Well, Alastor wanted to say, but didn't, this place may be awful, but Lotte lived here. So what did it matter that mending it would affect other people, who didn't deserve it? If a person had to live somewhere, they may as well enjoy it. And so he watched her, bemused, his hands once again politely folded behind his back, while his shadow reached out to investigate each leaf of the plants he'd brought to life, in turn. Slowly, as it moved its way down the line, each leaf was gently flicked and raised, caressed by the darkness that emanated from him, and determined worthy the continue on. In one place, his shadow sprung fingers, and dipped into the dark and fragrant earth, feeling it out, nudging at the depths of the strawberries' roots.
"Yes," Alastor did say, toeing through that same dirt. He kicked at it gently, with the pointed toes of his shoes, upturning it in bumpy little rifts. Hell was all pavement, nothing you could sink into like this. Hell smelled like the exhaust of a thousand cars, a thousand bonfires, which at times had its appeal, but it was nothing like this, the dense, dark softness of fertile soil. "Your parents."
And she answered him, and he nodded along, made soft sounds of agreement where it was appropriate to do so. It wasn't until she mentioned the state troopers that he bristled, looking up from the plants to try and meet her eyes again, only to find that they and her fingers were dark. His nerves sparked, hair stood on end along his spine, to the carefully concealed tail beneath his jacket, which bristled at the thought of Lotte in the back of the paddywagon like some common criminal. What had become of this earth, while he was gone? What good could he have done, if he'd never left? He never had such cause to wonder about it as he did now, looking at her, knowing that what she said was so far out of line with what was fair.
His eyes followed the plume of smoke from her fingertips, into the sky, gently polluting the clean bubble of protected air around them. If he could have blown it away, without seeming disrespectful, dismissive of her magic, of her emotions, he would have. But her emotions were hers to feel, they were not Alastor's to take away, nor to try to unburden her.
"I know a place," he said. He was watching her intently, bright eyes glowing red and fixated on the blackness of Lotte's fingertips. "I was born in New Orleans, it's beautiful there. You'd love it! Not a speck of this dust in sight." Quite the opposite - the air there was warm and wet. At least, it was as he remembered it. A momentary streak of panic ran through Alastor when he wondered if, somehow, against all odds, his home had lost itself to some similar fate as this place, in the decade he was gone. "I was myself," he told her.
And that was true. Was anyone not? Dying didn't make you any less who you were. "I owned a bar, you know, when that was downright illegal. They never did catch onto me for that, I was quite selective about my patrons. If I said I could take you away, would you do it? Answer me, and it's your turn."
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Well, Alastor wanted to say, but didn't, this place may be awful, but Lotte lived here. So what did it matter that mending it would affect other people, who didn't deserve it? If a person had to live somewhere, they may as well enjoy it. And so he watched her, bemused, his hands once again politely folded behind his back, while his shadow reached out to investigate each leaf of the plants he'd brought to life, in turn. Slowly, as it moved its way down the line, each leaf was gently flicked and raised, caressed by the darkness that emanated from him, and determined worthy the continue on. In one place, his shadow sprung fingers, and dipped into the dark and fragrant earth, feeling it out, nudging at the depths of the strawberries' roots.
"Yes," Alastor did say, toeing through that same dirt. He kicked at it gently, with the pointed toes of his shoes, upturning it in bumpy little rifts. Hell was all pavement, nothing you could sink into like this. Hell smelled like the exhaust of a thousand cars, a thousand bonfires, which at times had its appeal, but it was nothing like this, the dense, dark softness of fertile soil. "Your parents."
And she answered him, and he nodded along, made soft sounds of agreement where it was appropriate to do so. It wasn't until she mentioned the state troopers that he bristled, looking up from the plants to try and meet her eyes again, only to find that they and her fingers were dark. His nerves sparked, hair stood on end along his spine, to the carefully concealed tail beneath his jacket, which bristled at the thought of Lotte in the back of the paddywagon like some common criminal. What had become of this earth, while he was gone? What good could he have done, if he'd never left? He never had such cause to wonder about it as he did now, looking at her, knowing that what she said was so far out of line with what was fair.
His eyes followed the plume of smoke from her fingertips, into the sky, gently polluting the clean bubble of protected air around them. If he could have blown it away, without seeming disrespectful, dismissive of her magic, of her emotions, he would have. But her emotions were hers to feel, they were not Alastor's to take away, nor to try to unburden her.
"I know a place," he said. He was watching her intently, bright eyes glowing red and fixated on the blackness of Lotte's fingertips. "I was born in New Orleans, it's beautiful there. You'd love it! Not a speck of this dust in sight." Quite the opposite - the air there was warm and wet. At least, it was as he remembered it. A momentary streak of panic ran through Alastor when he wondered if, somehow, against all odds, his home had lost itself to some similar fate as this place, in the decade he was gone. "I was myself," he told her.
And that was true. Was anyone not? Dying didn't make you any less who you were. "I owned a bar, you know, when that was downright illegal. They never did catch onto me for that, I was quite selective about my patrons. If I said I could take you away, would you do it? Answer me, and it's your turn."