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fraugwinska · 26 days

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PrideRing and Prejudice Collaboration

Folks - this is an event long in the making, and I'm so excited it's finally time!!! 💜 The amazing @bapple117 and all the other talented artists on her Discord Server came together, to write/draw/compose Art pieces under the theme: Hazbin Hotel Regency AU

Of course I had to participate - and this is the product! I sincerely hope you'll love it as much as I loved writing it! And please - check out all the other amazing contributions (We have major #RadioStatic pieces!) on our masterlist right here.

Socrates once said 'One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love.'

Maybe that was the reason life, for me, always felt like a burden to bear.

The runt of the litter. Oldest daughter of wealthy, respectable people, and yet... Not as beautiful as my two younger sisters. Not as clever as the youngest. Not as talented as the middle. So parental love, spare thing that it is, was distributed towards the ones with the most prospect, while I, dutifully, smiled, nodded and stayed silent in the shadows of my sisters, living of the rare crumbs that they let fall once in a while.

There was a time, where I thought love was finally within my grasp. When Lord Vincent Voxley – young, handsome, charming, rich - a successful merchant and eligible bachelor had begun to show interest, asking for a dance on one of the many balls my family frequented to have me shown off and – hopefully – off their hands with a hasty and relatively profitable marriage. They were delighted at the prospect of joining families with the Voxleys, and eager to foster what they thought bloomed that moment before it could rot at the stem. For one night, I felt like life could indeed be free of pain, lost in the movement of a dance and a smile that I didn't have to share, that I thought was all mine. But I was foolish, still am, I suppose.

Lord Voxley, although continuing to shower me in luscious gifts, inviting me to strolls and prospecting engagement even, was generous with his smiles. And his attention. Soon enough, I'd meet another lady with a bracelet matching the necklace he gifted me, hear the same charming words spoken to me from his lips to anothers ears. I couldn't bear the thought of mirroring life as it was, only with even more of a broken heart as it wouldn't be my family, but my husband who'd ration his love for me - if there even was something like love - and rejected his offer with a heavy heart.

My parents were angry, disappointed that I had wasted the one opportunity life gave me on finally being wed. My sisters, one already married and glowing and one engaged and radiant, were equally pitying and dismissive. But I had learned to be content with silence and solitude, and thus found myself accepting the lonely fate life had prepared for me.

It was in that moment, when I finally realized that life wasn't kind, and that it never would be, that I met him.

Gossip of my rude rejection spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of Mr. Alastor Hartfelt, who soon after sought out my father and inquired about me. Known around town for his eccentric personality, a solicitor of the law, a lot of the townspeople looked upon him with wary suspicion - even though considered middle class, he had a fair amount of wealth, servants and acquaintances in the upper circles. Frequently consulting Lord Voxley at his trading business had the rumor mill run wild, the nature of the connection between both unmarried men slowly brought into areas of vulgarity. Which had been the point where Alastor had declined further company of the Lord, to the latter's deep chagrin.

And yet, despite the rumors and the gossip and the strange reputation that he held, my father was all too eager to give him my hand in marriage.

The short span of escorted dates was filled with polite, but reserved conversation, and his demeanor was one of an obliging acquaintance rather than a man seeking to know a potential partner. His smiles were fleeting, his thoughts often turned inward, and while he was leading our conversations with an astute mind, I had a feeling his mind was always elsewhere whenever I spoke.

When he proposed, I was taken aback, and he noticed. "I am not one to beat around the bush, dear. We are both well aware of the rumors surrounding my person and yours, and while I do not care much for gossip, you clearly did. Your parents are happy with the union, and while my affections for you might not be as strong as they probably should, my respect is."

My face must've given away the hurt at his words, the sting of a blow to the last bit of pride I had been able to conserve. He had the decency to look contrite, and I saw his hand move as if he wanted to touch mine, but then decided against it.

"I won't force you to accept," he'd told me, the first words he'd said that truly sounded genuine. "I will not demand something from you that you cannot give willingly." He looked at me, with eyes so deep I couldn't help but stare back, trying to decipher the secrets they hid, but only finding a certain sadness in them that I couldn't yet understand, but deeply resonated in me. Familiar, in a way.

