nexus_crossings | +1 "Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me"

+1 "Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me"

So! This wasn't actually what he was expecting, when he opened the kitchen door today. He had an excellent venison burger sitting in the fridge, practically calling his name, but he opened the door to the Hotel kitchen, wouldn't you know it-

A completely alternate dimension. Well isn't that just a fine how do you do?

Now if he were a demon of more basic desires and concrete obvious goals, he'd have shut that door and kept trying it until he got his goddamn burger.

Clearly, though, that wasn't what happened.

Tall, that's what he was, way too tall to not stand out, all limbs and pointed fingers and jagged dagger smile, gleeful as he wandered about the plaza and no doubt scaring the children, if there happened to be any unfortunate enough to be there. Nosy thing too, deer-like ears swiveling this way and that to eavesdrop on any possible conversation in the immediate area.

And when he opened his mouth, the hiss and crackle of an old radio came out with a pop, that voice tinny, gleeful and disquieting.

"Good evenin' folks, fantastic night out, isn't it?

Now, I went about readin' your how to's and what do's and where go's and how so's, but I still got a question for you fine, lovely folks out there.

How many of you beautiful surface citizens came from somewhere a little further south? Don't be shy now, step right up."

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It's an expression he's used to, and in response, that slasher grin just widens more, the pupils in those blood red eyes narrowing to sharpened slits. Gleeful, amused even, so it would appear.

"Now that's a story I hear a lot! You'd be amazed at how many people just slide and slip into Hell unnoticed. Don't even pay attention to where they're goin'. It's a piece of cake to end up in Hell, son. Just a little trip.

One sin or a hundred sins, if you don't fix it, there's only one place for you." Dark indeed!

Yep, okay. Bad person to fall into conversation with, check. Cricket can already tell this is not a Nexus encounter he'd have chosen on his own behalf. But he also knows better than to turn tail and run at this point. For one thing, he's not that fast. For another, in most of the stories about demons he's read, running from them just makes them chase you down and jump on your back or something, and he definitely doesn't want that.

He's lost his place in reading already, so he sets the book aside carefully and watches the stranger's body language, still as a rabbit that's being shadowed by a hawk.

"Somehow, I never thought a devil'd talk like a preacher," he says, surprisingly philosophical for someone who thinks he may be in danger. "What d'you suppose are the percentages on who goes which direction?"

There's supposed to be no possibility of violence in the Nexus. He's never tested that, himself, but he has to kind of hope it holds true here. "How come you sound like an announcer on the radio, anyway? If you don't mind my askin'."

"Well kiddo, that's because your preacher was right! Sad state of affairs, makes you think God doesn't want the company. But hey, I never met the man, I can't go around speculatin' on why the entry requirements are so strict. Not that it matters right now, eh?" Already damned!

Alastor makes no move to close any sort of gap between them, shoulders back and head held high. It'd certainly look like Cricket could, possibly, just walk away.

"Couldn't tell you, son, couldn't even begin to theorize on it! Tell you what though, Hell gets full awful quick, we run out of vacancies a lot faster than you'd think! Chew on that for a while, I don't wanna plant any ideas in your skull that aren't yours. You didn't hear any suggestions from me, kiddo." Depressing, nevertheless!

"I am a radio announcer! Was alive, still am dead. It's a transferable skill, just like a lot of stuff, son! We got bartenders and dentists and doctors and cooks! Concierges and call girls and porn stars and postal workers."

Cricket slowly moves to put his feet on the ground, rather than on the arm of the couch where they just were. He's not going to make any moves other than that quite yet, though. There's something fascinating about the crackle and flow of the demon's patter. He can easily believe he was a radio announcer in life and afterlife. There's something a little like a carny there, too. Or maybe that's just the bright burgundy jacket that's making Cricket interpret it that way.

"Well, okay, hold on now--you can go to Hell and then just keep on doin' the job you did when you was alive? That sure as shit ain't what the preachers say. What happened to the weeping and gnashing of teeth and all that?"

He's not saying he wants to go there and find out, mind you, but being a bartender or dishwasher for eternity sounds less awful than burning in a lake of all-consuming fire.

