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americanvvitch) wrote2020-08-22 09:58 pm
americanvvitch) wrote2020-08-22 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
continuation for devildo || its terrible potential has begun
[continued from here]
The ending came quickly, as they so often did.
Little fanfare surrounded Alastor's exit... no floating appendages, no jovial crackling of her radio. Only the quiet ringing of piano keys to play him off as he vanished from sight, the last notes of a doleful wake. It seemed an inappropriately sober outtro, in contrast to the tone of the rest of the evening.
With Alastor gone, deep silence settled over the cabin. Save for soft footsteps while the flour and whiskey were tucked away, and the creak and latch of the door. The radio show he had pulled into existence dwindled away by the time she had finished, and then all that was left was the sound of grit and sand as it blew over the horizon and the occasional pop of the fire in her hearth. Little by little each trace of him faded, unsustainable without his magic, but even as his essence seeped out of the world, Lotte felt the creature take root in her mind. The worn mattress beneath her gave no comfort or relief. The red stag and the thrill and terror of it might very well haunt her for the rest of her days.
The feeling that had long plagued her, of feeling somewhere lost between this world and another was only intensified now. Time would flow, dawn would come, nothing in her little home would stretch itself larger than its physical shape ought to have been, and the world would return to its previous state. All would mend itself now.
All but her.
The idea that she could not be the same after what she'd done followed her, like her own gauzy shadow, through the following week. The days rolled in and out, hazy with dust, fragrant loaves of fresh bread and the slow drying of the original, ordinary bottle of whiskey that predated the harvest night. Lotte had never missed anyone, so she couldn't really say for sure that the strange restlessness she couldn't quite shake was covetous. Or that it had anything to do with Alastor in particular. If she had called something else up, would it have been such a distraction? Well, there really wasn't any way to know with Alastor and his like down there and Lotte wasting away up here - and that was just how it would have to stay.
She had no excuse to call Alastor and what good sense she possessed (along with pride, perhaps) prevented her from making another social call. She was stalwart in that, or so she thought.
But Lotte was not any great mountain or a deeply-rooted tree. She was kindling, and a spark of fire and a rush of air was all it ever took to change her course.
∅ ∅ ∅ ∅
Near a week and a half had passed, before the storm hit. It wasn't a surprise - this was probably closing in on the fiftieth storm Lotte had weathered in this place. The static electricity had woken her before dawn and she'd wasted no time tugging on her boots and wrapping the bottom of her face with a double piece of old cotton before she ventured out of the cabin to check that each sigil at the edge of town was intact. The farmers had instructions on how to refresh the sigils placed at the center of their acreage and along the borders - they would be on their own with no car or horse at her disposal to check them.
Surrounding the town itself, there were three. The head of the triangle lay about two miles up the road, just off a crossroads. She'd noticed early on that most of the storms rolled in from that direction, and so she'd created the barrier's tip there with some hope that it would slice through the force of nature and help distribute the power along the sides of where the barrier ran, rather than letting it hit them head on. That one had to be checked first, then she'd double back along the fence line to the other two.
After that, things had happened fast. Dark clouds had rolled in on her way to the last sigil point, and cast a shroud over the land that turned it black in a matter of moments. There'd been no choice but to run for the last sigil and then pray the storm held as she ran harder back through the fields to the shack, sparks of blue flame snapping at her her hair from along the fence line as she went.
There hadn't been enough time to seal up the shutters, plug the cracks in the door with rags and blankets and scribble a sigil on the door as she normally might have. Instead, she'd had to disappear into the basement with little more than a blanket to shield from the dust.
Dust storms came and went quickly, at least.
The cleanup had taken longer. Several hours of sweeping the sand and dirt from surfaces, dragging all the linens out to hang outside and beat the dust from them - because the barrier couldn't keep a storm out entirely. No, it only curbed the force, mitigated the damage.
It was well into the evening by the time she'd finished that, eaten some cold stew, a piece of bread, and settled in at her table with the whiskey Alastor had given her.
She'd earned a bit of celebration hadn't she? She'd managed to get a fire going, all the doors and windows were open to air things out, and she did have a little cough that needed soothing.
Of course, Lotte planned to make the bottle to last, so she hadn't poured too much. Which was.. admittedly hard to do after tasting it for the first time. Little favors allowed her to be alone for the coughing fit that followed her first sip. It was smooth, very smooth, but also by far the strongest thing she'd ever put in her body.
