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TWO WEEKS LATER...
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THE FAMOUS QUIET CALM BEFORE THE STORM. A night where one and all join together to raise a toast and cheer for what they have and spend their night with those closest to them. Those that they will fight for tomorrow...those they'll die for.

For the longest time, you always wondered why people would celebrate the night before a battle. It confused you. How can people be so happy and cheerful when in just hours, they very well could die? Wouldn't that make one panicked? Somewhat agitated?

But at the same time, your question was answered, was it not?
They all celebrate the fact that they are living in this moment right now, surrounded by those they love and trust wholeheartedly. Tomorrow is pushed to the sides of everyone's minds...they're just enjoying what's already here, and not worried about what will happen when the Exorcists come.

They're simply...living. And if they were to die, at least they spent there last night throwing a party for the life they had lived to the fullest.

Alastor stands on the second floor that overlooks the longue, his eyes staring down amongst those who laugh, make conversation, raise their drinks and cheer for this time that they have together.
His smile softens. One could get used to such sentimental moments...quite the unexpected surprise, is Alastor slowly finding himself beginning to care for them?

A twist in his plans, one that mustn't blossom to its full bloom if he wants his plan to succeed.

Though interestingly enough, there is one face that's missing from the crowd of friends down below. A certain face he assumed would have joined the others the moment this party started.

Alastor hears the muffled sound of a blade being thrown into a wall down the hallway behind him, and curiously, he looks over his shoulder upon hearing the noise.

Smiling, he shakes his head softly. Now why on Earth are you still locked inside your room, and not down here with the others?
In fact, Alastor doesn't think he's seen you once join the others since this party was held.

Are you similar to him when it comes to preferring to stay outside of crowds and simply look within?
Or...do you like to spend your time doing something else more...fulfilling?

Standing up straight, Alastor begins to walk down the hallway.

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Beads of sweat run down your brow as you try to stabilize your breathing once more.
Lifting your spear, you lunge forward, thrusting the tip of your spear into the stomach of an imaginary Exorcist you see in your head.

Then, you plant the spear into the ground firmly, using your hands that remain wrapped tightly on the spear to lift yourself up as you perform a kick, pointing straight to an imaginary collarbone with the sharp angelic steel heel of your boot.

You swivel, ducking as you then press the buttons of your gloves to unsheathe the blades, slicing the ankles of the said imaginary Exorcist you invision is standing before you.

Rising up, you do one backflip, your hands and feet sticking to the wall behind you exactly like a spider, as you then push yourself off the wall, flying in midair with your arms outstretched, only to use the blades of your gloves to slit an imaginary throat.

Panting heavily as your feet touch the ground, you stand a little straighter, reaching to grab your fallen spear as you decide for fun to twirl it, a smirk on your flushed and damp face.

A couple of times this week, you visited Carmilla for training. Despite already being able to fight better than most, you felt it wasn't good enough, and demanded that she teach you more.

Let's just say...your practice training was intense and painful, but you didn't mind.
As the saying goes, whatever doesn't kill me, can only make me stronger.

Breathless, you set aside your spear to practice more with your gloves. If the possibility of your spear to break in the midst of tomorrow, you must be well practiced at these gloves. Despite feeling a little hesitant when it comes to fighting close range with an Exorcist.

Both blades completely unsheathed, you begin to step forward and backwards, using any sort of Martial Art skill you learned from your lessons with Carmilla.

She taught you well...very well.

You spin, kick, duck, swinging your wrists sideways and forward, your hair flying with each quick, aggressive movement you perform. It was in a bun, but due to your practicing, it released from its hair-tie, only to hinder your fighting by getting in your eyes, blocking your vision.

Growling from stumbling when a strand of hair got into your right eye, you stop for a moment, reaching behind you in an annoyed manner to tie it back up--a little tighter than before, mumbling under your breath about the consideration of shaving it completely off.

A joke of course. You're not actually serious.

