Alastor's eyes were on the blackened tips of her fingers, and she followed his gaze to stare down at them. Lotte had long thought it an omen of her eventual fate - fire or hell or some similar type of inferno. A warning against the consequences of her own actions, but she had no proof in support or argument of that theory. No one had been around to tell her why they turned black or how, after all. It didn't happen with normal, everyday magicks. The inky blackness only crept onto her skin when she was angry, and only ever in this way.
"New Orleans?" The name slipped out, repeated after Alastor uttered it with no shortage of curiosity. She'd heard of it, seen it mentioned in journals as a hub of great magic along with places like Salem... somehow it seemed fitting Alastor was from a place like that (not that she had any real idea what a place like that was like, really). Why, she couldn't say, but it would have surprised her to hear he was from some nowhere little town like her. There was a style to him, something that could have been honed, perhaps, but not learned. Not the way it dripped from him, even in quiet spaces where a conman or someone putting on an act might not have thought to fill.
As soon as she'd digested that fact, Alastor dangled another before her, and though it was clearly meant to dodge her actual question, she couldn't help but take the bait.
"You owned a bar during prohibition. In New Orleans." A brow quirked, and Lotte grinned a little. "Sounds dreamy."
Eras and decades were defined by their highs and lows and prohibition, the roaring twenties were probably no different. Day to day life for most people was somewhere in the middle, no doubt. Still, Lotte imagined what a time it must have been, to have been old enough to enjoy the way the world changed. Alastor must have had a front seat, which was plenty to chew on by itself, but it also gave her another interesting bit of information about Alastor - he wasn't all that old, for a demon, anyway.
Lotte was quiet as she considered the question asked with his turn, watched the black seep away from her fingers like ash blown away from a hearth, like the dust Alastor had cleared from the air.
Her eyes met his again, crimson red and glowing, staining the air around them like blood in the water.
"Leave here with you? I'd do that in a heartbeat." It wasn't a hard choice. Lotte had dreamed of escaping every night since she'd arrived.
Her turn.
"What did they catch onto you for?" He had said no one found him out about the bar, specifically, which seemed to imply he'd been found out about something else.
no subject
Alastor's eyes were on the blackened tips of her fingers, and she followed his gaze to stare down at them. Lotte had long thought it an omen of her eventual fate - fire or hell or some similar type of inferno. A warning against the consequences of her own actions, but she had no proof in support or argument of that theory. No one had been around to tell her why they turned black or how, after all. It didn't happen with normal, everyday magicks. The inky blackness only crept onto her skin when she was angry, and only ever in this way.
"New Orleans?" The name slipped out, repeated after Alastor uttered it with no shortage of curiosity. She'd heard of it, seen it mentioned in journals as a hub of great magic along with places like Salem... somehow it seemed fitting Alastor was from a place like that (not that she had any real idea what a place like that was like, really). Why, she couldn't say, but it would have surprised her to hear he was from some nowhere little town like her. There was a style to him, something that could have been honed, perhaps, but not learned. Not the way it dripped from him, even in quiet spaces where a conman or someone putting on an act might not have thought to fill.
As soon as she'd digested that fact, Alastor dangled another before her, and though it was clearly meant to dodge her actual question, she couldn't help but take the bait.
"You owned a bar during prohibition. In New Orleans." A brow quirked, and Lotte grinned a little. "Sounds dreamy."
Eras and decades were defined by their highs and lows and prohibition, the roaring twenties were probably no different. Day to day life for most people was somewhere in the middle, no doubt. Still, Lotte imagined what a time it must have been, to have been old enough to enjoy the way the world changed. Alastor must have had a front seat, which was plenty to chew on by itself, but it also gave her another interesting bit of information about Alastor - he wasn't all that old, for a demon, anyway.
Lotte was quiet as she considered the question asked with his turn, watched the black seep away from her fingers like ash blown away from a hearth, like the dust Alastor had cleared from the air.
Her eyes met his again, crimson red and glowing, staining the air around them like blood in the water.
"Leave here with you? I'd do that in a heartbeat." It wasn't a hard choice. Lotte had dreamed of escaping every night since she'd arrived.
Her turn.
"What did they catch onto you for?" He had said no one found him out about the bar, specifically, which seemed to imply he'd been found out about something else.