But it was good. Very good, really.
So good that Lotte didn't quite notice the warm, easy slide that took her from pleasantly tipsy to quite drunk all in her first glass.
And how she'd gone from the cheery warmth of sitting by her fire, reading a book by candlelight and listening to the radio to painting a rather large, improvised sigil on the wall of her shack well.... she really didn't know. She felt warm and loose all over, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to invite Alastor back for a chat and a drink. Why shouldn't she?
He had been more of a friend to her than anyone here! He was clever, had more than a bit of wit, and she missed the particular heat and bite of his magic. Like cinnamon and clove in mulled wine.
Lotte stepped back, wiping the blood on her pale green dress before her eyes fluttered closed and she called. This sigil was not so carefully crafted, but she felt no lack of magic in it, if anything, she felt like she knew how to call for Alastor better. Not at a physical place, so much as a wavelength in the magic, her intuition told her that this sigil was right for what she sought, and it was nothing to funnel her own magic through it to create a proper invitation. A door. All he needed to do was step through, because that was what she wished.
Why don't you come join me for a drink, Mr. Radio Demon?
The ending came quickly, as they so often did.
Little fanfare surrounded Alastor's exit... no floating appendages, no jovial crackling of her radio. Only the quiet ringing of piano keys to play him off as he vanished from sight, the last notes of a doleful wake. It seemed an inappropriately sober outtro, in contrast to the tone of the rest of the evening.
With Alastor gone, deep silence settled over the cabin. Save for soft footsteps while the flour and whiskey were tucked away, and the creak and latch of the door. The radio show he had pulled into existence dwindled away by the time she had finished, and then all that was left was the sound of grit and sand as it blew over the horizon and the occasional pop of the fire in her hearth. Little by little each trace of him faded, unsustainable without his magic, but even as his essence seeped out of the world, Lotte felt the creature take root in her mind. The worn mattress beneath her gave no comfort or relief. The red stag and the thrill and terror of it might very well haunt her for the rest of her days.
The feeling that had long plagued her, of feeling somewhere lost between this world and another was only intensified now. Time would flow, dawn would come, nothing in her little home would stretch itself larger than its physical shape ought to have been, and the world would return to its previous state. All would mend itself now.
All but her.
The idea that she could not be the same after what she'd done followed her, like her own gauzy shadow, through the following week. The days rolled in and out, hazy with dust, fragrant loaves of fresh bread and the slow drying of the original, ordinary bottle of whiskey that predated the harvest night. Lotte had never missed anyone, so she couldn't really say for sure that the strange restlessness she couldn't quite shake was covetous. Or that it had anything to do with Alastor in particular. If she had called something else up, would it have been such a distraction? Well, there really wasn't any way to know with Alastor and his like down there and Lotte wasting away up here - and that was just how it would have to stay.
She had no excuse to call Alastor and what good sense she possessed (along with pride, perhaps) prevented her from making another social call. She was stalwart in that, or so she thought.
But Lotte was not any great mountain or a deeply-rooted tree. She was kindling, and a spark of fire and a rush of air was all it ever took to change her course.
Near a week and a half had passed, before the storm hit. It wasn't a surprise - this was probably closing in on the fiftieth storm Lotte had weathered in this place. The static electricity had woken her before dawn and she'd wasted no time tugging on her boots and wrapping the bottom of her face with a double piece of old cotton before she ventured out of the cabin to check that each sigil at the edge of town was intact. The farmers had instructions on how to refresh the sigils placed at the center of their acreage and along the borders - they would be on their own with no car or horse at her disposal to check them.
Surrounding the town itself, there were three. The head of the triangle lay about two miles up the road, just off a crossroads. She'd noticed early on that most of the storms rolled in from that direction, and so she'd created the barrier's tip there with some hope that it would slice through the force of nature and help distribute the power along the sides of where the barrier ran, rather than letting it hit them head on. That one had to be checked first, then she'd double back along the fence line to the other two.
After that, things had happened fast. Dark clouds had rolled in on her way to the last sigil point, and cast a shroud over the land that turned it black in a matter of moments. There'd been no choice but to run for the last sigil and then pray the storm held as she ran harder back through the fields to the shack, sparks of blue flame snapping at her her hair from along the fence line as she went.
