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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"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!"

Cricket worries his lower lip thoughtfully at the...offer? Suggestion? He's not sure how to take it. Probably one demon singling out another (lesser?) for special attention isn't that unusual, but Cricket doesn't want to make it a thing that happens because of him.

"Well, he was kinda fancy. Pinstripe suit, black hair slicked back, black gloves, smelled like perfume. But you ain't gotta do nothin' for me. Might not even be in your version of Hell, and besides--if he's already dead and in Hell, ain't much worse that can happen to him, is there? Be a waste of your time. Although, I reckon he did a lot of things to a lot of people other than me."

It's not a friendly or kindly laugh, that cackle, and Cricket feels it like fingernails running down his spine, but he holds his ground this time. "I am confident, Mister Alastor. I can fix an old engine and make moonshine that won't kill no one and tastes halfway decent. That might be all I can ever do, bein' halfway lame like I am, but if so I'm gonna do it right."

They're coming up close to the shopping district now, and they pass by a coffee shop and some sort of frighteningly eclectic consignment store (the window display shows dried, taxidermied tentacles holding a proton pack, over a model of some sort of city made out of bedazzled, glued-together toothpicks), but then the Lord of the Fries restaurant looms up. The facade is a rococo style--weird for a burger joint, but, you know, they have theme going--with red and gold accents, all artfully scorched.

The fries smell amazing, even from the outside.

He never needed an excuse to... pay attention to someone. Not with the reputation he'd worked up in Hell. There was of course a massive doubt that he'd run into this marshall to begin with in his own Hell, but the offer was made nevertheless. It certainly sounded nice, didn't it?

"Oh trust me son, bein' in Hell isn't the worst thing that can happen to you in Hell." And didn't he sound delighted to say it too, wild, manic eyes glittering.

That, however, was left to dangle, Alastor grinning down at Cricket without an ounce of care. At the very least, however, there didn't appear to be any mockery in the expression. "Well if you can only do two things, may as well be the best at it!"

He lingers around the shop with the tentacles just a little bit, apparently taken by the little toothpick city as well, but the promise of food ensures he wouldn't hang around there long. Cricket would find his company gracious in that aspect.

The deep breath he takes is loud, delighted by the scent.

"Well would'ya look at that. Now there's a sight you'll never see in Hell." Nothing that would make anyone this happy. Not there. "C'mon kiddo, we're burnin' daylight." Onwards into the building, fascinated by the facade.

Cricket's determination wavers a little in the face of that 'trust me son', as he is reminded he's scared of this guy. He's definitely not going to ask what's worse. His poor little mortal brain might not be able to hold the answer anyway. So Alastor gets to see the rabbity-timid look creep back across his new friend's face, but after a moment, Cricket nods.

"Yessir. I aim to be."

He's patient by the shop window, in no huge rush, but he, too, enjoys the smell of french fries. His mouth is watering a little. "It's nice," he adds as they approach the restaurant, "to be able to make moonshine legally here."

There's no regulation at all, in fact. It's only the desire for a good reputation that holds him to making a quality product, technically. Lucky thing the kid has some pride.

He smiles again at Alastor's reaction. The man looks like he might cut your throat at any moment on a whim, but maybe liking good food makes for a somewhat redeeming quality? (Yeah, maybe he shouldn't make a hasty judgment call there.) He scrambles up the three steps to the door and tugs it open for Alastor. It looks like the decor inside is very much on theme, and there is definitely a recurring porcine motif. Pigs with bat wings and various cooking implements. Cricket's never thought much about it one way or another, but now, suddenly, he realizes how fucked up that is.

Was this the best place to bring a demon, or the worst?

Anyway, the food is good.

Just how he likes it, frankly. Even Vaggie, with all her piss and vinegar, weapons and curses, wilted under Alastor's... particular charms. The sun rose in the east, the tide continues to come in, and Alastor is terrifying, all was as it should be, according to him. He certainly does look openly pleased about this.

"That's the spirit, kiddo."

He's definitely planning on circling back around to this shop later, he's fascinated by everything in it. Who knows! Maybe they made the best coffee in town! "They were just startin' to talk about repealing that act when I kicked the bucket, you know." May as well mention that, right?

But no, Cricket, a demon's human love of good food does not make him a decent individual in the slightest. It does, however, help make him a little more relatable! That's good, right? You should definitely want to relate to Alastor.

In any case, he seems absolutely delighted by the decor, a short laugh escaping him as he examined the decor in his hunt for a seat.

"Looks like I found my new favorite burger joint!"

"They were?" Cricket looks up at him, puffing up a little with outrage, not at Alastor but at the ironic unfairness of it all. "Well, goddammit, they could've done it three years sooner and I wouldn't have died, probably."

"I mean, not the way I did, anyway. Guess everyone's gotta die somehow."

Ahh, yes! Cricket's good at getting 'relatable' and 'friendly' confused. They are two very different things. He's young yet; if nothing else terrible happens to him, he'll figure it out sooner or later.

Cricket glances around them silently as the hostess leads them to a booth. She looks slightly nervous about the very tall and unsettling figure Cricket has brought with him, but goes through her duties politely. Once they're alone with menus, Cricket follows the demon's gaze to one of the pigs painted on the wall. "You know, I reckon a pig would eat another pig if it was hungry enough."

Edited (words are hard) 2018-11-16 01:22 (UTC)

"Heck, if you hadn't have died by cop, you might have just blown yourself up! Moonshine's a dangerous game, son!" Said without a hint of actual concern, of course. It all sounded like one big hilarious joke to Alastor. But then, they were both already dead, maybe this one had less to do with being a terrible person, and just being generally blasé about life in general.

Who knew!

Mercifully for the hostess, she wouldn't have to worry too much about Alastor, outside of him just being generally creepy to stand next to. He didn't seem terrifically concerned about her. Perhaps the completely normal, jovial way he went about asking for a drink with that radio voice and razor smile made the act of doing so all the creepier, but she'd be free to leave without another comment from him as he perused his menu.

"Pigs will eat anything, Cricket!" A flip of the page, Alastor looking away for a moment to admire the decor again.

"Long as it can't fight back too much! Real useful to have around. They sell peach cake here?" Hamburgers were, of course, still on the menu, but he still wanted dessert!

"Yeah, that's true," he admits. "My second cousin lost a few fingers that way. Wasn't watching the pressure. Lucky thing the explosion wasn't worse."

Cricket, too, seems oddly blasé about that particular danger. Honestly, most any legal job he could have gotten in his time would have been nearly as dangerous. He worked the stills back home, helped run liquor across county lines, and had a gangster's gun pointed at his head more than once, but none of that's what killed him.

"I know that, sir," he says, flipping to the back of the menu where the 'value' section is. He's not all that hungry anyway, and since he offered to treat Alastor he suspects his credit account is about to take a hit. "One of my first jobs, I got bit in the leg by a sow. They're mean sons-of-bitches when they wanna be."

He's lucky it wasn't a bad bite. His leg braces may have saved him there.

"Never seen it on the menu, but they have peach cobbler? And there's a lot of chocolate stuff."

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

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

i love it

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