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nobody knows you when you're down and out
Feb. 14th, 2024 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sindicates[ alastor considers that maybe his end is some sort of cosmic punishment. it's not pleasant, after all, to get shot in the head and then eaten by dogs. one must truly be awful to deserve that kind of death. so he supposes, realistically, that mayhaps someone hasn't liked what he was doing. not that he cares about the morality — it just makes sense.
he'll be remembered, he also supposes, once people figure out what he's been doing. that part he likes; the infamy that'll live on long after he died.
he thinks all of this laying on the fucking ground of hell when he blinks awake, the agony still fresh in his mind and in his flesh. he drags himself to his feet, catches his breath, and plasters on a fresh new smile.
let no one say alastor isn't adaptable: he spends time figuring out what happened, though it's obvious enough he's been tossed right into hell. he spends as much of that time gathering gossip and secrets as he does getting his bearings.
he's a quick mover and shaker, all told: he slips right into a radio job, though the pay in hell is even worse than he got when he was alive. but it doesn't matter: he'll make his way right to the top no matter what it takes.
but it's not as though alastor has many... well, options, after things go very wrong all at once. he's strong, sure, real damned strong and almost impossible to beat, but the last thing he needs is mimzy showing up when she croaks and immediately dragging him into some shit she gets into and there's just enough to deal with that he manages but has to lay low afterward.
real low.
at least until it feels like ten thousand things happen at once: he'd been seen holding his own against far too many other demons and it's caught enough attention that he's made an offer he can't refuse. not a deal, but a job. an eternal job, if he plays his cards right.
it's certainly a step up, so he agrees. not that he's given much of a choice.
so he finds himself in a crisp new uniform, white and gold and red, and he finds himself standing before lucifer himself, grinning shark-wide as he dips into a low bow, one arm over his chest as he lifts his head to look at him, ears flicking just slightly. ]
Truly a pleasure, Your Majesty. I'm honored to have been brought here.
[ against my will, he doesn't say, but his tone is just a little sharp beyond the very slight static. he's not ungrateful, per se, about being dragged out of the gutter, but he can still test the limits just a little so he knows exactly what he's getting into. ]
he'll be remembered, he also supposes, once people figure out what he's been doing. that part he likes; the infamy that'll live on long after he died.
he thinks all of this laying on the fucking ground of hell when he blinks awake, the agony still fresh in his mind and in his flesh. he drags himself to his feet, catches his breath, and plasters on a fresh new smile.
let no one say alastor isn't adaptable: he spends time figuring out what happened, though it's obvious enough he's been tossed right into hell. he spends as much of that time gathering gossip and secrets as he does getting his bearings.
he's a quick mover and shaker, all told: he slips right into a radio job, though the pay in hell is even worse than he got when he was alive. but it doesn't matter: he'll make his way right to the top no matter what it takes.
but it's not as though alastor has many... well, options, after things go very wrong all at once. he's strong, sure, real damned strong and almost impossible to beat, but the last thing he needs is mimzy showing up when she croaks and immediately dragging him into some shit she gets into and there's just enough to deal with that he manages but has to lay low afterward.
real low.
at least until it feels like ten thousand things happen at once: he'd been seen holding his own against far too many other demons and it's caught enough attention that he's made an offer he can't refuse. not a deal, but a job. an eternal job, if he plays his cards right.
it's certainly a step up, so he agrees. not that he's given much of a choice.
so he finds himself in a crisp new uniform, white and gold and red, and he finds himself standing before lucifer himself, grinning shark-wide as he dips into a low bow, one arm over his chest as he lifts his head to look at him, ears flicking just slightly. ]
Truly a pleasure, Your Majesty. I'm honored to have been brought here.
[ against my will, he doesn't say, but his tone is just a little sharp beyond the very slight static. he's not ungrateful, per se, about being dragged out of the gutter, but he can still test the limits just a little so he knows exactly what he's getting into. ]
