Unfortunate Asks

Morning sunlight clawed at the edges of the curtains, seeping through the bedroom. It crawled along the wall, scattered onto the floor and made its way to you. Rousing you from sleep with its irritating call to start a new day.  

The first thing you felt was a distinct pain in your neck.  

You’d been holding too much tension in your shoulders again and now your poor muscles were strained and angry.  

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it had been quite some time since your neck had hurt like this. Back home, everything had fallen into a routine, it was easy and calculated. A new season, a new show, same opera house, same schedule. It was simple and flowed nicely. 

It was boring.  

That’s what you had thought at least. It’s why you came to America in the first place. To get a break, to meet new people, work in a new theater, make a name for yourself in a new town, a new country.  

Some great idea that had been.  

The events of the past few days weighed on you. You hesitated to call coming here a mistake, mainly because that would imply that your father had been right about you leaving. To concede that his badgering and curmudgeonly ‘advice’ was of any usefulness was something you were loath to do.  

Still.  

Being away from the only support system you had ever know was taking its toll on you.  

And your neck was paying the price.  

The walls crept in closer and closer as the morning went on. The lifestyle you had was always a busy one. Filled with music, meetings, rehearsals and personal practice. Due to your.... misstep... with the costume woman, the theater had been shut down for the time being while the investigation continued.  

You really never intended to continue your father’s work outside of France, honestly. Frustration had boiled in you, building up with no escape. The support system that had allowed you release all your life was gone, and in its place was a foreign world filled with foreign people. Each day filled with having to learn new idiosyncrasies of the average American on top of learning a new theater and show.  

At first it had been a welcome change of pace.  

Then it’s glamour quickly faded.  

Then you had met with Alastor, and something deep within you that you couldn’t describe shifted.  

Then you were left, boiling over, with only one option for rest.  

You had chased her down to the costume department. Her sedentary life of sitting and working on garments evident as the chase was lackluster at best. She was a little stronger than you had first believed, no doubt strength built up from moving large bolts of fabric, but she was not strong enough.  

Strangling her had been thrilling though.  

This was far from your first strangulation. Your beloved father had taught you hanging first, then close quarters strangulation. After that was knife skills, poisons, explosives and anything else he had picked that he thought you should know. Other little girls, played with dolls and learned how to cook. You played with knifes and learned how to gut a man.  

But what did you expect? Your father was far from normal as was his life, so why would anybody expect any different for his precious daughter?  

Strangulation, up close had always been the most thrilling for you. Being so close to someone as they perish. Not quickly and quietly giving into that sweet release but gasping and thrashing. Trying so desperately for another gulp of oxygen, knowing that if they could just get you off of them, they could live. Then getting a front row seat as the realization dawned in their eyes that you wouldn’t budge, and that they would die here. By your hand, or your rope rather.  

Once you had finished with the costume woman, all that energy was released, the steam allowed to leave as you lifted the lid off of the pot. 

Once you were done, panic had struck you.  

This was far from your first strangulation, but it was your first one alone. You’d always had your father before. He was always there in the aftermath to help and take the blame under his ghostly persona. Now you were alone with a horrid macabre scene in front of you.  

You began madly pacing back and forth, hands gripping forcefully at your hair. This had been so off the cuff, so spur of the moment that it dawned on you how sloppy you were. You didn’t check to see if anyone else had noticed you going to the theater. You didn’t have an alibi lined up. You didn’t have a place to put the body or a way to get it out of here. You were screwed, at the mercy of fate if you could get away with this.  

Your savior in that moment had come in the shuffling of a newspaper, tucked under a desk, moved in the gust caused by your brisk pace. Down, down in the far corner was the start of an article  

“New Butcher victim still unidentified”  

Your hands shook as you picked it up and began to read.  

“Nearly two weeks since the Bayou Butcher’s latest horror rose to the surface, and still there are no leads on the identity of the body found in the...” You stopped reading, recalling the cab driver when you first arrived. He had blabbed on and on regarding some... butcher that had been terrifying the streets for the past few years. In that moment you racked your brain to remember every detail you could about that conversation.  

Then you’d grabbed a precision blade from the table and got to work.  

And now you were enduring the consequences of your recklessness. Being stuck, bored out of your mind with only your elderly landlord as company.  

Just as the thought crossed your mind, a bell rung out from downstairs. A signal that the old woman was requesting your presence. 

The smell of pine was aggressive as you stepped into the house proper. Making sure your footfall was audible so that Anais would hear you coming. The woman physically looked ancient, like a small gust of wind would send her flying to the next block. Mentally however she was still sharp, kind and even a bit funny.  

At first, she had been reluctant to allow you to rent her upper room. Stating that you were young, single and surely prone to trouble. However, her attitude had switched on a dime once she learned that you were born and raised French. For whatever reason, that was what changed her mind and now you were roommates for the foreseeable future.   

As you turned the corner, there your landlord sat. Leaning against the kitchen table with an aged and worn book cradled in her hands.  

“Yes ma’am” you asked.  

“Oh dearie, can you come here and read this for me? You know my eyes aren't any good.”  