The only thing really that now seems to be moving on Alastor, for the moment at least, are those eyes, following every single movement Cricket makes, no matter how inconsequential or minor. Really the picture of complete and total attention; Even the long, bushy ears on top of his head had swiveled forward to catch every single sound.

"Well that's easy, son! The location isn't what makes Hell Hell!" The smile twists further up, less an expression as it seemed more to be a yawning, tooth filled gash across a bone white face.

"It's the people! Hell's people, kiddo! I know I don't have to explain why, haha.

Open up a newspaper sometime, son! Life while you're alive, its all fun and good because between the demons, you got some angels, right?

There's none of those in Hell, son. Not a single one."

That is just incredibly creepy, sir. Cricket thought Loki was creepy, but you're creepier. He's pretty sure he's not actually all that interesting, so he has to assume he's being stared at to intimidate him. And it's working! But he feels like he should pretend it isn't working, so he draws up his spine a little and stares back.

And then...shit. He opens his mouth once or twice to talk back, but what Alastor says makes way too much sense. And the way he says it is unbelievably chilling.

Cricket is silent for a long minute, just looking up at the demon, brow a little furrowed in thought.

"A'ight," he says at last. "Thanks for the nightmares, mister. So...you ain't in Hell right now, what're you gonna do here?"

Oh Cricket, it's been long, long too late to redeem yourself, he claimed superiority here the second the young man had looked at him.

There's laughter, canned and tinny. "Well now don't just stand there lookin' like a freshly caught bass, son! You got somethin' to say or not?" Apparently, not. Since the topic moved on to what he had planned for his trip topside, now that he was here.

He tapped a claw gently against his chin, thoughtful.

"... I think I'm gonna get some dinner. I could eat a horse right now! What do you say, sport? Why don't we go lookin' for a decent place to eat?"

Yep.

That's right.

We.

Wouldn't be the first time someone claimed superiority after a single glance at Cricket. But he's not bitter or anything.

"Ain't got much to say about Hell 'till after I've seen it," he says. "And no, I don't want you to show me. I'll find my own way there if I gotta go."

He knows when he's cornered, and his poker face is not the greatest. There's a blend of fear, resignation, and, surprisingly, generalized annoyance. This is just not his week in the Nexus. "I don't think anywhere around here serves horse, sir," he says, almost sullenly. He knows it's an figure of speech, but if the only way he can fight back against a demon is quiet passive-aggression, he's going to do it.

He gets up, using his cane as leverage, and the look he gives Alastor might be using up his last reserves of courage, but it's definitely a warning glower (for whatever good that does him), "I can take you to the Crossroads Cafe, or one of the diners, if you want. That the kind of dinner you're talkin' about?"

Because he is absolutely not going anywhere alone out of the public eye with this guy. He's got a memory of being murdered that's way too fresh in his mind to dismiss, and is started with a quiet walk to a secluded spot in the woods. No, thanks, never again.

"Shame! Horse ain't bad!" Two can play at that game.

He doesn't make an effort to help him up, of course, but on that note he doesn't make an effort to do anything else either, Cricket gets to keep his personal space and his balance, there was no reason to be an excessive asshole, after all.

Plus, yes, he did actually want something to eat. No point in further alienating the food tour guide.

"Sure is, kid. Not much of a man for salad, anything that sells a good greasy burger is aces in my book!"

"Heard they eat horse in France," he says, and that's actually not passive aggression so much as stream of consciousness. "Think I'll pass, though."

Okay, so, it sounds like 'dinner' means an actual meal that living humans can partake of without dying or being a part of the entree, at least for the moment. That frankly surprises Cricket, although he supposes it's as advantageous for a demon to play nice in the Nexus as it is for a human, or a god. And it puts a slightly better spin on things. Don't want to meet this guy in a dark alley, for sure, but he's not looking to kill Cricket or anything right now.

He doesn't quite smile, but the certainty he's immediately doomed seems to ease, and he gives a nod that's almost friendly. "A'ight. Lady I live with is a vegetarian, but I ain't. I know where to get a good burger."

He tries not to cook a whole lot of heavy, greasy meat in-house out of sheer respect for Harley, so of course he's found a good source for his own. He gives a little nod of his head as if indicating the demon can follow him, and then his brow creases. "...uh, the place is called 'Lord of the Fries'. Is that disrespectful or just funny?"

