Chapter Text
The building itself was small, and as soon as you went inside, you were hit with chaos .
People were racing back and forth between desks in a frenzy, newspapers and folders in their hands, while others sat, viciously typing away on cheap and half-broken typewriters. Every single one of the dozen or so printers was occupied as they printed out newspapers.
'One body and parts of another were found, both near the Central Bar. Iron Lung and Smiley killer working together? ' on the front of all of them.
You tiptoed in, careful not to step in the various ink spills that stained the ugly yellow carpet. Your hands were holding your purse closely to your chest as you shyly stepped over to what you assumed was the front desk, where a lady who looked just as frazzled as the others sat. Her eyes bulge out of their sockets, either from hyperthyroidism or from a large amount of coffee intake.
"I'm assuming you're..?" She inquired, and you nodded. She smiled, getting up from her desk, offering a hand to you, and you shook it. It's sweaty. " Welcome! Since it's your first day, please go upstairs to speak with Mr. Vox!" She pointed to a narrow case of stairs. " The first door to the left, please! Just knock first!"
"Thank you."
You walked up the stairs. The second floor seemed like a whole new building. Plants adorned the marble-tiled floor and fancy paintings that looked like they cost more than you hung up on the royal blue walls.
First door to the left.
You walked up to it, but before you could even knock, you heard the commotion, and your nosy ass couldn't help but listen as you pressed your ear against the door.
"You do understand what you're missing out on, right?"
"You know I'm not interested."
"But—"
"I'll be taking my leave. The cafe down the street has lovely coffee, and I wouldn't want to miss it before closing time."
" Just wait —!"
"Sorry, I'm not interested." The door opened, and you stumbled back, hands behind your back, smiling nervously—until you saw who it was.
That tall brunette from yesterday was dressed in a similar red tie and vest with a stupid smile plastered over his face.
"You.." You muttered.
"Ah, so we meet again." He dusted off his suit and left through the door. You could see a disappointed Vox, still focused on the man leaving. " Did you really go home with that...thing, or did you sober up?" His voice was sarcastic and mocking. His gaze focused on his cufflinks as he fixed them and checked his watch.
"Excuse you?" You retorted. Should you be mad? It's hard to tell if he's complimenting you and saying you're better than that or calling you stupid .
He simply shot you a lopsided grin that only raised more questions as to what his intentions were. " You have fire to you. Entertaining." He mused, mostly to himself.
Vox was outside the room now, witnessing your conversation with a look of confusion and anger.
"Okay, what the fuck?" Vox had a brow raised, long streaks of black hair falling in front of his face. He looked disheveled.
"Don't use such vulgar language." The man chided, patting Vox's shoulder in a belittling gesture, which only made him more mad. "It's not very professional."
"Professional my ass!" Vox hissed. This was your new boss? You knew he was stuck up, but not this stuck up. "You're just some low-life radio host!"
The other chuckled in response, "And yet you wanted me to join this thing you call a business?" He shrugged, averting his attention back to you. " You intrigue me, " he said.
You blinked a couple times, noticing he was holding a hand out for a handshake. You obliged. Now your hands were sweaty.
"My name is Alastor , a pleasure to meet you." He grinned.
You replied with your name, not really sure why you were exchanging formalities with your new bosses, seemingly now enemies in front of him. But, in reality, he also seemed to draw you closer with that dangerous glint in his eyes. He tried to hide it, and you don't think others saw it; most couldn't look behind a deceiving smile.
"Well!" Alastor said, retracting his hand from yours. "I'm sure you're dying to get to work here for a couple pennies an hour!" He laughed at his own joke. It was loud and almost robotic, but it was genuine. He pulled out a small business card from his breast pocket, handing it to you. " I pay better." He fucking winked before walking off confidently, body brushing against yours a little too much as he left.
He's...Weird. But not necessarily in a bad way.
Vox was fuming as he snatched the business card from your hand, ripping it to pieces and shoving it in his pocket.