"I...," I tried to formulate, my voice breaking as I thought about the future, what the the years would look like that I would spend without someone by my side. Alastor wasn't a cruel man, in contrary. He was honorable and thoughtful, and had been nothing but a gentleman in the time I had known him, treating everyone he encountered, especially women, with utmost decency and respect, including me. Which was the closest to love I had ever gotten to.

"I would be honored."

His eyes softened, and the honest smile he gave me was, for the first time, directed at me and me alone. "That is enough."

So I found myself, dressed in a white gown I had given up ever wearing long ago, a ring on my finger marking me as a wedded woman. The wedding ceremony had been modest and quick, held on Alastor's own estate, which was an outrage in itself. Lord Voxley, invited by my now husband and accompanied by his associate (an italian fellow named Valentino), angrily glared at me from the distance and watched along friends, families and aquaintances as the officiant declared us husband and wife, a tight smile on Alastors face and a wary one on mine.

After the ceremony, he had excused himself for a short amount of time, leaving me with my newfound relatives and the other guests. There was an uncomfortable, almost palpable tension in the room, as all the eyes present were staring at me, wondering and judging the reason why someone like him would settle for a pariah like me, the whispers slowly starting to turn towards the direction of the rumors once more. Even my sisters were joining in the whispers, a betrayal that stung more than I thought, even though I had expected something like this to happen.

It was a short lived comfort when Alastor's housekeeper Niffty, small and bubbly girl that she was, snuck up behind me and took my hand, congratulating me on my wedding and telling me how wonderful and happy the day had been, a smile so sincere it made me wonder if this was the only one present. Her enthusiasm was a welcome reprieve, and her small hands squeezed mine reassuringly before she hurriedly scurried back to help serve the guests... the first one I saw that seemed happy for the union, the first one I saw who had the decency to look happy for the bride.

A cold hand on my arm ripped this happy moment from me, Lord Voxley standing at my side and giving me an icy smile. "I would say congratulations, but I'm not so sure how sincere it would be." His gaze, usually soft and warm, was now piercing and calculating, and I was unable to read his expression. Behind him I could see his escort watching us with a mocking smile, swinging a glass of red wine with long fingers. It looked like blood.

"You don't have to lie," I quietly said to him, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. "There's no need to keep up the charade anymore. It's over now, and we can both move on."

He scoffed, his face contorting into a grimace. "Yes, I suppose that's true. There's no need to entertain a farce, no need for pleasantries." His hand gripped my arm tighter, and his words were venomous. "Well then, since we're honest now, let me make a few things clear: You are just a replacement, a decoy wife to stop the small-town gossip about me and Alastor from spreading and we both know that. I just have no idea why he would demean himself as far as to marry the likes of you."

His grip hurt, and he looked as if he was about to say more, when a tall figure appeared next to him. "Let go of my wife, Vincent. We wouldn't want to spoil her day."

Lord Voxley's face changed from angry and bitter, to a cold, polite smile, and he let go of my arm. "Of course, old friend. It was just a friendly chat."

"Friendship, not unlike love, is earned through patience and respect, and you are sorely lacking in both, dear Vox." Alastor countered, taking my hand and squeezing it reassuringly, a gesture that not only surprised me but made my tense heart flutter.

Voxley grimaced and sneered. "Let's see if her patience will last, when she realizes-"

Alastor stepped between us, his teeth gritted. "This is a warning, and my last kindness, Vincent. Don't test me. Especially not on my wedding day."

It was clear the fight would escalate soon if the situation wasn't diffused, and it was Lord Voxley's Italian business partner that interfered now, placing a firm hand on Voxley's shoulder and grinning mockingly. "Ah, ah, tesoro. Let them have their moment while it lasts."

Both exchanged looks, and finally, Voxley seemed to relent, before his gaze flickered over my new husband and settled on me with pitiful scorn.

