"You're the bastard who killed me!" (Alastor/Reader)

Past times

Hours later, you'd returned to the dreaded hotel. Now you had a bartender, Husk, and a little maid thing that zipped around you making comments about how ladylike you were? 

You were confused, but honestly, what did you expect. Barely one day had been spent working with Alastor and he'd already turned the place upside down. 

And currently, you were on your tour.

After walking around, pointing out the bathrooms and such, you just ended up strolling around in silence for way longer than you were comfortable with. And just when you were about to open your mouth, Alastor finally spoke up. 

"Why this is rather boring. I suggest we play a game to pass the time. What do you think?" 

I think this whole tour thing is a load of bullshit. You thought, glaring at the ground.
"Sounds just peachy. Let's play...a questions game, if you're going to be working with me, I might as well get to know you." You grumbled, waiting for him to start.
"I'll begin. How did you end up in hell?" he asked, folding his hands delicately.
"Wow...jumping right in, are we?" you breathed. Alastor just shrugged. "I let some dumb kid starve, so I suppose that makes me a murderer, even though i kept the bread for my own family, so they wouldn't starve." You huffed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Either way I guess I was headed here anyway."

He seemed to ponder the thought, before grinning and tapping his chin. "Why was your family starving? Were you homeless?"
"oh, I lived during the great depression. I don't act like it, but I grew up in the south, stuck in the middle of the dust bowl. Life was hard, but things have drastically changed since then." You said, ignoring the twinge of sadness you felt when the thought of your family came back.
"funny coincidence, that's when I lived as well" he mused, strolling along. You'd already known that but played along anyway.

"Really? Small world. I guess we have something in common."
there was this little nagging thought at the back of your mind, squeaking nonsense. What an annoyance.

Go away.

The thought paid no mind, continuing to pester you. A violent shiver went through your body.
"Cold?" Alastor asked

"No. Next question radio shack." You quipped, getting defensive suddenly. "When did you die? what year?"
He smoothed back his hair "1938. I lived through the great depression around age 15." he answered. You kept a straight face, but it still surprised you. "Oh, I didn't realize you were so young...15 years, i was 20...still am," You said in a sympathetic tone. He tilted his head.

Sympathetic...? You questioned your motives. Since when were you sympathetic?

Alastor gave you no time to think over it. "Well, how did you die? I assume it was during the great depression, as you said you were 20," 
You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable "some jackass threw a knife at me in the woods. The coward dragged my body away to do who knows what. Sick bastard" You spat, shivering at the thought of some necrophiliac fucking your dead body. 
He chuckled "Murderers were common then, weren't they? Unfortunate, what happened to you dear. My apologies"
You shrugged "that's life. Or...death, I guess. No use dwelling on it. Although A dream of the day I can wrap my hands around the shit heads throat in revenge." You laughed darkly, curling your hands into fists. He gave you a bemused look. 

"My turn..." You paused, thinking of a question. "Why do you talk like that? You sound like a crazed radio host"
He smiled (Not that he wasn't already) "Ah, that would be correct my dear. I was the host of a tv show in 1935. I think it was called "That's That" I was allowed to interview people and announce everything. Good times" he said with a pointy grin.