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emira-addams · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel - Alastor & Rosie - One Hell of a Team

TW: 18+

Their first murder leaves Alastor and Rosie with a special taste…

The scorching summer sun shone mercilessly down on the Louisiana Country Club, which stood out like a filthy stain in the wasteland of endless farmland and vast countryside. The country club was surrounded by rough, dry meadows and extensive woods.

The heat blazed over the lush green of the golf course. Sprinklers danced and the sun painted glittering rainbows as white golf balls flew through the air and across the grass.

A gentle breeze allowed the mellow grass to sway lazily in the warm wind, while countless bugs buzzed and hummed restlessly in the stifling heat.

The polished windows of the main building reflected the glaring sunlight, while the clear sky stretched above Alastor’s and Rosie's heads and not a single cloud dared to spoil the idyllic picture of pure blue. Even the birds were silent, with only the lively twittering of overzealous crickets interrupting the peace and quiet of the afternoon teatime.

Alastor and Rosie sat in the protective shade of a parasol at a table on the terrace with a cup of tea.

"Hm..." Rosie enthused, lavishly. "Today really is a wonderful day, wouldn't you say, Alastor?" she inquired of her best friend, the gentleman seated opposite her in a white shirt, black bow tie, and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Heaven on earth and a pure bliss," Alastor replied serenely, a smile curling his lips. "Care for more tea, my dearest Rosie?"

"Indubitably."

Alastor rose elegantly from his chair, lifted the teapot, and with a gentle hand, poured some more for the lady. The sound of Fats Waller's rich voice and how she sang the lyrics of "Ain't Misbehavin'" spilled from the speakers of the small table radio, sizzling and static-ridden, the rustling melody accompanied by his piano playing.

"I dare to say, the jazz craze is taking over, eh?" Rosie steeped her Assam with sugar cane. Slowly, her spoon stirred in her cup until the crystals dissolved into the dark brew. Sideways, she caught Alastor's grimace at the sight of the huge amount of sugar cane in her tea. "The rhythm, the spontaneity. Quite the bee’s knees. Heard of the new jazz joint downtown? Been there yet?" She rested the spoon on the saucer and brought the porcelain to her lips.

"Jazz, eh? Haven't stepped in yet, but the music and its leading voices quite captivate me." Alastor sipped his own Assam, prefering his tea without sugar. "These country clubs, so buttoned-up, they create their own lost world. Everything there is so... stiff… Jazz on my radio broadcasts could be the cat's pajamas, a real breath of fresh air, or should I say, a blast from Louis Armstrong's trumpet?"

"Alastor, miming the wag for once," Rosie sniggered in amusement. "But you're right. Jazz is the new sound for the escapism this spoiled society craves."

"Absolutely, a splendid escape. Speaking of escape, heard about the party next weekend at the Fitzgeralds’. They’re promising something ‘unprecedented and utterly daring’.” Alastor gestured grandly, then leaned close to Rosies ear, ensuring their chat wouldn’t have an unwanted audience. “I suspect they’re just desperately aim to outdo the Morgans’ bash from last month. Rumor has it, they're planning to introduce the Charleston to the elite. It’ll be quite the spectacle, watching the old guard cutting a rug."

"Oh, the competition never ends, does it? These bashes, tiresome, and becoming more and more of competitions for the biggest show-off. Who can be the most extravagant, be the talk of the town. Like we're all characters in a novel, vying for the most dramatic storyline."

"Indeed." Alastor always had more tea to spill during his outings with Rosie, ever keen on the latest gossip and sharing it with his best friend. "Caught wind of the Robinson debacle? Their latest venture has failed spectacularly. They're practically social pariahs now. It’s all the town can talk about. Seems their stock’s is falling faster than hemlines!"

Rosie waved it off. "Heard, and can't say I'm all wet," she whispered, swiftly glancing all around. "Always too big for their britches… They were always so utterly confident, almost arrogant. Watching their fall from grace is like observing a meticulously planned fireworks display that ends in a fizzle. There’s a certain… satisfaction in it…"

A broad grin graced Alastor’s grimace. "Schadenfreude, my dear friend, which is the word you were looking for, a really snazzy German term. But it’s hard not to indulge when the high and mighty take such a spectacular nosedive. It’s the most entertainment we get around here, apart from my fantastic radio broadcasts."

"Spot-on..." Rosie muttered, downing the last of her Assam. The contents of the teapot were completely bone dry. "Speaking of entertainment," she changed the subject of their conversation. "I was mulling over of hosting a little soirée of my own. Nothing like these grandiose displays, mind you. More intimate, with real jazz musicians. I want to see our peers let their hair down, for once. We’ll have it all—music, dance, and maybe even a bit of bootlegged gin, the hooch to loosen up the stiff collars."