"Don't mind him. He's delusional." He sighed, gesturing you into his office. You kept your mouth shut because if you talked, you'd get fired on your first day. You had no idea what job this 'Alastor' guy was offering or if he even actually paid well.
You walked into the office, taking a seat in front of the desk. It was a rather fancy office like the rest of the upstairs with a nameplate on his wooden desk: " Vincent Vox.'
"So!" He seemed to switch up as soon as he sat down, a large smile on his face and voice suddenly more energetic as if trying to sell something. " I heard you've been looking for a job for a while?" You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he continued. " Well, if you can start today, you've got the job!"
" Today ?" You exclaimed.
"Today." He parroted, still grinning from ear to ear, hands held up in a grand gesture.
"What's the pay?" you asked, raising a brow cautiously. You weren't stupid, albeit you'd be down for just about anything, yet his smile was clearly trying to deceive you, and it was…unsettling. he
"Oh, you !" He laughed, stopping when we weren't. I assure. " I assure you, we pay all of our employees well, and ras come often! Our starting pay is around $5.50 per week!" He mused, steepling his fingers together as he rested his chin on his knuckles, still owning that salesman grin.
"What are the hours?" He froze, coughing awkwardly.
"Well—" Vox was interrupted when the same lady at the front desk from earlier opened the door, peeping her head in.
" Sir, Valentino -"
"Don't you know to knock? Jesus, Katherine." He scorned her, shooing her away. She looked like she was about to cry as she mumbled an apology and shut the door.
You looked back at him, unable to hide the disgust that hit you, and he quickly noticed, becoming a little flustered as he waved at you dismissively.
"Ah, Katherine! It's all jokes around here!" He reassured you. Your disgust only grew, hand tightening on your bag as you imagined them tightening around a blade as you sink it deeper into his- "So! Here is the form you'll need to sign before working here!" He placed a piece of paper and fountain pen in front of you, smile unwavering.
Abso-fucking-loutely not. You would rather live in a trash can than work for this absolute pig of a human being.
You stood up, shooting him a nasty glare. "I'd rather die, fuckwad." You sneered before turning and promptly leaving.
"Well, hey ! It's not like anywhere else will be willing to hire some woman-"
You slammed the door shut hard enough for it to leave a dent before walking downstairs, hands clenching on your purse as you fantasized about him begging for his life. The world would be a better place without him in it. With him in the deepest depths of hell, burning and suffering, but somehow, you figure that even in hell, he'd somehow manage to manipulate and control others.
When you got outside, you looked up and saw gray clouds beginning to form while reality finally hit you.
Fuck . You won't be able to pay rent, and your skeezy landlord doesn't accept late payments.
You might actually end up homeless.
You sighed, trembling as a cool breeze swept past you. Your coat had holes in it as did your socks. Hell, it could barely be considered a coat, more so an embarrassing art project in middle school.
You dug your hands into the pockets of your coat for warm, flinching when you felt something in them. You pulled it out. A business card. Alastors. He must have snuck a second one in when he was passing by you to leave, expecting Vox's childish behavior.
It wasn't a landline; rather, it was an address to a wealthier part of town up north. Estburg. You'd never been there before, and it was only something you occasionally saw in the news as burglaries happened there ever so often, and more importantly, the discoveries of bodies. Lots of them. Or at least, parts of them, discarded and left behind only to be sniffed out by dogs and found by unsuspecting people. Otherwise, nothing was really notable about the snobbish and privileged town.
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The next day, you finally took the bus all the way up north to the address on the business card. The house itself was a garish two-story red and black Victorian manor. It stood out compared to the neighboring houses, which sported more greens, yellows, and whites.
You had your dagger on you, secured neatly in your garter just in case. Something needed to be more off-putting about him, and you weren't sure if it was something to be afraid of or interested in. But something drew you to him; you wanted to know...And you also really needed the money to pay for rent.
You rang the doorbell, waiting a few minutes. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. Chestnut brown eyes met yours through a crack in the door before he swung it open.