"Pardon us," he said with a derisive smile and rolled his shoulders, before he made a short bow. "And warm wishes for a successful, long-lasting marriage." With a condescending smirk at the two of us, he and Valentino went back to the center of attention, where the loud laughs of drunk guests and a lewd melody played in a corner told everyone just how the festivities would turn tonight.

Alastor watched him and his retreat with a grim expression, before turning to face me fully.

"I apologize for this unpleasant scene, I'm afraid our dear lord has too much of an ego for the good of anyone involved." His eyes wandered to the place the cold hand had pinned me. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

I shook my head, and was surprised to find that my hand hadn't left his, still softly pressed against his side. The comforting heat his body radiated warmed me up faster than any fireplace could, and I knew, despite the difficult past weeks and the uneasiness that still permeated the celebration, that this had been the right decision, and the only one possible.

"Let us take a little walk, a little air and quiet will do us both some good. I want to show you something."

Hand in hand, he led the way along the aisles of the dining hall, bowing his head in polite acknowledgment towards the guests we passed before walking outside, towards a dark part of his property.

The gardens were a sight to behold, with the sun slowly settling behind lush, green, yellow and red tree tops, a cool autumn breeze blowing and the leaves around us rustling. While we walked, Alastor remained silent, lost in his thoughts once more, and I kept watching him carefully, while his gaze rested firmly at the ground he walked, avoiding my curious eyes and staring down intently, seemingly busy searching for something among the darkening floor.

I, in turn, felt nervous in the silence of the walk, unsure how to proceed, how to thank him for the small moment of kindness after the sharp, cutting words of Voxley. The singular moment I really felt seen, as if I mattered.

He led me deeper and deeper, between tall, beautiful flowers and pruned shrubbery, until we reached a secluded grove, the evening sky glowing gently through the leaves of an apple tree, the apples at its limbs not quite ripe yet, but there was a pleasant smell of fall lingering, and a faint bubbling sound. A spring, almost hidden to any unaware visitor by the small clearing, sprouted from an elevated layer of earth and rocks above and merrily splattered down into a small, narrow stream. The air was cooler here, fresh and clear, and the peacefulness of the area seemed a far cry from the celebratory noise of the party.

"I find solace in nature. And when I can, I come here, sit and contemplate the world in my moments of frustration."

My eyes wandered through the calm of the spot, until it reached my husbands figure, tall and stiff, the dying evening sun casting shadows in his face that made him look even more tired, more worn than he should have looked. It dawned on me then, that even for a moment, his mind was also riddled by things not entirely his making, thoughts and worries I couldn't understand.

He sighed. "When my mother passed away, the last thing she said to me was to 'find a woman whose character was in the smallest possible degree founded on rational principle', before she was laid in her final resting place."

He smiled, wry and empty. "And when I became acquainted with you, a woman that seemed to understand the situation I'm in and didn't demand for my affections, one of those 'rational principles' as my mother put it, I finally felt...relieved, in a way."

I swallowed around the lump that formed in my throat at his confession, my eyes feeling hot, suddenly overwhelmed at the knowledge of the affection my new spouse felt towards me, in a way, but not knowing whether I should feel joy or ache over the circumstances.

"I may not love you like a husband should today or tomorrow," His words echoed through the brook, clear as the water of the little stream, and his fingers, cold on my hand, lifted mine gently to his lips, "and you might feel the same way about me." His face turned slightly, and the smile he gave me was one of sympathy, and maybe a bit of shared loneliness. "But every river has to start with a spring."

But as he kissed my hand in a gesture so tender I hadn't believed him to possess, and my heart started beating faster, I was able to look in his eyes for the first time, and something that might resemble trust, warmth and a feeling close to comfort blossomed deep inside my chest, feeling as if my hand was a little lighter when he let it go.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #bapple's apples #Bapple's Orchard Discord Server #Pride Ring and Prejudice #Hazbin Hotel Regency AU #PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs

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miz-blue · 26 days

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Hazbin Hotel fanfic/fanart: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Title: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: PG-13

Pairing(s): Alastor/Vox

Summary: (Regency AU) The once prestigious LeClaire family has of late fallen on trying times. So trying, as it happens, that the family's eldest son, Lord Alastor, begrudgingly agrees to enter into an arranged marriage with a wealthy commoner, a Mr. Voxley Smythe.