"Son, they'll eat anything in France. Snails, even! Can't really argue about the frog legs though, that's just good home town cookin'."

It usually behooved Alastor to play nice anywhere. Usually. Typically. There was no reason to go around causing mayhem and violence when he didn't have to, he knew the importance of down time! No, he certainly didn't want to kill Cricket, how silly!

You don't go stomping on every ant you run into, no one has that much time.

"Great! Tell you what, son, since you've been such a big help, I'll pay for dinner. How's that sound, slugger?" Following along, of course, and quite easily too. He actually has to cut his stride a bit, the demon is rather unnaturally tall after all. The question earned Cricket a burst of static, with a laugh clicking in shortly after it,

"That's hilarious! They serve a lot of pork in there?"

"Frog legs're a'ight," he agrees, though not without a little laugh at the comment about snails. "Aunt Winnie used to fry 'em up, if I'd catch 'em for her."

It's not quite as common a dish in Appalachian cooking as it is in the southern lowlands, maybe, but it's practical.

But, hold on, now--Cricket already might potentially owe Loki a favor. He doesn't want to get into the same situation with a strange demon, especially not over a burger. The smile from a moment ago lingers, but quirks with wary skepticism. "That's right kind of you, sir, only it seems like a poor way to welcome you to the Nexus. Maybe you best let me cover it."

Also potentially dangerous. But he's feeling his way along here, still. Meanwhile, he hasn't read the William Golding novel and only knows the phrase 'Lord of the Flies' from older references to Beelzebub, so he misses the pork connection, but after a moment's consideration, he nods. "Well, you can get bacon on pretty much everything, even double or triple."

"Uh, do you have a name I oughtta call you? I'm Cricket." He'd offer a handshake, but he's still a little leery.

"Milk marinade, salt and pepper, toss 'em with flour, fry 'em up 'till they're gold and serve with a side of garlic butter. Can't beat it, can ya?" Ah, he sounds wistful, taking in a deep breath as if he could smell it right now.

Without missing a beat though, he answers, still appearing quite comfortably distant. "That's fine, son. Won't turn down hospitality!"

God he's getting caught up right now with food, isn't he? Such a long, long time since he'd had anything from the surface, he'd wondered distantly if there was a difference in taste. Frankly, he couldn't remember. "Hey, hey, hey now, son. You already got my attention! Don't have to keep convincin' me!"

Well, Alastor offers that handshake, that hand an odd mixture of claws and hooves.

"Pleasure to meet you, Cricket, pleasure to meet you! Alastor's the name, son, it's a delight."

Oh. Well, that's strangely endearing. Cricket can't quite ignore that he's got a demon looming over him, but he clearly was a human once, before dying. And if anyone can relate to nostalgia right now, it's Cricket. He's been suffering from homesickness for a while.

His smile is still tentative, because he does know when he's being intimidated and pushed around, even if the endgame is just to get a good meal, but it kind of sounds like they have some earthly background in common. And Cricket doesn't see how being nice to someone is going to endanger his immortal soul, so...hell, he can unclench a little.

He looks at the claws as if trying to decide how to maneuver so as to shake hands without losing fingers, but he does accept the handshake, clasping firmly. "Ain't gonna lie, then, Alastor; you're about the scariest thing I've seen here, but I reckon you're expanding my horizons, so it's nice to make your acquaintance, too."

"If it ain't rude to ask, where were you from...before? 'Cause it sounds like maybe not so far from where I come from. Virginia. Mountains. Franklin County."

It'd be an odd sensation, apparently only the tips were razor sharp, the rest feeling oddly like a hoof, and fur. The spacing of the blood red spots upon the glove seem even more oddly reminiscent of a deer's fore-hoof.

Not that he'll have much time to ponder on this, because Alastor is one hell of a hand shaker. Sorry, Cricket, there's a lot of power behind that brief and wild handshake, before he does let him go.

"Not the first time I've been told that Cricket, and boy, I don't think it'll be the last!" He sounds... gleeful, to admit this. Excited even. Well, it's not really too surprising that a demon should like being told he's terrifying. "Happy to add a little color to your life, Cricket!"

"Louisiana, son! Right around near New Orleans, lovely place down there. Ever visited it? You should, absolutely gorgeous!"