"Ah! Welcome!" He gestured for you to come in, and for whatever strange reason, you did, your hand resting cautiously near your thigh. " I do apologize, I was not expecting you."
"I wasn't sure how to give prior notice," you said, stopping in your tracks when you saw another figure sitting in the living room on a reclined chair, teacup in hand. She had long silver-white hair, but she didn't look old, and she wore a fascinator with a purple dress. She tilted her head, lips turning upwards as her eyes met yours.
" Oh, Al ! Who is this one?" She mused excitedly in a thick New York accent, getting up and running over to you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. She eyed you like dinner, and it sent shivers down your spine.
"A future business partner." He responded, standing idly while this strange woman continued to stare at you like you were some kind of animal at a zoo, fascinated.
" Business partner ?" She gasped, feigning shock. " You? Teamwork ?" She momentarily pulled a hand from your face, looking over to Alastor who had his hands behind his back, posture perfect and proper.
"Correct, why don't you introduce yourself?" He looked at you expectantly. You cleared your throat and introduced yourself to the lady in front of you, holding out a hand for a handshake, but she simply laughed.
"I'm Rosie, and darling... don't worry about formalities; I'm just a friend of old Al's, " she teased.
"I believe the saying goes 'old friend.'" Alastor corrected, but Rosie just shot him a grin and shook her head. You held back a snicker.
"Oh, always a little bit special." She grinned, picking up her coat from the coat hanger behind you before putting it on. " Well, I'll be heading my way now. Stop by if you want to sell anything." She said, giving Alastor a playful wink.
"Of course." He replied as she gave him a quick hug and waved to you before promptly leaving.
"Apologies for that." He led you to a couch in the living room, sitting you down before moving to the kitchen. " Do you like tea?"
"No," you shook your head. Only coffee." You hummed, taking in the expensive and fancy interior. " It's not like I want you to make me coffee; I was just saying, " you quickly added.
He quirked his brow up in amusement, his smile not waning one bit. "I'm not a fan either; I prefer coffee as well, " he said, spilling the remainder of the coffee in the kettle into the drain before starting to clean it.
"So.. What's the job offer exactly?" You asked.
"Glad you asked!" He exclaimed, clasping his hands together as he made his way over to sit in front of you. " Can you talk?"
You raised a brow, "Well, I am now, aren't I?"
He cocked his head to the side in entertainment. " I mean talk-talk. For 3 hours every day, 5-8pm5–8 pm "Yeah." You responded, realizing what he meant. Working on-air with him? " I can do that." You added. " But why me? Why not...Rosie, or someone else?"
He shook his head, laughing a bit." Rosie is lovely, but she isn't radio-material."
"And I am?" You smiled impishly, earning a laugh from him.
"Can you also write scripts?"
"I wrote a few in middle school. What's the pay?"
"We split half and half for the broadcasts you attend, so expect around $30-40 per." He grinned languidly, reclining in his chair before pulling his coffee mug to his lips to take a sip from it.
You nodded, mouth slightly agape in awe. Just two broadcasts could pay your monthly rent. " I-Yes, that's great," you stammered.
"You're hired."
You went quiet, stunned.
"Hired?"
He nodded, setting down his mug as he crossed his legs, hands grasping one another. " You start tomorrow. I expect you here Monday through Saturday from 4 to 7:15 to 7:15 pm bBringscripts for Fridays and Saturdays; I'm too busy to create scripts on those days. Oh, and come at 1 pm on Thursdays; scripts are written on those days."
You could only nod in response, your heart racing in excitement and your hands clammy and sweaty in anxiety. He got up, and you followed suit, following as he walked to the door. He was all smiles. He always was. You weren't sure how you felt or how you even should feel. The curvature of his lips was unnerving, and you couldn't help but feel like his words dripped with venom, but not the kind that you'd ever once seen.
No .
Not like Vox . Alastor felt much more threatening. Despite his petite figure and lack of any muscles with no facial hair in sight, those eyes are daggers. Is he looking at you like this on purpose? Is he giving you a false sense that you're looking behind the curtain to give you an upper hand?
