It was simpler, and the thing that made it so was Alastor's shadow pushing ahead of him, eager like a pet, a senseless animal that craved attention above safety. The trouble was, it was no such thing. It was his point creature, his lookout. It sensed trouble before Alastor ever did, astute as his wits may be, and relayed it back to him. His shadow was not, in fact, senseless; if it surged forward, it was only because it knew the way was safe, and would pave it for him.
The shadow rippled out ahead of him and dug its way into all the creases between the floorboards again, so that it nearly took up the entire floor, in its own way. It settled deeply into them, a smooth, black mortar plugging up the holes, pushing out the dust. That was no exaggeration - the dust did, indeed, clear where the shadow went, and it filtered not just through the spaces between the floorboards, but up into the joins in Lotte's walls, to the frames of her windows, making itself comfortable and eradicating that which was unwanted.
Alastor, on the other hand, felt wholly welcome. Disturbingly welcome, if anything, for there was, as there had been the last time, no suggestion that he was needed for anything. He could always tell. There was a bitterness hung about in the air like cobwebs, when he was called to make a deal, something desperate and sour, tinged with longing and regret. Those humans were frantic, no matter the degree of their bravado, rehearsing their lines long before he appeared, practicing just the way in which they would ask, to make sure they asked the right thing and didn't find themselves saddled by some unfortunate loophole. Some, of course, were not so smart, and the loopholes were there, loose enough to hang them with. But that was their problem, not Alastor's.
Here, despite the dust, the air was clear, not sour with desperation. He looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time, taking in the unfiltered quality of the atmosphere, clouding everything in a haze that was even more visible to him than it would have been to Lotte's human eyesight. This was a shame, a really wretched thing, that someone could live in such dry and aching squalor. He wondered again, why she didn't meet him with that familiar desperation. But no. She was only offering him a drink from his own supply.
"Never too busy for you," he said, and he supposed it was true. Why should he be? She offered the drink, and he nodded in agreement. He would have joined her at the table, but she was too swift, prattling on about her unfortunate circumstances while she approached him with the glass outstretched. He took it. Should he show her that he could step beyond her bonds? Was it too soon? He'd been aching to show her, despite the thrill of knowing it was a secret he kept from her, last time.
"Why," he said, "you are a more remarkable lady than you give yourself credit for! I would certainly like to see my way around these parts, see what stock you've got to pride yourself on." He took a sip from the glass. It went down far more pleasantly, of course, than her dirt water of a whiskey she'd plied him with, before. "Does that interest you at all? Showing me around?"
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It was simpler, and the thing that made it so was Alastor's shadow pushing ahead of him, eager like a pet, a senseless animal that craved attention above safety. The trouble was, it was no such thing. It was his point creature, his lookout. It sensed trouble before Alastor ever did, astute as his wits may be, and relayed it back to him. His shadow was not, in fact, senseless; if it surged forward, it was only because it knew the way was safe, and would pave it for him.
The shadow rippled out ahead of him and dug its way into all the creases between the floorboards again, so that it nearly took up the entire floor, in its own way. It settled deeply into them, a smooth, black mortar plugging up the holes, pushing out the dust. That was no exaggeration - the dust did, indeed, clear where the shadow went, and it filtered not just through the spaces between the floorboards, but up into the joins in Lotte's walls, to the frames of her windows, making itself comfortable and eradicating that which was unwanted.
Alastor, on the other hand, felt wholly welcome. Disturbingly welcome, if anything, for there was, as there had been the last time, no suggestion that he was needed for anything. He could always tell. There was a bitterness hung about in the air like cobwebs, when he was called to make a deal, something desperate and sour, tinged with longing and regret. Those humans were frantic, no matter the degree of their bravado, rehearsing their lines long before he appeared, practicing just the way in which they would ask, to make sure they asked the right thing and didn't find themselves saddled by some unfortunate loophole. Some, of course, were not so smart, and the loopholes were there, loose enough to hang them with. But that was their problem, not Alastor's.
Here, despite the dust, the air was clear, not sour with desperation. He looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time, taking in the unfiltered quality of the atmosphere, clouding everything in a haze that was even more visible to him than it would have been to Lotte's human eyesight. This was a shame, a really wretched thing, that someone could live in such dry and aching squalor. He wondered again, why she didn't meet him with that familiar desperation. But no. She was only offering him a drink from his own supply.
"Never too busy for you," he said, and he supposed it was true. Why should he be? She offered the drink, and he nodded in agreement. He would have joined her at the table, but she was too swift, prattling on about her unfortunate circumstances while she approached him with the glass outstretched. He took it. Should he show her that he could step beyond her bonds? Was it too soon? He'd been aching to show her, despite the thrill of knowing it was a secret he kept from her, last time.
"Why," he said, "you are a more remarkable lady than you give yourself credit for! I would certainly like to see my way around these parts, see what stock you've got to pride yourself on." He took a sip from the glass. It went down far more pleasantly, of course, than her dirt water of a whiskey she'd plied him with, before. "Does that interest you at all? Showing me around?"