Yikes! If Cricket had any doubts that Alastor could physically tear him limb from limb, they are now satisfied. He has to plant his cane to keep from being pulled right off his feet, and even after being let go it takes him a hot second to recover his balance. He looks startled by the whole affair, but since he's not actually injured or on the ground, he just shakes out his hand and moves on.

That grin is still creepy, but he's starting to get used to the feeling. He nods amiably, straight-faced, but then smiles back at the talk of Louisiana. "Ain't never been out of Virginia on my own world, sir. That's a long way south and a lot closer to the sea than I've seen. Can't go back to my own world on account of I'm dead, but I reckon I could visit New Orleans in a parallel dimension, from here."

"What's it like? I seen pictures, but that ain't the same as being there."

"Is that so? That's a shame, son, a damn shame. I'd invite you back through my door but hahaha, only Hell behind there!

Well, I'm sure someone's got Louisiana where they're from, here. I have big plans, son, I got a lot of explorin' to do, got a lot of doors to open up! If I happen across another version of New Orleans, I'll bring you along for the ride." You know, as reassuring as that sounds.

"Beautiful down there, loved it in the summer. That's right, even the summer. Full of history down there, son, I remember exploring 1140 Royal Street when I was a boy. Everyone said it was haunted, had to get a look at it myself.

Myrtles Plantation too! Spent a lot of time in Saint Louis cemetery as well, I'll tell ya. It's a city in there, son! Not as quiet as you'd expect either, haha, not even a little.

And the food! Nothin' beats New Orlean's cookin' and dinner on the water. I'm serious son, when I get back, I'll take you with me."

Yeah, thanks, Alastor, but he's definitely going to have to pass on a trip to Hell. He'd like to think he may be in the Nexus because he wasn't bad enough to go there, but also not good enough for Heaven. Or maybe just beneath notice of both. That would be consistent with the path of his earthly life, anyway.

Either way, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

He's not sure whether or not he should go anywhere outside the Nexus with a demon, when it comes down to it. But Alastor is painting a picture that's more...wholesome isn't the word, but more low-key and human than Cricket expected. Like maybe he just misses being alive in the world he came from. He's kind of pressing Cricket's sympathy button, in short, and some rational part of him is trying to tell him that may be deliberate and not to get too comfortable, but he's respectfully ignoring it at the moment.

"Well, sir, I don't wanna get caught up in hurtin' no one, but just visiting and seeing the place sounds, um, tempting." There's a glimmer of self-deprecating humor in his eyes. Is tempting the point? Are you that kind of demon, Alastor?

"Sounds like you were lookin' for ghosts a lot when you was alive. Is that so?"

Was it intentional? Was it all deliberate? Well that was hard to tell, really. His tone never softened too much, that smile never really lessened, every bit just as vicious and manic as it was to begin with.

But he did certainly seem to have at least, an outward fondness for Cricket! That much seemed clear.

"Hahaha, no one's gonna get hurt, Cricket! Just a little visit! Ain't any harm in a little visit, is there? And we can always come back here, can't we?" All very, very tempting indeed.

"Sometimes, son! Happened years ago, over eighty five years ago, I was just a boy when I played in the cemetery, times change!

There's a lot of fascinatin' stuff in those places still, after you grow up. Still plenty of reasons to visit outside of dead folks. But that's a story for another time."

They do have some background in common, apparently. Maybe that's why Cricket's actively involved in the conversation now, not just passively responding in the hopes he'll be left undamaged. That, and he's long been used to getting caught up in the wake of a more charismatic individual, following along on various stunts and adventures. In a sense that's how he got killed in his own world, but old habits die harder than 19-year-old bootleggers.

He has a hard time saying no. At least until it looks like someone might get hurt.

"Well...I ain't sayin' no." He looks utterly sheepish. This is the face of someone who knows he's being reckless and foolish and just hopes he can get away with it this time. "But you should take your time explorin' the Nexus first. There's plenty right here."

Eighty-five years ago could mean any time; years and centuries are wildly relative in the Nexus, but combined with the outfit and the radio host gig, Cricket's really inclined to take notice. "Y'know, most people around here seem to come from far in the future to me. When I left home, it was 1931. Does that mean we come from around the same time, too?"