"Pleasure seeing you." He hummed, grasping your hand to plant a quick kiss on it.
You left and your mind immediately flooded with thoughts.
Is he trying to intimidate you, use you, or is it much more surface level?
Whatever it was, the pay was great, and now you were really craving crepes.
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When you got home, you were met by your landlord standing outside your apartment door. You had to physically hold back a gag at the smell of him. He was old, and you didn't think he'd taken a shower in years .
"Yes, Mr. Suconcock?" You were standing in front of him, forcing yourself to smile.
"You've been late on rent payments." He was tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. That was never a good sign.
"Sorry? I haven't."
"You didn't get the literal letter I left in your—anyways; usually, I let it pass for a couple weeks, but I've gotten word from someone specific that you have been engaging in..." He raised a brow, " nefarious activities ."
"Like what?" You questioned, and he sighed.
"Don't act dumb ; it doesn't look good on you." He went silent for a bit, and you still looked at him curiously. What the fuck does he mean 'nefarious activities?'
"I'm Christian." He started... What ? " Born and raised." He added, looking up to… God? While tapping his fist on his chest.
You just stood there, unamused , feet in pain from all the walking you did in heels today.
"And it's a sin to perform in those activities." He shrugged, obviously tiptoeing around the word.
"What is it?" You snapped, crossing your arms impatiently.
"You're a harlot ." He finally said, sighing.
... Harlot?
"A harlot?! What the fuck—"
Next thing you knew, you were sitting outside the apartment building on the ground with one suitcase by your side, which barely fit your belongings in it.
You snapped at him, and god forgives you because you slapped him after he said, 'You look like one.'
So now it was late. You've slept on the streets before, but you usually were able to couch surf when the days started getting colder, and the days were colder, and you had no couch to sleep on.
Sleeping at Alastor's was an option, especially since you feel like he'd gladly let you sleep on his couch, but he wasn't an option you'd pick. You could handle yourself. You'd promised since your last ex that you wouldn't rely on a man for your survival; you'd done it once before. Never, ever again. You'd convince yourself that you live in a society where every man you meet is looking for property, not love or friends.
And god damnit, you tried being a lesbian, but it's really hard when you can get imprisoned for it. You'd just decided to give up on love.
It makes you weak anyway. Lowers your ability to think straight, fogging the mind. Decisions are no longer driven by yourself first; instead, they come first. It's too messy.
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Surprisingly, you actually got to sleep and only woke up when you heard the morning rush started: people talking, walking, cars racing by and honking their horns.
It was cool and it had rained a little bit when you slept, so you were damp. You looked at your watch.
12:29PM
Shit
You jumped up from your spot, scaring a few pedestrians, grabbed your suitcase and bolted to the bus stop. Luckily, it wasn't too far down the street.
Your shoes splashed in puddles, only further ruining your nice heels and wetting your socks.
But that didn't matter because your bus was at the bus stop, and you were 20 feet away, waving it down to not leave.
Out of breath, you raced onto it, tossing a couple coins in the dispenser before moving to sit down. You caught your breath while people stared at you. It wasn't until now that you realized how disheveled and dirty you looked.
Your hair was knotted and tousled, your lipstick and eyeshadow were smudged, and your dress had mud on it.
What a wonderful impression to make on your first day at work! Showing up like you slept at a barn with cows, without even an electric blanket. Just a typewriter. Though it would be cool to live with cows that knew how to use a typewriter— but that was beside the point!
You pulled a mirror from your bag, and a couple of clothes fell out in the process. But you didn't have the time to pick them up right now. You pulled the mirror up to your face, using your sleeve to wipe off the makeup on your face. Thankfully, because of the dampness of your sleeve, it was easy and doubled as a way to wash your face quickly.
You then ran your fingers through your hair, slowly and painfully undoing the knots.
Some old lady was sitting in front of you on the bus, cane in hand, while she watched you, shaking her head and smiling as if she was reliving some fond memory.