Alastor applauded his hands with zest. "A really splendid idea, my dearest Rosie! Let's show them how it’s done and give them something to jaw about. This time we could be the trendsetters. Just imagine the talk it’ll stir up, us hosting something so… authentic. It’ll be the cat’s pajamas!"

"Exactly my thought, Alastor!" Rosie beamed, her enthusiasm palpable. "High time we spiffed up these gatherings with some genuine fun. Let's put our heads together on it. It'll be our little project, a gem of authenticity in a sea of fakery. We'll be the talk of the town, the big cheese, the darlings of the Jazz Age, flappers and philosophers in equal measure."

Alastor scrutinized, swirling the empty teapot back and forth. "Oh, I'm all in. Let’s shake up this stiff status quo. More tea, or shall we start planning our soirée? After all, rebellion is the greatest form of flattery in these modern times, wouldn’t you agree?"

Dusk painted the grasslands and woodlands of the Louisiana Country Club in the most beautiful colors, a brilliant yellow and a blazing orange. In the last light of the fading sun, the shadows grew. The heat was waning and the staff had already started to close the parasols. The first exterior lights flickered noisily to life, the electricity crackling. A bunch of boys were busily collecting the white golf balls scattered across the green grass.

"I reckon it's time to beat it..." sighed Rosie melancholically as Alastor, ever the thoughtful gentleman, offered his assistance and helped her to stand up. Further planning of the soirée would be postponed until their next outing. "The day's wearing thin and you know how angry Franklin can get if I'm not back before the lights are out..."

"Hm..." Alastor muttered as he handed her her hat and offered her his arm. When Alastor touched her, she winced. "Oh, Rosie..." He read her straight through. "You're a very special kind of actress, but even your smile for your old pal can’t mask the anguish in your eyes." Before Rosie could respond, he had carefully taken her wrist and exposed her arm. Under the silky fabric of her dress, gruesome abrasions, ghastly scratches and deep blue marks appeared on her pale skin. She froze in horror in his hold. "You know I've got no use for your husband," he spoke in a soft voice. His fingertips dragged their comforting circles over her arm. "I don't like the way he treats you and his manners towards a dame are distasteful. I would prefer to make him-"

"Alastor, don't-" Rosie interrupted him in his sentence as she quickly freed herself from his hold and hid the cruel sight of her arm under the fabric of her dress again. She closed her eyes as her fingers clawed into the cloth of his shirt. Her voice fell to a faint whisper. "You know how my father promised me to my husband. It was a business deal and I wasn't given the say or the luxury of complaints." She sighed. "I-It... It's gotten unbearable with him, Alastor. This marriage... it's... suffocating..." The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue. Her voice trembled as her fingernails dug into his flesh. They strolled slowly around the country club building.

"Rosie..." Slowly, the everlasting smile slipped from Alastor's face. "I have known you for years, you are my oldest and closest confidant. I was reluctantly forced to watch you fade into a shadow of yourself in the presence of that abominable man, and I must admit that it pains me greatly to see you so diminished. What he is doing to you is not-"

"Alastor, please pipe down your voice," Rosie pleaded. Nervously, she began to chew on her lower lip and quickly looked all around. "Franklin is a man of high repute, no doubt revered by many, a man above reproach. And I... I am merely his arm candy, the canary with clipped wings and caged in gold, sweating to live up to what society expects of me… I gotta play the dutiful wife, because I am the fool…”

"You can't be justifying his violent behavior towards you!" Alastor objected, full of anger and protest, but also helplessness. "Neither his age nor his wealth, let alone his position as your husband, allow him such a right."

Rosie fought down a harsh sob as teardrops shimmered in the corners of her eyes, threatening to blur her vision. She quickly blinked them away. "What’s to be done, Alastor?" she desperately asked her best friend. "I can't find a way out of this marriage. Filing for divorce and leaving Franklin would cause a scandal and shame... I’d be a marked doll. I probably wouldn't be able to step outside the door again."

"Oh, my dearest Rosie..." Alastor sighed softly. When they reached the waiting car in the driveway, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her before opening the door to the back seat for her and they separated. "I promise you, you're not in this alone. We'll scout out an escape, somehow we'll dig up a way for you," he whispered. "I promise you that you can count on me."

Rosie took a deep breath, wiping the traces of tears from her cheeks. There was a weak smile on her lips, overshadowed by her somber expression and the hopelessness in her eyes. "You are my port in a storm. Thanks, Alastor."

"Sure thing! In case of need, you know who to buzz." He gave her an encouraging smile as he bid her goodbye "I wish you a good night, Rosie."

"Nighty-night, Alastor."

The next night was dreadfully dark.

