He was still admittedly unaware if this sort of thing was frowned upon in Hell or not, but either way, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted anyone to witness this.
He understood enough about his eldritch powers to know that the meal… the individual in question needed to be alive for him to properly devour their soul, or else they’d just re-manifest somewhere else. But he wasn’t overly fond of the prospect of them waking up half way down his throat.
Alastor’s stomach suddenly gurgled loudly at the thought of his victim desperately squirming for their life… Oh, or maybe he was? But that was a potential experiment for another time, if this was going to be his first attempt he really didn’t want to choke.
Two cloven hooves caught the fading blood red light streaming though the kitchen window, as Alastor lifted one of his forelegs high in the air. With a sharp motion he brought it down next to the bowl, the sound echoing though the empty estate like a crack of lightning.
The unfortunate sinner made no reaction, lying motionless in the curve of the porcelain. Whatever Rosie had done to them to knock them out, it sure was thorough. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. Raising up on his hind legs the little red deer slammed his front feet on either side of the monogramed dish with all the strength he could muster.
Oh shit, he thought as he realised he had left a mark in the floorboards. But damaged woodwork aside, the oblivious demon remained blissfully so.
Well then, there was nothing else for it he supposed…