Uh, okay.
You finally got to a point where you were.... presentable. Just as long as they didn't look at the lower part of your dress. You sighed, setting down the mirror and picking up the clothes you'd previously dropped.
"Date?" The old lady asked, a small smile forming on her wrinkly lips. You looked at her, silent for a second, with a brow raised as you involuntarily pictured that in your head.
"No." You simply said as the bus arrived at your stop.
She laughed like you were joking when you said no, waving as you got off the bus. You shook your head, sighing as you continued onward to his house—Alastors house.
Scripts...scripts..what do people write for scripts? For radio shows? Are they just like...shit, what do people write in radio scripts?!
You knocked on his door, standing awkwardly.
Alastor answered, "Welcome!" He exclaimed, gesturing you in.
"Sorry, I'm late." You mumbled as you checked your watch.
"No problem..." He eyed you up and down curiously. " You look...spent." He was still smiling even as he insulted you.
"Thanks." You replied with dry sarcasm.
"Come with me, I'll show you to your office."
Office? Yours?
He led you upstairs to a room. It wasn't huge by any means, but it also wasn't small. Bookshelves hit the ceiling, stacked with various novels and forms of literature. It was somewhat of a storage room, with records and boxes scattered around the room, but it was also nice. There was a desk in the center of the room with a dusty typewriter and a black leather desk chair in front of it.
"Wow, this is..." You were at a loss for words as you walked into the room that was now your ' office.'
"—Where you'll be writing scripts? Correct!" He finished your sentence with a lazy grin slathered across his face.
That wasn't what you were going to say, but oh well.
"What exactly should I write?" you asked, walking over to the desk. In front of the typewriter was a vase with water and a singular lily, a welcome note, and some snacks. Your cheeks warmed slightly at the kind gesture, and a small smile formed on your rosy cheeks.
"Underneath the welcome note is the formula for scripts." He grinned, still standing at the doorway, eyes fixated on you. " Join me for coffee at 2, will you?"
You looked up at him, a little surprised at the offer. You weren't used to such kindness. Was he...hitting on you?
"Sure." You simply replied, plopping down on the chair and feeling yourself sink into the cushions. It felt so nice to sit on something comfortable, and oh, the typewriter was so fancy. A newer model from Underwood , one of the fancier typewriter companies. It felt nice on your fingertips.
You picked up the welcome note. It was generic stuff—not really mushy, more so instructions about where the bathrooms were and, strangely enough, where not to go. ' Don't go into the basement.' It seemed a little threatening like the lines got thicker during that specific part.
Underneath the note, as promised, was the formula for scriptwriting. The material expected to be in there changes considering the day, like recipes for Fridays, stories on Saturdays, and news on Sundays. Expected to be 2,000+ words long and whatnot. It was all doable, and it made you wonder why this job wasn't already filled up long ago.
You guessed that maybe he only recently figured he needed an extra hand, but why only now? Whatever. Good money for good work. Better than the pennies Vox was offering.
─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───
When 2 rolled around, you were actually happy to finally give your hands a rest from typing. Apparently, expensive typewriters don't give you any less aches and cramps in your hands.
When you went downstairs, you saw Alastor sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, reading a book. Two mugs, with steam rising from them, were on the coffee table.
You walked over and silently sat down, and it seemed that only then did he notice you—or at least decide to notice you.
"How's it working for you?" He asked, a smirk playing on his lips. His question seemed more rhetorical as he observed you massaging your cramped hands.
"Great." You replied, only adding more when you noticed his stare. " Thanks for the, uh, welcome packet and stuff." You looked up at him.
"Of course," He hummed, bringing the mug to his lips to take a sip. You did the same, trying to ignore the hot coffee hitting your lips. How was he drinking this so nonchalantly?
" Bitter ." You said, biting back a wince as the hot liquid traveled down your throat.
"You don't like it?" He was still grinning, but now it seemed more playful. You didn't hesitate to shake your head.
