The less power one had, the more easily it was stripped away. The slightest breeze could topple it like dominos, the most negligible overuse could burst the dam, crack the cup, reveal a leak in the faucet. In the early days of his afterlife, Alastor knew this too well, lurking in shadows, never quite letting anyone catch sight of him while he worked. How many territories had he claimed that way, waiting in the dark, a silent, calculating sniper, and what a shade of himself he had felt like then. The silence encroached on him. The hiding nearly destroyed his morale. Neither of those had ever been of Alastor's ilk.
In those days, any demon who got the jump on him could have taken him down. It was only by sheer force of willpower and a decent propensity for good luck that Alastor climbed the ladder of his own resolve and found himself in a position to show his face again.
This wasn't Hell, and Lotte most certainly couldn't kill him, but he would be remiss to pretend the stakes weren't there. He would be lying, too, if he said he couldn't tell Lotte was aware of the situation, before she fully answered him. He heard it in her voice, this sound beneath her words that was both a seductive purr and a solid bedrock - conviction mixed with pleasure in herself. She knew, and that, he reminded himself, was essential to getting what he wanted. One couldn't exactly get these things without ever revealing there was anything to be gotten.
He was no psychic, after all, though it might have served him better if he was, for all the warning he had before Lotte appeared in his space. There was a slight movement in her eyes, a barely perceptible tensing in her muscles, before she moved, and that was all there was to alert him. It was about as close to startled as Alastor could remember being. His face, careful as ever, stayed frozen in its grin. But his dead heart, in his chest, thudded invisibly against the confines of his ribs.
Alastor slid backwards - not quite a step, but a shift in space that left little drag marks in the dirt under his shoes. It wasn't far, but far enough. The rest of him never moved, the index knuckle of his closed hand bent and resting on his chin. It tapped there, considering. He wasn't really considering anything, except the feeling of that one dramatic thud in his chest. Near-silently, a low thrum in the static barely audible to humans, he chided his shadow for failing (or refusing?) to notify him that the girl was about to move so close. It only laughed in response, a higher frequency that, while not at all identifiable as laughter, Lotte could certainly hear.
"Hm," he said, knuckle still pressed to his chin. The pressure tugged at his lower lip, drew it down just slightly. He remained this way for a moment, before becoming brightly animated again, his shoulders loosening and arms extending from his side in a large and gregarious shrug.
"Why not?" he asked cheerily. "Miss Lotte, would you do me the honor of releasing me from this eternal torment, and accompanying me to New Orleans, as my traveling companion?"
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The less power one had, the more easily it was stripped away. The slightest breeze could topple it like dominos, the most negligible overuse could burst the dam, crack the cup, reveal a leak in the faucet. In the early days of his afterlife, Alastor knew this too well, lurking in shadows, never quite letting anyone catch sight of him while he worked. How many territories had he claimed that way, waiting in the dark, a silent, calculating sniper, and what a shade of himself he had felt like then. The silence encroached on him. The hiding nearly destroyed his morale. Neither of those had ever been of Alastor's ilk.
In those days, any demon who got the jump on him could have taken him down. It was only by sheer force of willpower and a decent propensity for good luck that Alastor climbed the ladder of his own resolve and found himself in a position to show his face again.
This wasn't Hell, and Lotte most certainly couldn't kill him, but he would be remiss to pretend the stakes weren't there. He would be lying, too, if he said he couldn't tell Lotte was aware of the situation, before she fully answered him. He heard it in her voice, this sound beneath her words that was both a seductive purr and a solid bedrock - conviction mixed with pleasure in herself. She knew, and that, he reminded himself, was essential to getting what he wanted. One couldn't exactly get these things without ever revealing there was anything to be gotten.
He was no psychic, after all, though it might have served him better if he was, for all the warning he had before Lotte appeared in his space. There was a slight movement in her eyes, a barely perceptible tensing in her muscles, before she moved, and that was all there was to alert him. It was about as close to startled as Alastor could remember being. His face, careful as ever, stayed frozen in its grin. But his dead heart, in his chest, thudded invisibly against the confines of his ribs.
Alastor slid backwards - not quite a step, but a shift in space that left little drag marks in the dirt under his shoes. It wasn't far, but far enough. The rest of him never moved, the index knuckle of his closed hand bent and resting on his chin. It tapped there, considering. He wasn't really considering anything, except the feeling of that one dramatic thud in his chest. Near-silently, a low thrum in the static barely audible to humans, he chided his shadow for failing (or refusing?) to notify him that the girl was about to move so close. It only laughed in response, a higher frequency that, while not at all identifiable as laughter, Lotte could certainly hear.
"Hm," he said, knuckle still pressed to his chin. The pressure tugged at his lower lip, drew it down just slightly. He remained this way for a moment, before becoming brightly animated again, his shoulders loosening and arms extending from his side in a large and gregarious shrug.
"Why not?" he asked cheerily. "Miss Lotte, would you do me the honor of releasing me from this eternal torment, and accompanying me to New Orleans, as my traveling companion?"