Your back faces the door as your hands finish the final tie to your hair...before you suddenly feel a tingle run down your spine in a heavy, cold sort of way, as if some unwanted and unexpected presence just entered your domain without invite.

You're not alone.

Slowly raising a hand, you quickly spin, the blade coming to the neck of the one standing behind you, barely an inch from cutting the jugular vein.

For someone else, they would have flinched or even let out a tiny scream from your sudden threatening outburst, but not the one who stands behind you. He instead smiles happily, unaffected from your little display, as his finger pushes aside your blade in a somewhat lazy manner.

"You're quite good with a blade," he remarks the moment you straighten your stance, pressing the buttons on your gloves for the blades to retract to appear...less threatening.
Alastor...of course he would be the one looking for you. An unwanted guest as of right now.

You're currently busy and have no time to spend for anyone. Let alone someone like him, who most likely just wants to annoy you with his witty and somewhat insulting remarks.

Exhaling, you turn away, going to the table in the corner of your hotel room, reaching for your spear with your left hand.

Alastor tilts his head. "If I may ask, why aren't you down there with the others?"

"I could be asking you the same thing," you remark as you turn to face him, one hand propped on your hip. "Why aren't you down there with the others, and instead up here with me?" You chuckle. "Don't make me your entertainment when you're bored. I don't stoop that low..."

He laughs. "Darling, you are an entertaining show all on its own. I don't even have to ask of anything from you to feel entertained...you simply captivate me with each and every display of yours."

You scoff. "Art thou trying to flatter me?"

"Maybe. But do tell me this, ma chérie," he takes a few steps closer, until he stands face to face with you.

Ma chérie? French? ...seriously? Well, you do know that when Alastor was alive, he was half Creole--inherited from his mother's side. Information that you've dug up during your workdays at the hotel. Don't ask, don't tell. You have your ways, and let's leave it at that.

...you actually asked Charlie, who told you happily what she knew--which in truth, wasn't much.

Alastor smirks. "While I was on my regularly scheduled outing a couple weeks ago, I stumbled across the quite...horrific sight of four dead shark demons in an alleyway. Their bodies were completely covered with that of spiders. Tell me," he leans closer, "was that you?" he muses. "Don't try and pretend to be innocent."

You let out a little chuckle. Innocent...not your forte.
Smirking, you lean a little closer, to the point where with one gentle nudge and your lips would fall onto his.
Though neither of you would go that far...being this close is merely a game of whose more dominant.

A game...you want to win.

"Guilty as charged," you reply in a gentle sing-song way, almost gleeful, holding no shame or regret for what you did to them. They would have done many horrific things to you--and if not you, someone else.

You simply did a favor, and took out some of the trash.

Oh, you insatiable creature you...Alastor says to himself.
Now he is officially convinced, despite the two of you--for the most part--going down each other's throats, disagreeing on almost everything, playing games of insulting tit-for-tat, he doesn't regret hiring you for a second.

Dare he say...he might actually be--slowly--falling in love with you.
Ha! what a ridiculous joke! Him?! Love?! Goodness, the two don't go well together. But in all honesty, you certainly appear Alastor's type. Beautiful, unpredictable, lethal, dangerous...his perfect nightmare.

You turn away, inhaling a little breath. "If thou art trying to flatter me, it's not working. Now please," you raise your spear, "leave me to my way of celebrating. And go and find someone else to help with your boredom."

You begin to twirl your spear, before you spin and plunge its blade viciously into the wall, adding yet another dent to the hundreds of scratches and splintered wood upon the wall.

Alastor snickers behind his hand. This room certainly looks like it's been through a war as well...thankfully Charlie had allowed you permission to turn this unoccupied space into that of a weapon's training room.

If you hadn't gained permission, Charlie would have freaked.

Raising a brow, he looks at you, ignoring your request for him to leave on purpose. "Do you need to let out a little steam?" he asks.

You open your mouth to respond with a short no, but before you're able to speak, Alastor lunges forward, causing you to gasp as you force yourself to jump and roll out of his way before he could collide into you.