There hadn't been enough time to seal up the shutters, plug the cracks in the door with rags and blankets and scribble a sigil on the door as she normally might have. Instead, she'd had to disappear into the basement with little more than a blanket to shield from the dust.
Dust storms came and went quickly, at least.
The cleanup had taken longer. Several hours of sweeping the sand and dirt from surfaces, dragging all the linens out to hang outside and beat the dust from them - because the barrier couldn't keep a storm out entirely. No, it only curbed the force, mitigated the damage.
It was well into the evening by the time she'd finished that, eaten some cold stew, a piece of bread, and settled in at her table with the whiskey Alastor had given her.
She'd earned a bit of celebration hadn't she? She'd managed to get a fire going, all the doors and windows were open to air things out, and she did have a little cough that needed soothing.
Of course, Lotte planned to make the bottle to last, so she hadn't poured too much. Which was.. admittedly hard to do after tasting it for the first time. Little favors allowed her to be alone for the coughing fit that followed her first sip. It was smooth, very smooth, but also by far the strongest thing she'd ever put in her body.
But it was good. Very good, really.
So good that Lotte didn't quite notice the warm, easy slide that took her from pleasantly tipsy to quite drunk all in her first glass.
And how she'd gone from the cheery warmth of sitting by her fire, reading a book by candlelight and listening to the radio to painting a rather large, improvised sigil on the wall of her shack well.... she really didn't know. She felt warm and loose all over, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to invite Alastor back for a chat and a drink. Why shouldn't she?
He had been more of a friend to her than anyone here! He was clever, had more than a bit of wit, and she missed the particular heat and bite of his magic. Like cinnamon and clove in mulled wine.
Lotte stepped back, wiping the blood on her pale green dress before her eyes fluttered closed and she called. This sigil was not so carefully crafted, but she felt no lack of magic in it, if anything, she felt like she knew how to call for Alastor better. Not at a physical place, so much as a wavelength in the magic, her intuition told her that this sigil was right for what she sought, and it was nothing to funnel her own magic through it to create a proper invitation. A door. All he needed to do was step through, because that was what she wished.
Why don't you come join me for a drink, Mr. Radio Demon?
no subject
Lotte was careful, even as she tucked and smoothed the blanket, not to touch Alastor directly. She knew enough to know he preferred to initiate contact, if they made any at all, and though she did greatly enjoy this little game of escalation, she had no desire to truly make him uncomfortable.
Still, she was curious where the boundaries lay. Just how much he'd let her get away with it.
She wasn't used to touch - giving or receiving - but she wasn't necessarily afraid of it. At least, that's what she told herself.
"Lucky for you I'm good when it comes to fire."
She wasn't, however, as prepared for his next comment. Lotte's head snapped up and she stared at him, frozen still by the sudden thud in her chest. Lotte didn't need to see her face to know the color it was. She could feel the heat flood her cheeks, straight up to her ears, thankfully covered by her hair.
"I'm certainly no-" She opened her mouth to finish protesting, but her brain managed to jumpstart itself again, and Lotte knew from the amused glint in Alastor's eyes that he was teasing her. Looking to get a rise out of her, payment in kind for her invasion of his space.
Sleep. She was keen on him sleeping.
Lotte averted her eyes with a huff. "If you don't sleep now, you'll just delay all our fun in New Orleans. I'll have to go out on the town and explore while you catch up on your beauty rest at the house."
no subject
That was just what Alastor was looking for, that blush of colour in Lotte's face, that thrilling rush of her pulse pounding throughout her entire being, bigger than her shape, bigger than the both of them, the way he could feel it echo throughout the air. His shadow wavered in delighted amusement. His face was etched with it, eyes crinkled with silent laughter, his grin bright.
"You don't know what I'll do," he said, liltingly, as pleased with himself as he'd ever been. But in spite of that, he rolled onto his side and his shadow shifted around him to accommodate it. He tugged one of the pillows down beneath his head and folded his arm under that. What would she do, when he slept? Sit and watch him? Where would she sleep?
And this was why the call of sleep, alluring as it was, was something he wished he could avoid. There was too much still to see while he was out. Perhaps his shadow would stay alert enough to tell him about it, later. Silently, he asked that it would. But it had a mind of its own, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it was as tired as he was. He could feel it pressing insistently in on him, a comforting weight urging him to give in.
