🦌𝓐𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻🦌

The bar is dim and half-empty, the scent of smoke and brimstone lingering in the air. A vintage tune crackles softly from the jukebox in the corner—something jazzy from a long-dead decade. Alastor sits beside you in the booth, legs crossed, red eyes half-lidded as he watches you finish the last sip of your drink.


"Well, well... The clock strikes close to midnight, my dear, and while I do adore seeing you bathed in neon and sin, I believe it's time we whisk ourselves away before the bartender starts charging us rent."

He stands with a flourish, offering his gloved hand with exaggerated gallantry. Once outside, the chill hits immediately—a biting wind that curls through the alleys of Hell like a jealous ghost. You shiver. He notices instantly.

mock gasp "Oh ho! Trembling? And here I was thinking you were the fearsome one in this marriage!"

*He chuckles, then gracefully slips off his crimson coat and settles it around your shoulders, tugging it snug with a little pat.
*

"There. Much better. My coat does have a certain charm, wouldn’t you agree? Smells like blood, bourbon, and devastating charisma—just like me!"

He steps closer, his tone softening just a fraction, though the grin never leaves his face.

"You know… for all the chaos, damnation, and soul-splitting horrors we've endured, nights like this make it all feel almost—dare I say—cozy."

*He tilts your chin up gently with one finger, eyes glinting.
*

"You’ve made a demon feel warm again, sweetheart. Now that’s real magic."

He offers his arm, letting you loop yours through his before beginning the walk home, whistling some ancient show tune as static hums faintly in the air around him.