"What the hell?!" you shout at him, jumping back when he tries to hit you with the point of his cane. "Quit it!"

He continues with the advantage he has, stepping forward until you're nearly cornered.
As he raises his cane to strike a hit against you, you duck and leap out of his swing, scrambling back onto your feet behind him, hands clenched at your side, breathlessly growling.

"Don't make me hurt you," you hiss dangerously, your state of mind at the point where you won't be held responsible for your actions.
Alastor smirks. There's that look he wanted to see. That unpredictable stare your green eyes possess.

"I'd like to see you try, darling," he remarks, twirling his cane a little, before once more, he leaps forward to your direction.
This time, you have the advantage. Stepping out of his way, you reach for your spear with your right hand, and when his back is to you, you begin to attack. Plunging, swinging, blocking.

Each attack you throw, Alastor blocks with finess and grace. He doesn't even NEED his cane to block, he merely moves his slender body left and right, down and up, avoiding the slice of an angelic spear by mere inches, while a smug smile remains on his lips, as his hands are clasped behind his back.

Going on two minutes of fighting--and not able to beat Alastor, let alone put a mark on him--you begin to growl a little louder, putting more force and speed into your attacks. A flaw...for the faster and harder you move, the faster your energy will drain, giving Alastor all the opportunities to win against you.

Alastor spins the moment you lunge forward, causing you to stumble a little, and to feel a sudden thwack of his cane against your back.
You yelp, looking over your head at his smirking, smug, looking face.

"You're lacking fluidity right now, darling," he jumps out of the way when your spear comes down while you let out a loud growl, "I can predict each and every one of your attacks before they happen!"

"So what?! Do you think you're better than me?! I bet I've had more training than YOU!" you hiss, going forward with your spear, aiming for his chest.

Alastor smirks. You're getting angry...another flaw to your fighting. Never allow your opponent to take charge of your emotions in the midst of a fight, they will immediately have the upper hand if they notice that they made you angry.

Alastor slips past you, standing now with your back facing him, you feel your feet being hit with his cane, and you fall onto your stomach, grunting when you feel the front of your face make contact with the floor. Your spear rolls out of your hand towards the other end of the room, and as you try to crawl to get it, you're stopped by Alastor placing the tip of his cane near your face.

You flip onto your back, staring up at the shit-eating grin on his face, clearly pleased with himself that he beat you in this little duel.

Smirking, he begins to speak. "If I was an Exorcist, you'd be dead right now," he chuckles, "you're light on your feet and have great reflexes, I will admit. Though there is one particular flaw you must know if you ever want to succeed in a battle." He presses the tip of his cane into your chest. "You are easily aggravated. A flaw like that will only cause irrational thinking and mistakes on your part, and sometimes...it will ultimately end with you dead."

The tip of his cane presses a little harder into your chest as he leans down to get a better look at your face, his eyes seeming to glow a bit brighter in the dimly lit room you and him are in.

"I can't have you dead either," he says assertively, "for if you did die, then your father's rage will be bestowed on not only me, but this hotel as well, thinking that WE were the cause of your death. When in reality...it would be your foolish fighting that would have caused your demise."

You glare up at him, feeling a surge of adrenaline flow through your veins from hearing Alastor's words.

You grip Alastor's cane, lifting your legs to kick him in the stomach. As he stumbles back, you rip his cane from his hands, causing him to fall down onto his back entirely, and you to leap forward, pressing a foot down onto his chest while pointing the tip of his cane at his face, keeping him from getting back up.

"Don't forget," you smirk breathless, blowing aside a few strands of hair that lay over your lips, "there's no rules when it comes to dirty fighting."

A flicker of what resembles that of surprise and shock flashes in Alastor's crimson eyes, before a little chuckle escapes his lips, accepting his defeat in the end. What a sly little thing you did...you played your cards well.