Notes: Part 1 of this fic was written for the Bapple's Orchard discord server's regency era AU collab, Pride Ring and Prejudice. (Server run by @bapple117.) This was originally supposed to be a contained scene, but I think it'll have two more parts plus an epilogue. If you find this post through a reblog, then check back to the original post which I will update with links as the other parts are finished. The story is also on AO3 too if you'd rather follow there.

This fic is a Regency AU, more or less. However, my regency knowledge is rather rusty, and also the setting is like some weird mash-up of canon and regency England. i.e. All the characters are still demons, and there's at least a little magic. And yes, Vox still has a TV head; it is what it is. Also, also same-sex marriage is totally fine, lol; the drama and angst come from classism and the characters being emotionally constipated.

A brief note on ages, Alastor is 30, and Vox is 28.

Fic is under the cut, and I also drew the end scene of part 1.

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"Aunt Rosie, this is degrading," Alastor protested softly, still seated on the padded leather bench of the coach. "I have no wish to be a public spectacle." He could hear the distant sounds of people as well as the faintest strains of music, and Alastor, previously inured to his fate, now found himself possessed of a certain anxiety, fluffy ears pinned back against his head.

His aunt sighed, expression sympathetic but strained. "Alastor, dearest, I need you to step down from this carriage. Right now." Rosie was already on the ground having been assisted by a footman. "The other coaches need to come through, and you are holding up the line."

Alastor took a shaky breath to steady his nerves before sliding closer to the door, but he showed no sign of exiting. Ever a font of patience, his long suffering aunt gentled her tone. "Alastor, for me, please, come out. Why, I hardly recognize anyone here so I doubt they'll recognize us!" It was such a baldfaced lie, unbefitting of any lady but especially one of Rosie's status. However, the falsehood did give Alastor enough momentary hope that when Rosie extended her hand to her only nephew's elbow, he permitted her to carefully but insistently tug him from the coach.

In the next moment, Alastor had set foot on the carefully tended gravel pathway to Battlehill Manor. "Good luck, sir," Husk called from the driver's seat, and Alastor spared him a tight nod before the cat demon was obliged to drive on. Husk was also Alastor's valet and sometimes butler--the LeClaires struggled to keep staff ever since the incident seven years ago.

Now truly abandoned to the capricious whims of fate, Alastor squared his shoulders and faced the stately manor ahead of them. It would seem there was no way out but through. Composing himself as best he could, Alastor offered his arm to his aunt who graciously accepted, allowing him to lead them to the manor entrance even though they both knew the way. The Carmines were distant cousins so Alastor had visited their estate several times as a child, though no invitation had been extended for some time. No, even tonight's festive occasion had less to do with Alastor and more to do with his intended husband, a certain Mr. Voxley Smythe. The two men were to meet tonight and announce their engagement. Lady Carmine was graciously hosting the ball on Voxley's behalf since he had no land or title of his own. What he did have, apparently, was a very lucrative business deal with the Carmines.

Lady Carmilla herself was there to greet them in the foyer. "Lord Alastor, Lady Rosie," she nodded respectfully to them both. "A pleasure to see you as always."

Another unnecessary falsehood. Alastor smiled through it, greeting her in kind. "We must kindly thank you again for your assistance in this matter and apologize for any trouble it may have caused."

She smiled politely back. "No trouble at all, Lord Alastor. Indeed, all the guests seem to be in high spirits."

The three demons made pleasant enough small talk for a few minutes before Rosie inquired after Alastor's betrothed. "Has Mr. Smythe arrive yet by chance?"

"No, alas, he is late," Carmilla replied with the faintest whiff of irritation. "Some important business or other. He is often engaged in work."

"Ah, that is quite alright then," Rosie said sweetly. "We'll go in, shall we? We ought not keep you from your other guests."

