Chapter Text
♛
The energy in the hotel since the princess’s adjustments to make it a safe haven for wayward Sinners rather than simply a rehabilitation center had changed in palatable ways, the flavor profile of the specific brands of misery adjusted for new frustrations as the growing pains began to settle in. The commitment to its image meant even if the Sinners who came had no desire to be redeemed, they still needed to participate in a certain number of workshops and classes in order to stay for free. This led to a rotating cast of characters coming in and out to teach, lecture, and otherwise offer valuable services to Sinners who were trying to find themselves in Hell. Personal growth was still the name of the game, which meant there was a strict limit on all the fun things Hell had to offer within the walls, which often led to conflict when there was contraband to be found or arguments breaking out in the halls because of personality clashes.
Ah yes, Alastor rather liked this awkward stage in the Hotel’s future. He hoped it stayed this way for a good while, even if poor Charlie was frazzled by what she’d wrought and still trying to plan a wedding on top of it, even! Why, if he could bottle that poor girl’s desperation, there wouldn’t be a finer proof in all of Hell.
He didn’t need a deal from her anymore, but the idea that she might ask him for one anyway, just to ease the burden on her shoulders made it all the more sweeter. The only thing better than a favor owed was a favor owed when you weren’t absolutely certain when you’d be needing it. Cash in the bank, as it were.
But his focus could only stay on Charlie for so long when her father’s voice carried across the busy hall, tucked somewhere in one of the ‘quiet rooms’ that wasn’t being used to its utmost potential if the sounds from inside were any indication.
“Come on, Vox. This is Aamon. He’s a classy guy.”
“That worked on Valentino. He nearly broke me in half when I pulled that one on him.”
“Wait. Really?”
“Yeah!” Vox was sounding a little pained, a twinge of whiny static buzzing through his voice. “It didn’t do anything for you?”
“Nope! Sounds a little too tryhard for me.”
Alastor stopped just to the left of the door and leaned in to keep listening. Now what were his favorite chewtoys talking about?
“Ugh. Fine. You hit me with one.”
“Oh gladly.” Lucifer cleared his throat and put a bit of pizazz into his voice as he lilted out a sultry purr. “I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell me yours, and watch what I can do with it.”
Alastor had to bite back a snort when Vox deadpanned. “That was it?”
“Oh fuck you! That is slick. Way slicker than ‘my dick is so polite- it stands up so you can sit down!’”
He could only take so much of this nonsense before busting in, complete with laugh track. “You both sound ridiculous! What chicanery are you two engaging in this time?”
“Chicanery?” Lucifer spat. He was perched on top of an end table with his legs crossed while Vox was practically leaning into his space on the chair next to it. It was rather comical how, despite having radically different faces, they could give him the exact same stink-eye. That six months alone together had done something irreversible.
“Weirdly that’s exactly the correct word for this,” Vox muttered out of the corner of his screen.
Lucifer blew a raspberry. “And yet still pretentious and old-timey. Just use scheme like a normal person, Mr. Dictionary.”
Alastor leaned on his cane with a smile and a flat, “Absolutely not. And technically, your highness, it should be Mr. Thesaurus.” Their groaning and eyerolling at his own own indulgent giggling was tantamount to applause in his eyes and he went on, as if they were begging for an encore with every facepalm. “Now then! I can’t help but notice that neither of you have answered the question, hmm? Did I hear something about Aamon?”
If Aamon was involved, then Alastor would be remiss to miss an opportunity to trip him up. The bastard had very nearly upended everything during the party without even knowing what plates he was knocking down, simply for the delight of having destroyed something. There was no art to his chaos, no poetry. He was a monster created to stir trouble and he didn’t even have the sense to be classy about it.
Vox flung himself forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled underneath his screen. At least he knew from experience that there was no leaving Alastor out of the loop- if not now, then later, and at least this way, Lucifer stayed aware. It was far easier hiding tricks in plain sight when the King of Hell believed everyone to be on the same page. “We think he might know more about what happened at the party than he was letting on.”
“So Vox volunteered to work his, yanno, mojo on him.” Lucifer made a wobbly gesture with his hand, like the ‘mojo’ part of that was questionable. There wasn’t even a protest about Alastor being brought in. Charming. And a bit annoying. He’d have to find some other way to upset Lucifer’s delicate balance. He couldn’t allow himself to become fully tolerable! What would the papers say? They might think he genuinely felt something for this secret cabal he’d found himself in or that they, shudder the thought, felt something more than amicable disdain for him!