For fun, you tap the microphone on Alastor's cane, and try to impersonate him in your best/worst southern accent that he slightly has.

"Well, hello there salutations! It's me, Alastor the Radio Demon and I have just been beaten by a girl!"

"Give me that!" Alastor rips the cane out of your hands, standing up to fix his suit, using his hands to brush off the dust and grim that stuck to his coat. "Hm, what a rude lady you are."

You giggle evil like, deciding to nudge him once and further press his buttons because it's fun, and you feel he deserves it.
"But you love me for that, don't you?" you ask in a sly and teasing voice, causing a forced laugh to leave Alastor's lips.

"Ha! Love is the wrong word for what you are referring to. The PROPER term for what you are saying is; I have no choice but to withstand your attitudes with a VERY limited amount of patience," he responds, twirling his cane before placing its tip on the floor firmly.

Laughing, you respond. "Right back at you," you smirk, before hearing an outburst of joyful laughter, muffled through the walls, coming from the party downstairs. Someone must have told quite the hilarious joke...or perhaps they laugh because of the good atmosphere.

You look at Alastor. "Should we...make our presence known to the others?" you ask. It had just occurred to you that what if someone wanted to look for either you or Alastor and end up finding the two of you TOGETHER in a ROOM.

...scandalous!

"Hmm, nope!" he laughs softly, glancing at you with a sneaky little grin, "why don't we throw a celebration of our own, instead?"
Your brow furrows. "And what is it you have in mind?" you ask. A celebration with Alastor? Wait...let's guess...his idea of celebration would consist of sorting through old vinyl's from the 1920s. Or going to kill a lesser demon. One of those two.

Grinning, he raises a hand, the loud snap of two fingers piercing the silent, before suddenly the room you and him are standing in becomes that of a pocket dimension, resembling a tranquil bayou, with large trees that's moss hangs off the branches and nearly touches the ground.

Flickers of golden butt fireflies fly around in a slow, steady pace, making a bzzz sound when they near your ears.
Underneath your feet is green, soft moss, while to your right off in the distance you see the lily-pad covered bayou water and hear the faint croaking of frogs and toads on rotten stumps and logs.

Your eyes widen, as a little breath escapes your lips. "I..." you look at Alastor. "Is this...real?"

He laughs, amused by your reaction, which is that of a child's when they visit a joyful place. "Only a piece of it. Beyond that line of water right there is merely a wall to the hotel."

"Still...how did you do this?" you ask baffled, staring at him. "I've never seen such an ability before."
Alastor's brow slightly furrows. You aren't able to perform such an ability like him? And here he thought you were perhaps powerful then him.

In some cases, yes, you are more powerful. But when it comes to simple things such as this little pocket dimension, it is out of your hands.
Interesting.

You look behind you, and you see a white table with two chairs displayed, it's paint seeming to flack off and fall on the moss ground beneath your feet.

"Help yourself to a seat, my dear," Alastor--being the gentleman he is--goes to the chair across from his, pulling it out for you to sit, and when you do, he pushes it in.

"I thank thee," you respond courteously, before your smile softly fades away when you begin to smell something...rotting.
Glancing down, you notice the dried-up residue of blood splattered on the table. Your nose slightly twitches, as you raise a hand to your mouth to keep from gagging.

Alastor laughs when he notices your reaction. "Apologizes, Y/N," he snaps his fingers once more, and his shadow suddenly appears with two wet rags, and begins to clean the blood, before placing a scented candle in the middle to help rid the strong scent of rot and decay.

"Leftover mess of my breakfast this morning," Alastor muses, hands clasping on the table.
You force a smile. You had always known Alastor was a cannibal but...does he enjoy eating his meat...rotted?
The smell on this table is enough proof to that. And your curious/childish mind getting the better of you, you can't help but wonder if he would TASTE like rotting meat when someone kisses him?

...you hope that is not the case, feeling a little bad for anyone who possibly has kissed him in the past.