Carmilla stepped aside so that the two aristocrats might step past her. "Yes, please enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing has already begun."

Alastor and Rosie both expressed their delight again before stepping into the hall proper. As soon as Carmilla was sufficiently far away, Alastor immediately set his sights to criticisms.

"He isn't even here yet? I cannot believe my situation has come to this," Alastor whispered, sotto voce. He almost needn't have bothered. Every soul around the two LeClaires was giving them a wide berth as if they were stricken with some loathsome contagion.

"Now Alastor, try to seek out a happy moment or two--for Nifty's sake if not your own. A dance even! Your dear little sister would love to be here. Ah, if she had her way, she'd debut tomorrow, the scamp."

Alastor scowled for only a second before schooling his face back to its proper smile. "Then let Nifty marry; she's the poor soul who actually desires such a union." If Alastor had his way, he would have chosen to never marry at all. After the deaths of his parents, his dowager aunt had resumed the mantle of family head while Alastor had been preoccupied with his school studies. At present, the two demons shared the load--meager as it was now--until such a time as it could be passed to Nifty or her future children.

Regardless of the gravity of their words, Rosie's serene countenance never wavered as the two LeClaires meandered around the outskirts of the party. "Nifty's enthusiasm for matrimony is commendable, but she's yet several years too young, and we are facing financial destitution now. And since that's your fault, dear, I am going to need your help fixing it." Her voice was a calm but ironclad murmur that only Alastor could hear. "Furthermore, Nifty's prospects are hardly ideal. Your present sacrifice may yet wipe some of the stain off our family name."

"How noble of spirit I must be," Alastor quipped dryly.

"Please, Alastor."

Lord, how it pained him to disappoint her. "You actually liked Uncle Franklin," he said sullenly nonetheless.

She laughed with genuine mirth at that. "Your late uncle and I were lucky, dear. Mayhaps you might be too. Stranger things have come to pass."

"Hmm, perhaps." Luck had thus far evaded Alastor, and he rather much doubted that he ought to find it in the arms of some crass lout, but he would soldier on regardless. He did not wish to ruin his aunt's night with needless quarrels.

Rosie walked with him until they had reached a long row of chairs set against the main hall's far wall. A number of guests sat at varying intervals, some catching their breath from dancing and others waiting earnestly to be asked. "Will you be alright here for a bit, Alastor?" Rosie inquired as he took a seat. "Since Mr. Smythe is not yet arrived, I was hoping to catch up with Earl Zestial..."

Ever the dutiful nephew, Alastor kept his forced smile in place and waved her on. "No need to concern yourself with my moods, Aunt Rosie. I suspect none shall endeavor to move me from my seat."

She offered one last rueful smile before disappearing into the slowly growing crowd. Alastor was left to lean against the wall, listen to the music, and try to remain calm. As he suspected, while some in attendance shot him curious or apprehensive looks, no one dared approach him. Alastor cast his eye about too, wondering if he might find his intended before Rosie did--or rather that the other demon would find him. Uncaring of the engagement proceedings, Alastor had no idea what this Voxley looked like and only knew a little of his exploits.

Yes, his soon-to-be husband, Voxley Smythe, some upstart commoner who had made a fortune for himself expanding trade routes for the East India Company before returning to England and making his fortune twice-over in various newfangled factories. And now—like some bloated carrion bird—he had come seeking a nest to roost in and a title to go with it. Of course, what better way to secure said estate and title than to marry for it?

In this rapidly churning industrial age, destabilized aristocrats teetering on the edge of financial insolvency were hardly scarce. Alastor had merely thought his infamous reputation would've kept him off the bargaining table. Either this Voxley didn't know about the rumors concerning Alastor's involvement with the royal family, or more likely, he didn't care. Surely the man could not be so unseemly that only Alastor would have him? In truth, the deer demon did not know. After initially consenting to the written proposal, Alastor had left the matter of negotiations entirely to Rosie.