"You ain't sayin' no, but you ain't sayin' yes either, son! We got a plan or what? Sure I'll stick around for a while, check this lovely place out, but I got some wanderlust in me now! Gotta explore past here eventually! Yes or no, son?"

Sure he'll encourage reckless foolishness, why wouldn't he? What kind of demon wouldn't? ... A few of them, honestly. Not Alastor though.

"Well kiddo, it was still 2018 when I stepped through that door, but the accident didn't happen till 1933! So I guess, if you wanna look at it like that, we sure do come from around the same time!"

Jackie would've said yes already. The thought crops up in Cricket's mind and it actually makes him smile a little. Because Jack was an idiot that way; boy would've gone on a road trip with Floyd Banner if the man had asked him to. Of course, he also learned how to negotiate with that type, only by teaching himself and being stubborn.

"I reckon what I'm sayin' is I want to, but I know there ain't no protection for me if I step outside the Nexus with you," he tells Alastor, falling back on his usual wry candor. "And I done told you already you're scary."

You can't really ask a demon to promise not to kill you or eat your soul or whatever. Even if he agrees, he could be lying. He lets his brain switch tacks to the other part of their conversation, and this actually makes his smile warm up a degree or two. Sympathy for the devil is a dangerous proposition, but goddamn it's nice to have something in common with someone around here.

"Weren't no accident, in my case," he admits. "A federal marshall cornered me and broke my neck to send a message to my friends. He got his, though. Maybe you'll see him around Hell sometime."

He worries his lip, thinking. "How d'you feel about moonshine? Because I'm gettin' pretty good at it, and I might be willing to make you a batch to spec--after we get back from visiting New Orleans. How about that?"

Edited 2018-11-09 14:52 (UTC)

"You sure did, Cricket, I didn't forget! Can't always judge a book by it's cover though, now can you? Plenty of dangerous folks out there who don't look scary at all!" And frankly, he should know. Once upon a time, he was one of those folks.

"Oh I'm sure I will, Hell's full to the brim with crooked cops and murderers with a badge! Hahaha, all those bells and whistles get you out of trouble in life, Cricket, but God doesn't care who signs your checks."

The demon hummed, as if trying to recall something, the static in his voice crackling through the sound harshly before he answered, "Don't think I can go blind from a bad batch anymore, son. Can't double die, not like that! Might be interested!"

He blinks, then smiles, biting back a soft laugh. "If that was supposed to be reassuring, Mister Alastor, it wasn't. But you're right."

He's scary, but he's also terribly charismatic. Cricket's positive that lengthy exposure to Alastor's acquaintanceship will result in Very Bad Things for him, but maybe if he doesn't get in too deep, shares some burgers in the Nexus and goes on a little trip, he can escape intact?

"Well, if you see Charlie Rakes in Hell, you can tell him I said he still smells funny." He says, quietly but with a faint smirk. No requests for revenge from this kid. Not that he's not still mad, but the man's dead now and that seems like enough. "If you ever even go back. I reckon no one's gonna make you leave here unless you do something real bad. You could hang around."

He shrugs, but then draws himself up a little. Sir, you have offended the smol human just a tiny bit. "I don't make bad moonshine, Mister. I use clean ingredients and real copper stills. Ain't gonna make no one blind or dead."

Besides, he's got Harley and Loki around to taste-test new batches. If there were anything wrong, they'd know and not die from it like a regular human would. "Anyway, if I make some that ain't right, I use it in my car."

"Truth isn't always reassuring!" Alastor. Reassuring. At least he's honest about this right?

"I'll keep my eyes peeled for him, Cricket, what's this marshall look like? Now I'll be honest with you son, I'm with you here. Never was big on the feds myself." For... Reasons. Reasons that are probably why he's in Hell to begin with, really. "You tell me what to look for, I'll make sure he has a grand old time." He did, eventually, plan on going back. To and from, he wasn't done with the Hotel yet after all. It was one thing to be out over here, which was all well and good.

But he'd like to have been outside of Hell at home.

Oh! Offense! He didn't even attempt to hide the cackle. "You sound awful confident about that, son! I guess I'll have to give it a try sometime now!"

+1 "Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me"

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it had to be either 'lord of the fries' or 'burgatory'.

i love it

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