"What would you prefer, darling? Some tea? Or perhaps some wine since this is a celebration after all," he chuckles, pulling you out of your thoughts suddenly, "or would you like some whiskey? I'm rather found of the stuff. Ah, so many memories..." he trails off, one clawed finger delicately tracing the cracked lines in the table, as his eyes follow the movement of his finger.

"I've never had whiskey before," you respond. Your father was mostly a tea drinker, but he did partake in the sweet and bitterness of wines as well.
In truth, the only alcohol you've had is wine, and nothing more.

Your father feared that if consuming a hard drink, you would be addicted.
He always tried his best to keep you as innocent and pure as you could possibly get...though even he himself can't prevent immediate threats that involve...death on the threat's part, done by your hands.

There is nothing innocent about that, and you have ended more than a few lives here and there during your three hundred years as a Hellborn in Hell.

"Then allow me to pour you some," Alastor lifts a clear bottle, half filled with whiskey, as he brings out two shot-glasses, pouring one for you and one for himself to consume.

After Alastor slid you your shot, you gingerly lift it up, breathing in its scent before shutting your eyes, bracing yourself to swallow it in one gulp.

You hope your father won't one day find out you partook in a drink with Alastor.

As the liquor runs down your throat, you begin to feel a little burn, causing a hard cough to leave your lips, one hand thrown over your mouth to quiet it. Alastor though, swallows his shot in one quick gulp, and doesn't even flinch from it, he simply smiles at your little coughing fit, amused at how your handling this.

"Too strong?" he asks after a moment of watching you.

You clear your throat, the burning slowly starting to go away after a moment. "It's fine," you croak, one more little cough erupting from you. "I'll refrain from consuming anymore though, thank you."

Alastor chuckles amusingly. You barely even HAD a shot, and you act as if it's something not worth trying again. How adorable you can be.

"And here I thought you would participate in a drinking competition with me," Alastor jokes, though you don't find it funny.

You give him a silent stare, before you notice he summoned some wine and slid you a glass, before he raises his.
"A toast, my dear," he says the moment you pick your glass up.

He leans forward, both of your drinks clinking together. "I must say, it will be quite the honor to fight alongside you tomorrow. I look forward to it, actually."

You smile softly, your cheeks growing a tad bit warmer then how they're normally supposed to be.
Bringing the glass to your lips, you swallow a mouthful of wine.

"The honor is mine, Alastor," you reply softly, your eyes glancing down at the scented candle between you and him, trying to focus on the flicker of flame to keep from blushing even more.

Upon joining the hotel...you had thought that Alastor would be a challenge. Your sole intentions merely using him for your benefit, finding some way to leash him and show your father how strong and capable you are to rise up and become a daughter that anyone would be proud to have.

Though overtime, you find yourself beginning to...like Alastor's company. Yes, you still keep in mind that Alastor is a manipulative, unpredictable source of danger...though in this little moment right now, you can't help but believe it to be genuine. No motive or strings attached.

Just two business partners...sharing a drink, giving cheers for the battle to come tomorrow.
Tomorrow...a little shudder runs down your spine.

Tomorrow will determine everyone's fate. Like a little flip of a coin, either landing on heads or tails.

Heads, everyone will either succeed against Adam's army.

Or tails, everyone will fail...and end with Hell being completely wiped out.

There is no middle ground.
Drinking your wine, you glance at Alastor, who is busy staring down at something on his red suit that he doesn't like, and wants to fix.

The only three strong people in this hotel are you, Charlie, and Alastor.

Charlie declared that she would be down below helping the others during the fight, while Alastor said he'd handle Adam.

Softly, a little smile tugs at your lips.
You'll make history tomorrow...Y/N Morde, fighting against a lethal Exorcist army.

What a story to tell.
Not only that, but imagine the TV news, the paper articles, the feeds...

Y/N Morde, the daughter of Zestial Morde, fights against the Angels on Extermination Day.

You're actually looking forward to that.

Art done by SavLitBomb