Fortunately for the LeClaire family, Voxley had no children of his own, and his and Alastor's union would not produce any; thus Nifty would still remain the next in line to inherit what was left of the family's property and good name. Voxley's monetary contributions would keep the LeClaires afloat and replenish their coffers, and in return the man could leverage all the political and social benefits that came with a noble rank. In some manner, it was a relief that Alastor was simply a means to an end, not a desirable aspect himself. A prickly and solitary composer, the young aristocrat had hardly been overburdened with social ties even before his fall from grace. With any luck, Voxley would spend most of his time in London overseeing his various business enterprises and leave Alastor in peace at his ancestral home in the countryside.

Alastor cast a wary look about the large room once more. Zounds, what was taking the man so long? Imagine being late to a party in one's honor; Alastor found it rude and ungentlemanly.

Although…allowing himself a little ungentlemanly moment as well, Alastor at last gave into the desire to be elsewhere. No one stopped him as he slipped out of the spacious drawing room, up a small staircase, and down a side hall towards where he knew a veranda should still be, assuming Carmilla hadn't made any recent renovations to the manor. But no, it was still there.

Alastor sighed, leaning on the thick balcony railing and glancing out over the dark countryside. Every so often the moon would peek out from behind the clouds, bathing well-maintained gardens and the distant woods in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped faintly, and Alastor could hear the dance music from downstairs, the windows having been opened to the cool, spring night air. The young aristocrat drummed his fingers to the beat of a violin solo, feeling the distant echo of his own magical powers but as ever, he was unable to summon them. So lost in thought was Alastor that he scarcely noticed an interloper on his solitude.

"Hey."

Red ears perked up and swiveled, and Alastor's eyes widened at the familiar voice. Turning around, his gaze beheld some strange amalgamation--a ghost of his past decked out like an omen from the future. The Victor Owens now before him was a far cry from the timid, obsequious clockmaker's apprentice that Alastor had for some time befriended whilst studying at Eton. Now Victor moved with easy confidence, walking towards Alastor as if he had every right to do so. More surprisingly was the other demon's clothing. He looked like a proper gentleman now, smartly tailored in the latest fashion of London. Alastor felt vaguely embarrassed for his own expensive but now threadbare suit, but something new had been a bit out of his means at the moment.

Alastor forced himself to incline his head politely which Victor did in kind. "My, but it has been some time since last we spoke." Since last we fought, Alastor thought, remembering their messy parting of ways nearly a decade ago. Though he had seen Victor about town after that day, the two of them had pointedly ignored each other. Then when Alastor had gone from Eton, he had scarcely thought of Victor at all. University studies of music and sorcery at Oxford and later a more...specialized tutelage in Windsor had kept him busy. At least until everything had fallen apart.

"It has been some years, yes." The slightly younger demon came over to the balcony, leaning against it too.

Alastor nodded in acknowledgment, but otherwise he had nothing to say to his former 'friend' and thus allowed the brief conversation to lapse into awkward silence. However, Victor did not quit his presence, and so the two demons stared out into the dark countryside together.

"Are you alright?" Victor inquired after a moment, politely neutral. "You seem a bit...harrowed."

Alastor managed a thin smile. So they would be playing the part of amiable old acquaintances then? Very well. "Alas, I've been better. I am to be engaged, you see." If Victor was moving in more prestigious circles nowadays, then no doubt he was already aware of the general outline of Alastor's situation if not its full extent.

"Usually engagements are happy occurrences…" the other demon prompted, a subtle invitation for Alastor to elaborate.

"Not this one," Alastor obliged, voice laced with an undercurrent of misery. And yet it was perversely satisfying to air his grievances so freely to someone, especially someone like Victor who did not require Alastor to put on airs. "The situation is utterly not of my choosing. Sold off like so much livestock to some repellent stranger."

"Aren't arranged marriages par for the course for your sort?" Victor apparently couldn't help but jibe. "I'm sure he can't be that bad, especially when you don't even know him."

"Oh please, what's to know?" Alastor's clawed fingertips tapped irritably on the glossy marble. "He's a boorish, vulgar social climber. You'd know the sort."