"No, I like it bitter, " you replied, taking another sip despite the scorching temperature. It was really good and tasted fresh compared to the stuff you get at cafes. " Thank you, " you added. Alastor was still reading his book, but a part of you felt like he was only pretending to.
"Something tells me that you and I aren't all that different." His voice was low. You looked at him, unsure of what he was suggesting.
"Really now?" You smirked, amused. You assumed he was making small talk. But you couldn't help but think there was something underneath those words.
"Say, did you go home with that man?" He questioned, eyes still on his book. You cleared your throat, trying to string together a sentence that saved your dignity while also not saying that you literally murdered him.
"I was just being nice." You responded, your smile quickly becoming strained as you tried to keep it—not wanting to be suspicious.
"Oh, but you left with him, didn't you?" Alastor pried, eyes finally peeling from his book to meet yours. He wasn't smiling right now, but he wasn't unhappy either. His expression was monotonous .
Your heart skipped a beat, but you took a deep breath, calming your nerves, still smiling.
"He was drunk . I walked him home."
Alastor smiled again. " How kind of you." He seemed completely unconvinced as he continued to read. Your brow twitched as you huffed.
" You wanted to know ." You mumbled.
"Pardon?" He looked back up from his book, this time grabbing a bookmark and closing his book. You refused to be intimidated by him, even as he looked at you the way he did.
"You asked, and I told you. I walked him home." You didn't necessarily snap, but your voice was sharp and daring as you took another sip from your mug. Alastor seemed amused by your response, eyes widening in fascination.
"Ah, I like you." He commented, getting up as he walked to the kitchen with his mug. It only made you more pissed at how he treated you like some kind of object of entertainment, but you relented.
You bit back an insult. You knew better. You weren't dumb, and you wouldn't give in to the obvious bait he left for you. No. You were winning this game.
And just when you thought the conversation was over, he spoke...again.
"Your dress."
"I know, it's dirty." You said, "I just..." You tried to think of an excuse, but you fumbled, and he fucking grinned at you in amusement.
"Do you want to borrow some clothes?"
Yeah, like hell, you'd fit into his skinny-ass, 6'5, slim Jim clothes.
"Borrow?" You repeated, looking at him and mostly just wondering how you'd fit into anything he owns.
"Yeah."
Well, turns out you can fit into his clothes.
He gave you a white button-up and black pants that were extremely tight around your thighs. You had never even worn pants outside of your room, and you had some weird idea that Alastor would be like, ' No pants, it's not feminine!' But he wasn't, and he actually complimented you when you came out of the bathroom.
"Right, well, I'll be getting back to my own matters. Continue the script, will you?" He asked rhetorically.
And that was basically how the rest of the day went. You were in your small office while he was off somewhere else in the house doing whatever.
You'd finished the final draft of the script within a couple of hours, so you were left sitting around, looking through books. There were lots of books on cooking and preparing meat; he must be a really good cook.
There were also souvenirs from Mardi Gras and the occasional jazz albums. You were looking around when you came across a photo framed and nearly placed on a shelf.
Aw
It was what you assumed to be a young Alastor standing behind him, that seemed to be his mom. His mom seemed gentle, she had a soft smile plastered across her face, and Alastor looked energetic and almost like he was laughing when the photo was taken. You couldn't help but smile at it a little bit. So, he is somewhat human...
'DING DING DING'
You jumped as you saw the timer go off, indicating the day was over. You set the frame down, stumbling over to turn off the timer and grab your things.
"See you tomorrow, " he would say, waving goodbye. This time, you didn't get the creeps when he smiled at you and even smiled back at him as you waved.
Tomorrow, you'd be actually on the radio with him. Of course, you wrote a script, but you'd still never even listened to one of his radios, so you weren't sure if it fit the criteria. You always needed more money to afford one, and also just preferred to read. So you wondered what it would be like to be " on air "...and also to have to talk to Alastor for an extended period because, in truth, you two still hadn't talked much.
You eventually found a spot underneath a bus stop and laid down on the bench, eventually drifting off to sleep.