Why yes, I'll take your soul

Alastor reclined in the low backed chair of his radio tower, jacket hanging open and shirt unbuttoned, as he carefully peeled away the gauze from his side. The pain was persistent, sharp, needling, like an abscess that won't quell.

The flesh around the wound was swollen and inflamed. Pale gold veins spiderwebbed out from the impact site, the glossy surface slowly weeping thin red rivulets, flecked with stubborn specks of gold. It wasn’t healing. If anything, it was getting worse.

‘It might be infected,’ He notes with no small measure of annoyance. He would need a stronger disinfectant. Something potent. Something that radiates infernal power. ‘Maybe Beelzejuice?’ He'd look for something on today's stroll.

As he wiped away the old blood, and began applying a new bandage, his mind drifted to Charlie, and to his plans.

That ridiculous memory-sharing exercise had been his first group activity, and by his own estimation, he handled it rather well. ‘No surprise there.’

He'd been polite. Engaged. Even earnest. And he hadn’t lied either, that was a happy memory. He’d followed the instructions to the letter. If others had weak stomachs, that was hardly his fault. Everything had unfolded precisely as intended, even if Vaggie had, inexplicably, spoken up in his defense. ‘Strange, that.’

Then, of course, there was last night’s board game. He still wasn’t sure what had compelled him to participate in that particular bit of mundanity. But in the end, it turned out rather well. Stupendously so, if he does say so himself.

Oh, Charlie had put on a brave face, but he knew he’d gotten under her skin. Pushed just hard enough to sting. With any luck, she’d decide his presence only made these little “bonding exercises” worse and stop inviting him to them altogether.

The thought made a genuine smile overtake his face.

He finished dressing the wound, smoothing the bandage into place before buttoning his shirt and jacket with practiced care, erasing the lingering bloodstains from the fabric with a flick of his fingers. Rising, he stepped to the mirror, adjusted his bow tie with a neat little flourish, and murmured to his reflection, “Time for another frivolous exercise.”

Alastor arrived just as Charlie finished gathering everyone else, slipping into his usual seat with a pleasant hum. He made a habit of arriving at the last possible moment. Partly to keep people on their toes, but mostly to avoid anyone trying to rope him into small talk.

Charlie clapped her hands together, eyes bright. “Now that everyone’s here, I’ll explain what we’re doing!”

Her voice was chipper as she prattled on.

“It’s another simple exercise this week,” she said. “Keeping with the theme of positivity, everyone will give the person to their right an earnest compliment!”

As expected, ridiculous and pointless. Now to think of something suitably backha—

“Why don’t you start us off, Alastor?”

Alastor froze.

He wasn’t ready. 

‘Why did she start with him?’

Slowly, he turned to his right, locking eyes with Charlie. She watched him expectantly, the scent of lilac drifting off of her.

He’d been silent too long already. He grabbed the first thing that came to mind.

"I find your moralizing... admirably persistent, and you’re a good dancer."

Charlie shot him an awkward grin, but it looked genuine. "Uhm, thanks... I think?"

The compliment circle rolled on. Charlie turned to Husk. Alastor vaguely registered her saying something about him being reliable, or steady, or some other soft little virtue, but he was too busy silently seething to care.

That was the best he could do? Really? That fumbling line? That was more awkward than backhanded.

It wasn’t his fault, he decided. The request itself was absurd. He’d been caught off guard by the utter inanity of it.

And besides, if you actually thought about it, his response wasn’t even that bad. It was the perfect blend of sincere yet patronizing. Her hesitant thanks was proof enough.

Alright, maybe the bit about dancing was unnecessary, but still.

Alastor was pulled from his musing as Niffty drew his attention. She turned toward him and leaned precariously over her chair.+

“You’re the baddest boy,” she said in a menacing tone… before devolving into a fit of giggles, kicking her feet.

‘Charming as always.’ He thought dryly.

Before Alastor could escape to his morning stroll, Charlie hurried up to him, looking just a teeny bit nervous. Shoulders tight, hands fidgeting with the hem of her blazer, eyes flicking up to meet his and then away again. She probably needed him to do something. She always looks a bit uncomfortable when asking for his help.

“Hey, Alastor, could you do me a teeny tiny little bitty favor?” she asked, holding her thumb and forefinger close together to emphasize the scale.

Alastor rolled his eyes, though he didn’t actually mind. He had no real plans for the day, and the wound in his side made the idea of a long walk less appealing than usual. Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he rather enjoyed showing off.

“Of course, my dear!” he replied animatedly, His hand snapped up to her shoulder, drawing her neatly into his side as if they were posing for a picture. “As long as it’s as tiny as you say.” He pinched his fingers together, making sure they were held even closer together than hers.

“Great!” Charlie said, slipping out of his grip. “Some birds have made a nest in the chimney, and I was wondering if you could get rid—”

“Say no more!” Alastor interrupted, already striding toward the fireplace. With a dramatic sweep of his hand, a torrent of sickly green flames roared up the chimney.

PAIN

The festering gash on his chest flared white-hot in protest, magic ripping through inflamed nerves like a bolt of lightning.

he doubled over, one hand flying to his mouth as a ragged, bloody cough forced its way out of him.

“I was going to say, without hurting them,” Alastor vaguely heard her say through the ringing in his ears.

Then, light fingers pressed to his shoulder.

“Al, are you okay?” Charlie asked softly, concern creeping into her voice.

“Just peachy,” Alastor snarked, forcing himself upright. “There was a surprising amount of backdraft. I never was much of a smoker.” 

He kept his smile in place as he pulled his hand away from his mouth, turning slightly so his body blocked her view while he discreetly wiped the blood onto the inner lining of his jacket.

"Oh. Okay." Charlie gave a small nod, seeming to accept the excuse. “Be careful, Al.”

Now she thinks him a clumsy fool. Still, preferable to her knowing he’s wounded. Barely.

With that, they parted ways.

The thought of a morning stroll suddenly felt far less appealing. Instead, Alastor found himself retracing his steps back to the familiar quiet of his radio tower.

He shrugged out of his jacket the moment the door closed behind him, then unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it away from his side. Nearly soaked through already. His penchant for wearing red was probably the only reason no one noticed.

"This won't do at all," he muttered to no one in particular.

With a flick of his fingers, he sent his shadow slipping away to retrieve the disinfectant he’d promised himself he'd find. Even that slight exertion made the wound throb.