"We'll be fine." He remembered, suddenly, the mundane need to take his glasses off, and he did, setting them at the edge of the mattress, by the pillow. "I don't have much need, even now."
no subject
Lotte clearly didn't know what he'd do, even though she had a better handle on him than she had before. It was clear that she couldn't be complacent... he'd come swinging out of left field even drunk and half incapacitated as he was currently. It wasn't all bad, though, she supposed. Not when he looked at her like that.
She quickly and ruthlessly pushed down the odd sensation that was something like satisfaction, at seeing him so pleased even at her own expense and stood up as he took off his glasses and folded them on the bed. She'd half expected him to forget and that she'd have to take them off for him. Her fingertips tingled with that stolen opportunity and that, too, was something she brushed away.
Alastor wasn't hers to touch as she liked, she reminded herself. He'd offered once, to be a man to her, if she wanted it. But still that was something she wanted no part in, if brokered along with some deal. Whatever he had to offer her in that respect... well, she'd earn it fair and square or not at all.
"No, I don't... but that's the fun of it." She murmured as she went over to the stove, pushing her fingers down through the air, the flames lowering at her behest. The cabin would keep warm, but it was darker, easier to sleep.
"You just get whatever sleep you can, then." The glasses and bottle of whiskey were scooped up and set on the table, and then Lotte sat, unlacing each of her boots and setting them beneath the chair. It'd allow her to traverse the cabin floors without making as much noise, because by god, if she'd finally gotten him to sleep he was going to stay that way.
Lotte didn't do much, for the next little while. Wandered into the little alcove that served as a washroom for her, brushed her hair out and ran some water through it to reset her curls after all the scuffling. She took a wet rag and some soap to her skin to clean the dirt and dust off, brushed her teeth, picked the dirt from under her nails with a knife, rubbed some oil of roses and marigolds on her skin.... Lotte didn't really know how to make herself look presentable for a place she'd never been, but she felt the need to put forth a bit of effort to look better than she usually might.
Going through the motions took her a bit of time, and she could see the faintest peek of violet in the sky by the time she was done. It'd be dawn in another hour or two, so Lotte packed away the whiskey, her old radio and her dresses and tied up the duffel bag before taking the red dress to the little alcove of her cabin to change, for maybe the last time.
The plain and dusty dress laid aside, Lotte slipped into the red dress Alastor had made anew earlier that evening, took her time buttoning it up, letting her fingers take in the texture of the fabric and the smoothness of the buttons as they slipped into place. It hugged to her the way a dress ought to, the way none of her current ones did, but all Lotte could think was how restricting it might be if she had to fight, or run or do anything more than stand here and look some kind of way. How fancier women than she got anything done, she'd never understand.
When she emerged, Alastor was still fast asleep but Lotte found herself unable to follow suit. It was the last night she'd spend in what had been her home for near on six years. She sipped at a glass of water, picked at a bit of bread and sat at her table, taking in the look of it like this. All was quiet, now. Dark, and warm in the early dawn save for the wind rustling through the grass and sliding over the roof, the fire popping softly in the old metal stove... and Alastor's easy, even breaths from her bed.
She found herself tidying it up, though she didn't know where the need to leave it in order came from. It wasn't likely anyone else would take up residence, and if they did, they wouldn't care what state it was in.
Still, she liked seeing it put together one last time. Even mostly emptied out, it had been hers... there was a strange sentiment in that, though Lotte didn't know quite what to do with it. For years all she'd wanted was to leave, but now she felt like.... there would be a time, maybe years from now, when she'd look back on this moment in particular with nostalgia. Maybe even a little longing. For a time when the world was quiet and empty and she was the only thing alive for miles and miles, breathing and being in time with nature more than any other living thing.
The faintest rays of golden morning light were beginning to peek above the horizon when Lotte finally felt sleep creep upon her. She grabbed the sickle by its worn handle and made her way back over to the bed, settling herself between it and the dresser. The sickle lay on the floor within her grasp, but Lotte folded her arms onto the mattress and let her her cheek rest heavy on one, feet curled up beneath her dress. She watched Alastor's rhythmic breaths, admired the color of his skin and his hair in the golden morning light and let herself finally be lulled to sleep, chest rising and falling in time with his.