Alastor framed Vox’s rectangular head with his fingers, squinting at him. “Hmm. Nope! I can’t picture it all. Vox, the dashing seducer? He’d never be able to pull it off, especially not with someone like Aamon. Why, he’s never even been able to successfully seduce me and he’s tried so very hard.”
That got Vox on his feet in an instant. “Fuck you, that’s because you’re-“ his mouth went through the beginnings of several different words that Alastor could guess just by the movement of the pixels, familiar and annoying in equal measure and for the sake of his screen not getting broke by a calculated swing of a microphone, he didn’t manage to get a single one out, culminating into him just spitting, ”You.”
“Ah, so cunning with your words!” Alastor chortled, like he wouldn’t have reacted with tentacles and teeth if he’d used a word he just didn’t like or found inappropriately below the belt as far as casual insult-flinging went. Words like frigid and prudish used to describe his particular pickiness and disinterest in such affairs of the heart and body rankled the same way that being called sissy would drive another man to violence in his time. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you’re going to win over Aamon. Unless you plan on relying on your hypnosis alone, as usual.”
"Yeah, we thought of that. It won't work."
Honestly, the fact that Lucifer even considered it spoke more unkindly about Aamon than it did about Lucifer's aversion, much like his daughter, to playing nasty. Anything was fair game with someone who didn't operate by any rules.Ignoring Lucifer and driven by the challenge implicit in his words, Vox swaggered over, pressing into Alastor’s space with the stupidity assigned only to stage magicians when approaching tigers. There was plenty of space for him to back up if he so chose, but to do so would be to say Vox won the sudden gauntlet being thrown in the longest running game of ‘does this make you uncomfortable?’ Perish the thought! He’d rather just fling him across the room. It wasn’t losing the game if you retaliated, after all! Only if you flinched.
But first he wanted to see where he was going with this. Curiosity was a vice more addictive than any drug.
Without touching him, Vox leaned in a bit, eyes half-lidded, mouth twisted in a smarmy little smirk. “I’m doing a program on the finer things in life and I was wondering if I could interview you.”
Alastor blinked unevenly, tilted his head to the side at a neck-breaking angle, smile so tight that he could feel the gentle grind of his jagged teeth slotting together. The silence went on for an uncomfortably long moment.
And then he burst out laughing. His microphone joined in, providing an audience worth of cacophony. He didn’t have to yeet- as the kids said and he really should use that word sometime just to make Vox’s circuits fry (he’d been waiting for the opportunity ever since Crymini explained it to him)- him out of his space at all. Vox flailed backwards, appalled at the reaction. Ah yes, the flinch. Another victory for Alastor.
“Was that really your best effort? Oh dear, Lucifer, I believe your secret weapon is faulty!”
Lucifer buried his face in his hands. “I told you that honeypots never work, Vox.”
“They do too!” Vox spat static. “Just because Alastor is too good for my charm doesn’t mean that dog-breathed asshole freak is.”
Ah. There. His opening. “Oh, I simply must come with you if that’s what you’re going to lead with before you, ah, turn on the charm, as you say?” Alastor leered. “I couldn’t possibly miss the show.”
And just like that, he’d invited himself on the mission. Lucifer’s groaning in anguish was the pudding next to the pecan pie of Vox’s furious twitching and sparking. Ah, yes, there was that disdain he was waiting for.
♕
Aamon lived in a hacienda somewhere just off Vengeance, the second-largest city in a ring that didn’t do cities, which put it squarely at about the size of one district of the Pentagram. The massive estate was painted solid black that had to trap every bit of excess heat from the desert with red clay tiles lining the roof, jagged at the edges like snarling teeth. Going inside it had to feel like walking into the hot stomach of some great beast and Lucifer tugged on his collar, regretting every decision that led him here.
Wrath wasn’t his favorite ring, not the least of which because he and Satan had never really gotten on as well as the other Sins. As the Strong Man in the circus, his entire shtick was looking as menacing as possible and breaking things with his little fingers or lifting heavy objects as if they were feathers. It wasn’t exactly a job that required a whole lot of talking, finesse, or reasons to collaborate or bond with the other members of the troupe. Of course, he’d been happy to make this barren, dustbowl of a Ring his home. It was as unwelcoming and generally unpleasant and rough as he was.
