𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑; 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀

𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕

Alastor looked over at the small clock resting atop his little bedside table, which read 7:32, about an hour after the time he usually gets up. Or, used to get up, I suppose; Al hasn't been getting much sleep lately. It seems his insomnia is coming back, but even then he's an hour late to his own deadlines.

With a sigh, he set his book, "The story of Theseus" on his bedside table. He stood up and snapped, now wearing his signature suit. Adjusting his bowtie, he glanced around his room. To anyone else, it would probably be the cleanest room they'd ever seen, but to him, it was a complete disaster. Perhaps he should just burn the place.

Grabbing his monocle, his gaze hardened when it landed on the stack of books on his little table. Quietly muttering curses, he fixed the pile, the biggest books on bottom with the smaller ones on top. Perfect, yet he still saw flaws.

He put on his monocle and tapped the wall twice before vanishing into shadows. No, his ears went back against his head, those taps didn't sound right. He quickly reappeared in his room and tapped it again, this time using his claws. That's better. Vanishing into the shadows once more, he reappeared downstairs in front of Husker's little bar.

"Husker! How are you this hellish morning?" Alastor asked, putting up his usual cheerful act, a large smile spread across his face.

The tuxedo cat eyed the deer oddly, not responding. Husk blinked at Alastor and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf behind him as well as a glass for it.

"Husker?" the red wendigo repeated, before realizing what the winged demon was grabbing. "Ah! No need for that, old friend! Just hand me the bottle."

Husk looked at the man who owned his soul and then at the bottle of whiskey, "You sure, boss? This is some strong shit."

"Give me the damn bottle."
Al reached his hand out, his gaze hardening.

Reluctantly, Husk did as he was told. "Boss, are you... okay? It's been awhile since you asked for the whole bottle. Or drank at all."

"And why would that be any of your business?" The deer demon asked, glaring down at the winged cat.

"I dunno, guess I thought ya... might need a bartender to talk to, or somethin'." said cat glared back.

"I can assure you, I am fine."

"People who are fine don't ask for a whole bottle of alcohol first thing in the morning."

"People who know that isn't their business shouldn't ask."

"People who-" Husk cut himself off, seeing Alastor open the bottle of whiskey and down all of it's contents in about fifteen seconds.

Al placed the empty bottle on the bar counter, "Now, I'm going to make breakfast. If you question me again I'll break this bottle over your head."

And with that, the strawberry pimp walked into the kitchen.

"Holy shit, has Smiles always been able to drink like that?" Angel, who just got downstairs, asked rhetorically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WITH ALASTOR
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooking has always been a calming thing for Alastor, sometimes he just starts to make food without even realizing what he's making.

Currently, he was making one of his mother's dishes. His favorite, her homemade jambalaya. He used to know the recipe by heart, but recently, his memories have been slipping, much to his dismay.

Furrowing his brows, he tried his hardest to remember the next step, but to no avail.

The eye on his microphone snapped open, "...Can I help?"