The starry shape of the moon was missing from the firmament. A black moon ruled over the darkness and the dense clouds drowned out the last light of the stars. Sheer endless stacks of gloomy black clouds smothered the sky. A warm wind blew. Its hideous howling echoed like a dog's whining and wailing between the buildings. In the distance, thunder rumbled sinisterly and glaring flashes of light split the sky, roaring and crashing.

A severe storm was looming on the horizon.

The glaring flashes of lightning shattered the deep darkness of the night as the thunderclap that followed tore Alastor roughly from his peaceful dreamland. He was startled out of his sleep with a strangled shriek as the ceiling above his head trembled. Again and again, the sky was split into thousands of pieces by glaring light, the stars shattered into shards and the earth seemed to shake, while the storm and the wind raged against one another like two wild beasts in battle. Rain roared.

Alastor sighed sorrowfully. He closed his eyes and rubbed his raging temples when suddenly the soft ringing of the telephone from the kitchen reached his ear, the sound muffled by the closed bedroom door. "The phone?" Surprised, he glanced at the clock display on his wall. "Who would...?" he pondered as a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "Rosie!" Filled with fright, Alastor leapt from his bed. His leg tangled in his lay and he didn't take a very glamorous fall onto the hard wooden floor.

"Damn..." Under bated breath and between curses, Alastor pulled himself back onto two legs before sprinting barefoot out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the phone. He yanked the receiver from its stand. "Rosie?" He listened to the stunned silence on the other end of the line as irritated fingers rubbed the sore spot on his arm from his fall off the bed. He stifled a yawn and tried to keep the sleep out of his voice. "Rosie? What's the matter? It's quite an ungodly hour for a call from you..."

"Alastor?" A strangled whisper broke through the static, her voice trembling. "I-I... I find myself in quite the predicament... I... I fret I've done something dreadfully wrong... Something most unfortunate has happened to my husband. Alastor, y-you must come here immediately..." Rosie's voice broke off.

"What happened?" Alastor was wide awake, frantically rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. "Rosie, I need you to speak to me more clearly. Are you in harm’s way?" The silence and the incessant static on the other end of the line were driving him crazy. "Rosie? Rosie, please talk to me."

"Oh, Alastor... I don't dare over the phone. Could you possibly make your way here?"

He heard her unsteady breaths and heavy sobs through the receiver. "Hang in there, Rosie. Promise me you'll stay up wherever you are, do you hear ? I am getting dressed and making my way out as we speak, please leave the door ajar for me. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it together."

"Please, just make haste, Alastor..."

"I’ll be there posthaste. Please try to stay sane until then, will you?" he promised, when the next moment lightning struck with a roaring thunderclap and the line went dead. He clenched his fists, cursing, and slammed the receiver back into its holder. Alastor had to get to Rosie pronto.

"Rosie!" His voice cracked. Frantically, he strove to shout her name against the crushing silence as he rushed through the heavy front door of the mansion, his boots muddy and his clothes soaked to the bone by the pouring rain. Dark strands of hair hung in his face, the lenses of his glasses were blind and he had armed himself with an axe, just in case.

Alastor strained to hear. "Where are you, Rosie?" The eerie silence seemed almost peaceful as he listened to the rapid, fast-circulating blood rushing through his veins and his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. His knuckles turned white as they clutched the wet handle of the axe tighter.

"Rosie?" whispered Alastor. The dim light of the antique lanterns along the walls flickered nervously. The reddish glow of the rising morning sun fell against the rigid walls of the mansion, creating ominous shadows, dust specks danced bustling in the first sunshine. In the distance, the bells of the church chimed solemnly for the full hour. Faintly, almost tenderly, each of the individual strokes against the dull metal mingled with the bizarrely cheerful chirping of the birds and echoed hauntingly in Alastor's head, while his wheezing breath slowly strangled his throat and filled his lungs with wadding.

"Where are you, Rosie?" His mouth was dry, his hurried footsteps bouncing back from the towering brick walls of the mansion, betraying his panic as his restless gaze twitched back and forth, keeping a careful eye on the shadows.

"H-Here..." Suddenly, the wretched sound of her voice came from the kitchen.

Alastor dashed towards the kitchen.

"Goodness gracious, Rosie! What has happened here?" As Alastor entered the room, he suddenly stepped in something moist. A sticky liquid stained the tips of his boots and the stinging smell of a mixture of iron and salt crept into his nose. The smell of blood clouded his senses as he stood stiff and silent in the red puddle, but then he spotted Rosie.

Her silhouette crouched on the ground with her head down and her shoulders slumped. The gleam of the knife blade in her hands shed an ominous, shimmering glow on the scene. Her husband's body laid amidst shards of glass and a smashed chair.

Alastor took a deep breath, then crossed the pool of blood on the kitchen tiles with steady steps and sat down with his best friend, sighing in sadness. The brass handles of the cupboard doors dug into his spine. "My dear Rosie, let's set the knife aside, shall we?" Carefully, he freed it from her tight grip.