It was also filthy. No matter how much magic Lucifer applied, there was always a faint sheen of red dust on his white suit every time he took a step towards the gates, guarded by two hybrid imps who nearly shit themselves at the sight of the King of Hell flanked by two Sinners. To their credit, they didn’t ask questions, just slammed the intercom to inform Aamon, whose melodic voice purred through the static to send them on in.
Halfway within the walls of the estate, they were greeted by an imp maid in mourning black with raven feathers in her braid and khol covering the white spots on her skin- a uniform worn by all the female imps that wandered in and out of the hacienda, on closer examination, as she led them towards the garden. Unlike Stolas’s array of carnivorous plants and lush greenery and hanging vines or the Envy Goetias’ complicated coral gardens, it was a simple affair, mainly consisting of various flowering cacti surrounding a stone patio with a matching table and chairs in that same sleek black. Aamon, himself, was seated at the table, waiting for juice to be poured by a butler. Like the women, he was also in all black and wore raven feathers around his neck like a collar. His hair and horns bore no trace of the telltale white of male imps barring chipped paint and a barest glimpse of roots under the dye.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting a visit from the King of Hell today,” the raven chuckled, showing all of his wolf’s teeth. That horrifying muzzle-beak of his never stopped being disgusting no matter how many times you saw it. “Fortunately for you, the cacti blossoms have been producing a sinful amount of nectar this year and I’m always willing to share.” He leered at Vox and Alastor. “I’d be careful of how much you two imbibe, of course. Like most things outside of Pride, it’s a bit too strong for the weaker constitution of mortal souls.”
Lucifer barreled forwards, knowing the rising static was coming from both of the demons behind him and it would gather like an oncoming storm if Aamon was allowed to keep going. King he might be, but one didn’t win favors by whooping a Goetia’s ass up and down his own hacienda because he had a piss poor attitude about Sinners, who weren’t supposed to even be outside of Pride. The walls were still up and nothing but Lucifer’s presence diluted that magic enough to let them pass. Satan had especially not agreed to Sinners in his domain.
This needed to be clean.
Lucifer slid into one of the chairs across from the Goetia and, not to be left standing like the help, Alastor and Vox boxed Aamon in on either side. When the butler served Lucifer from the pitcher of sweet pink-gold cocktail, they cleared their throats loudly until they were given some, as well. Even then, the butler looked to Aamon for permission.
“If they wanna get fucked up, it’s their funeral. Personally, I’m always down to watch Sinners make absolute jackasses out of themselves.”
“Ha-ha,” Alastor chuckled, his anger kept surprisingly in check. Vox was taking his humble pie and choking it down with gulps of the cocktail, while the Radio Demon simply traced his glass and rested his chin on his hands. “Such a charmer. Tell me something, Aamon, what is with the color scheme? Red and black? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it seems… pointed.”
“I like to keep track of white on the horizon. Keeps it simpler if there’s not a trace of it from within.”
“What a relatable sentiment!” Alastor chuckled. Vox finished his glass and took the pitcher from the butler to pour another glass for himself.
This would have been the exact moment that Lucifer tuned out and gotten distracted by something like the pattern of the patio’s stones or the condescension from the pitcher on the table or the way the paint was peeling off the butler’s horns to expose the white beneath or, like, something even more abstract like what Lilith was doing or if Satan was going to yell at him for bringing Sinners here and whether he needed to warn him before Aamon called him first, but his head remained stubbornly fixed on the task at hand even if he might have wanted to drift off out of boredom. He could blame his meds working as intended and, sure, maybe that was true, but the only thing better than a hefty dose of Adderall was Vox and Alastor left without him to run interference. One time he’d gone out with them, zoned out, and then zoned back in to several things on fire, a dismemberment, and, inexplicably, the entire shop they were in getting suddenly audited, which they both claimed was unrelated but in the way you just knew that one of them had made a call.
So for the safety of all involved, it was better if he stayed keenly aware of what was going on at all times when around them.
“Is that because of Lucifer?” Alastor leaned in, saying the quiet part out loud, because clearly that was what Aamon was implying and it didn’t need to be said. Shockingly, Aamon laughed.