Victor glared at him, gentlemanly facade starting to slip--as Alastor had hoped it might. "Would I now? And is that what you'd say about me too? A disgrace too poor in breeding to be considered for an aristocrat's hand?" Victor glanced shyly away. "For your hand?"

Alastor laughed, finally in better spirits now that he had been presented with such easy prey. "Yes, I see you've come up in the world a bit yourself. Still not over your little flight of fancy for me though, hmm? Well, I certainly wouldn't have married you either way, old pal."

Victor's face flushed angrily. "No, you wouldn't have. You're more the type who keeps his lower class friends like a dirty secret and then discards them to save face."

Alastor felt a twinge of guilt at that but hid it well. "It's not my fault you insisted on reaching above your station, my dear."

The other demon composed himself with some effort. "I have a station now myself," he retorted tersely.

"And money, I'm sure, if your gaudy attire is any indication. All of which is merely like gilding brass. Simply scratch the surface and the cheap base material shows through." Alastor smiled meanly at Victor's hurt expression. Yes, this was why they couldn't be friends--why it didn't pay to befriend anyone from the lower class. Alastor had always wondered if Victor liked him or merely wished to be close to someone of his rank. "Regardless you're too late anyway. As I stated earlier, I am spoken for. Though even if I wasn't, I still wouldn't take up with you."

"Fine, fuck you, Alastor. I see you haven't changed at all in your last seven years as a hermit. Still just a prick with an overinflated ego."

Alastor feigned an offended gasp. "You really are a vile and insignificant little man," he replied with a pitying laugh. "Now leave me be. A proper gentleman should know when his presence is undesirable." The aristocrat made a vague shooing gesture to which Victor offered a far more vulgar gesture of his own before storming off back into the manor.

Once his former companion had departed, Alastor slumped back against the balcony railing with a sigh. Where he should have felt satisfied amusement, there was only cloying melancholy. The crickets and the violins no longer offered any solace, but returning to the party would be far worse. In truth, Alastor had been so long out of public that the presence of so many people now unexpectedly grated upon his nerves, and he wished only to return home to sweet sepulchral silence or perhaps the playing of his own hands upon his piano. Alas, like many things Alastor desired, it was not to be. At least sequestered here on the veranda he would not need to endure so many eyes upon his person.

However, Alastor was scarcely left alone for another ten minutes before Rosie came looking for him, heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor. "Alastor! There you are! Honestly now, I had to ask several servants before one knew where you'd gone." She began smoothing out his cravat and jacket, clucking at him like a mother hen.

"I was just taking some air," Alastor said with a sigh, letting her fuss over him. He would never admit it, but the motherly attention was very soothing.

"Avoiding the party, yes, I'm aware," Rosie replied, not fooled in the slightest. "Mr. Smythe has presently arrived though so if you would please come back to the main hall, you may meet him properly."

Alastor's stomached flipped unpleasantly, but he kept his smile affixed to his face. "Oh? Has his highness finally deigned to grace us with his presence?"

Rosie hustled them both back towards the ball as quickly as she could without appearing improper. "Now, Alastor, you've agreed to this matter already. Please try not to immediately offend the poor man."

"Emphasis on 'poor'," Alastor replied caustically, making his aunt sigh in exasperation.

The two aristocrats rejoined the main event, Alastor obligingly offering Rosie his arm again as she led them through the room. There were a number of faces about them that Alastor did not recognize, and he couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul he was to be fobbed off to.

They were near the curving, elegant main staircase when Rosie finally appeared to set eyes on the man she was looking for. "Ah, here we are." She turned Alastor around before stepping to the side. Gesturing to the demon coming down the stairs towards them, she said, "Alastor, this is Voxley Smythe."

Victor stopped on the second step from the bottom, smiling down at them. "Just 'Vox' is fine," he said.

Alastor felt his own smile grow painfully tight. Fuck him indeed, apparently.

tbc...

#PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #RadioStatic #StaticRadio #Alastor/Vox #voxal #Vox/Alastor #my writing

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