"Oh, Alastor..." her voice whispered weakly, stifled by heavy sobs. "W-What have I done?" Eyes sunken and cheeks wet with tears, she stared stunned at her bloodied hands. "I didn't mean for it to come to this. Oh, Alastor, I had no wish to cause harm and hurt him. My only desire was to protect myself from him but then the things took a dreadful turn…”

"Is he dead?" Alastor demanded to know, his voice low. He rose and stalked over to her husband, his chest rising and falling weakly with rattling breaths. More and more blood oozed from the wounds of his injuries as the pool on the floor grew.

Rosie shook her head swiftly. "I believe he is still drawing breath, albeit faintly. I am filled with fright, Alastor, truly frightened..."

"Hm..." Lost in thought, his boot nudged his body, Franklin tried to stir with a grave groan. "Rosie, listen carefully. We must remain composed now. Taking him to a hospital is out of the question, as it would raise far too many inquiries. Yet, do not fret, we get through this predicament together..."

Rosie looked at her best friend, her eyes wide with fear. "But what shall we do for him, Alastor? If he... if he succumbs, I shall be branded a murderess!"

"Now, now, my dearest Rosie, please do not distress yourself with such thoughts..." Alastor asserted. He got down on his knees next to her husband and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "No one will talk about you as a murderess" he promised her. "No one will ever know what happened here and no one shall cause you harm evermore." An ice-cold smile graced his lips as he stared deep into Franklin's eyes and wrapped his hand around his throat.

Franklin gasped. A mixture of blood and drool gushed from his mouth, snot ran from his nose and spread across his chin. His eyes bulged out of the sockets of his skull as Alastor firmly squeezed his throat. Deep crimson color built in his face, Franklin spat and spluttered blood. Alastor stared him straight in the eyes with a gleaming grin as the last of his life drained from them.

A low laugh escaped Alastor, he smiled in satisfaction, as he rose quickly and kicked the lifeless body on the ground one last time for good measure with the tip of his boot.

Franklin was dead.

"Rosie? Are you all right?" Alastor asked carefully.

"Yes, thanks to you... I am truly grateful, Alastor..." Rosie sniffled. She wiped the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her dress.

"I-I... I cannot fathom what I would have done without you. The fear was overwhelming, yet now you are here, and it seems as though all could be well once more..."

"Indeed, all shall be well," Alastor assured her.

His best friend looked up at him silently as he got down on his knees in front of her, regardless of the pool of blood. He cupped her cheeks with his bloody hands. "What should we do with his body now?" she wanted to know calmly. "I surely cannot bury Franklin in the flower garden. Would that not be the first place they would search?" She scrunched her nose up, still sniffling. "Moreover, I fear his decomposing remains would mar my roses..."

"Hm... Perhaps I am aware of a more covert method to ensure he 'vanishes'..." Alastor murmured, lost in his thoughts as the last tears escaped Rosie's eyes and the salt water mixed with the blood on her cheeks. Carefully, his fingertips wiped over her cheekbones. "Hm," he hummed with delight as he licked his bloody fingertips.

Suddenly the expression in Rosie's eyes changed, her gaze became hungry. Saliva collected in the corner of her mouth as her tongue licked over her lips. Her fingernails dug firmly into Alastor's flesh as her cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and she turned his palm towards her. Then slowly, her tongue began to lick over his bloodied hands.

"Are you still in possession of the recipe for jambalaya I shared with you, the one from my mother, my dearest Rosie?" Alastor asked.

"Yes, but the quantity of meat would be excessive for our consumption," Rosie added with a deep frown. She cast a cursory glance at the calendar on the kitchen wall. "We're lucky!" she said cheerfully. "Fortuitously, the elementary school is slated to host a summer festival this weekend. Franklin was to be the guest of honor, and the committee had requested I contribute a culinary dish or dessert. I had contemplated a cake, but jambalaya might indeed be more fitting."

"That's my brave dame," Alastor stated proudly as he helped his best friend to her feet and pulled her into a tight hug. Arm in arm, they stood embraced on the sill between the cold tiles and the warm pool of blood, dancing in small circles around each other, holding each other still and silent. Their hands found one another and their fingers intertwined. In the middle of the dawn, in the warm glow of the rising sun and the stone floor at their feet, they swayed gently to the music of a song that no one but they would ever hear. They hummed to the melody that the wailing wind sang for them alone. The horrors were forgotten and for the moment the storm completely ceased its rampage. "Now, take deep breaths, Rosie. I am here for you, you are not alone. Gather the pots and pans, and I shall retrieve the necessary tools from the shed."

"Don't we make one hell of a team, Alastor?"

"Indeed, my dearest Rosie!"

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