“Oh no, I don’t expect to be graced by His Majesty’s presence all that often. We’re having a bit of vigilante trouble here in Vengeance. They’re calling her the White Rose.”
Alastor fought not to flinch. The surest way to make him angry enough to spit these days were roses anywhere near him. Angel had gotten a bouquet during one of his shows at Skrim’s theater and they never even made it over the Hotel’s threshold before they wilted to ash with a single glare.
Vox slammed his second glass- empty- onto the table, his screen a flushed mess of distorted pixels, and leaned into Aamon’s space. “If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
Oh. Oh that was what he was doing getting soused like that? Lucifer didn’t think Aamon was so hideous that one needed to be that drunk to seduce him, but, well, he was scary as fuck, even for an Overlord’s (or former Overlord’s) standards.
Alastor pressed a finger to his lips, his face contorted in a mask of wicked glee, struggling to suppress laughter. Lucifer just looked and felt dumbfounded. Aamon blinked two sets of red eyes.
“Are you coming on to me, Sinner?” He asked, half-incredulous. “I’m a married man, you know.”
“Your wife’s dead, Aamon,” Lucifer deadpanned before he could stop himself. “Everyone knows that.”
“They never found her body,” he shrugged, waving a hand that, shockingly, still bore a wedding ring. Given the rumors of what happened to his wife, it was an act of audacity more than it was an act of devotion. “I suppose this wasn’t just a social visit, then? My, my, you could have said that up front instead of letting me break out the fine libations and put on my best vest.” He sighed, drearily, like he was being put out and produced a cigar that he lit with a finger. “This is why I hate showmen. You turn everything into a production number. Just say what you want and don’t embarrass yourselves. I’m not interested in whatever this high definition fuck-up is trying to sell me, sloppy-style.”
Alastor’s claws dragged into the table with a screech of metal. His smile stayed firmly on, pleasantly, however, which was good, because Lucifer had to keep Vox from jumping the table to beat down on Aamon sloppy style. “You seemed particularly engaged and yet unconcerned with the narrative at the party awhile back, hm?”
Aamon puffed on his cigar. “You’ll find that’s how I interact with all narratives, Radio Demon. I like to yank on threads, even the ones that I’m not involved with.”
“But did you know about Baal and Focalor and Astaroth?” Lucifer asked, putting as much weight into the sentence as he could without feeling like he was being a dick and showing the ‘king’ card. He could and he would, but fuck, it wasn’t his favorite way of getting what he wanted. It felt nasty, especially when he flung it in another Sins’ domain.
“Is that what you thought I’d give you over pillow talk?” Aamon chuckled, a deep, throaty growl of a thing. “You three really are from Pride. If you want my help, you’re gonna have to actually give me something I want.”
He tapped ash onto the table. “Fortunately for you, what I want is something that could use a bit of showmanship. You see that White Rose I mentioned has been a thorn in my tailfeathers for well into a year now. She’s already got half my farms unionized to Greed and back and that’s not even considering the revolts she causes. And because of all that, she’s a bit of a folk hero around Vengeance. They protect her, shield her, and they won’t rat her out no matter how much I offer to pay them. What I need is someone to go in and encourage the locals to think critically about the damage a vigilante could do over the long term.”
“You want us to break up a union?” Lucifer felt a slimy surge of dread settle into his stomach. There was nothing inherently wrong with what this White Rose was doing and if Charlie and Lilith were here, they’d give him hell for even considering throwing a person doing genuine good in Hell under the bus for information they couldn’t even be sure that Aamon had.
But if it protected them…
“The union thing’s done.” Aamon waved a hand. “But that’s not where she’ll stop. Imps have been getting a little uppity in recent years. They need to be put in their place. Turning on one of their own is the best way to do that and set back whatever little revolution she’s cooking up back.”
“How novel!” Alastor crooned, smile still so tight that Lucifer knew the moment it snapped, it would go off like loose piano wire and cut through everyone in its path. “And if we turn the population against this little vigilante of yours, you’ll tell us everything you know about what those three were up to, provided you know anything at all?”
The threat was implicit and Aamon rose to meet it.
“Oh I know a few things.” he leaned in, showing his teeth. “I’m not the only one having trouble with roses, now am I?”