You sat next to Anais, noting the passage she was pointing to. Smooth handwritten lines greeted you, a recipe crinkled and stained from years of use on the page. Written in a mix of broken English and French.  

“Is that the recipe for cassoulet?” she asked.  

“Yes madam.”  

“Ah good, would you mind doing me a favor dearie?” Anais looked up at you, her warm weathered face expectant. 

“But of course, it’s not like I’m doing much right now anyway.” You responded, half laughing.  

“Could you check our pantry and icebox, and then go out and get me whatever we would need to make this?” As Anais looked up at you, you couldn’t help but think of how adoring her gaze was. You knew she had family, yet for some reason she looked up at you, a practical stranger, like you held the world in your hands.  

You looked down at the book, before looking back up at Anais and smiling. “Not a problem, I think some movement would do me some good.” As you turned to make your way to the pantry, Anais spoke up once more.  

“And you do understand everything there, right?” She asked. You looked down at the recipe once more. It appeared that most of the French was random. Different words and phrases that the writer simply didn’t know how to say in English.  

“Oui madam, I can understand everything clearly.” Anais smiled wider and she almost looked teary eyed, though it may have been the lighting.  

“Aright then” Anais nodded, motioning for you to continue.   

~ 

The smell of spices and bread hung over the street as Y/n made her way down to the grocer. The market was rather empty for late afternoon, though you supposed most people probably didn’t do their shopping on weekday afternoons. The crisp ring of a bell announced your entrance as you walked into the store. Handing the list you had made earlier over to the boy at the counter, y/c/e wandered as he ran off to grab everything. 

Warm orange poured into the building from the windows. So saturated in color, it almost looked like you could dip a pitcher into it and pour yourself a glass of it. It warmed the store pleasantly, almost too warm, but never quite reaching hot. The kind of warm that, when you breathed it in, the air seeped into your chest in such a way that urged and beckoned you to close your eyes and take in the moment.   

It was peaceful, tranquil even.  

Your eyes began to unfocus, the pleasant temperature and surreal atmosphere the perfect setting to shut your brain off for a bit. Many minutes passed before you were jolted back into the present by footfall.  

Though it wasn’t the quick steps of the counter boy returning, instead it was the short sharp sound of a woman approaching.  

“Hey! Y/n right?” you turned and were greeted with the petite frame of the receptionist from the radio station walking toward you. Her firey hair flowing behind her, tossed in the breeze of her brisk pace.  

What was her name again? Sydney? Sophie?  

“Sandy remember?” she granted you mercy as she stopped in front of you.  

“Oh yes yes, sorry, I'm not so great with the American names yet.” You commented. In reality you hadn’t bothered to remember her name. Your brain was preoccupied that day with Alastor revenge.  

“Oh yeah I get that. I can’t imagine going to another country like that. You’re a braver gal than I.” Sandy remarked. You shrugged your shoulders in response. You had asked for this mess and now you were going to have to wear it with pride.  

“So, you just getting off of rehearsals?” She asked. Normally small talk like this would have been the bane of your very existence, but having been holed up in the house, you were eager for some new interactions.   

“Uhh. No. Did you not hear about the theater?” You set her with a confused stare. The story had been released to the public yesterday. You thought that gossip would have spread about it by now. Perhaps not. It would have in Paris.  

“Oh heavens yes, lordy I'm sorry. You must think I’m all sorts of brash bringing it up like that.” She was quick to apologize, throwing her hands up as red bloomed across her cheeks.  

Discomfort grew in you as she flustered her way through an apology. You hadn’t had a chummy conversation like this in quite a long time. You forgot how odd it felt, trying to match others' energy with thoughtless small talk.  

Where the hell was that damn worker boy! 

“Oh no harm done.” you replied, letting your nerves get the better of you as you held yourself.  

You could stare down theaters of thousands without breaking a sweat, but a little one on one conversation sent you into a panic?  

God y/n get a hold of yourself. What is wrong with you?  

You're not performing right now. A voice, strangely reminiscent of Alastors piped up in the back of your mind, and it was right.  

In the dream like haze of the shop you had let your guard down and when Sandy had approached you had been unprepared.  

In this moment, this conversation wasn’t a performance for one, it wasn’t a play to prove your superiority or even an act to sell your authenticity.  

In this moment, it was just an honest conversation between two women in a corner store.  

Why did that thought terrify you so much?  

“Are you holding up okay?” Sandy’s voice was rimmed in concern, taking your  

un-comfortability at normal human interaction as unease from the situation at your workplace.  

“I’m doing okay, for the most part.” you replied, nodding your head trying to shake the shivers out of your spine. “The hard part is being so bored. They’ve shut down all rehearsals till the investigation finishes.”  

“Damn, so you’ve just got all day to think about it.” Sandy commented. You replied once again with a shrug, not sure how far you wanted this conversation to go. “Are you exploring at least? New Orleans has plenty to do iffin you got the time.”  

You shook your head at her. Noticing the counter boy finishing up in your periphery. “No, I'm not fond of getting lost or worse in foreign cities” you ended with an empty laugh, turning to pay and get your items. As you nestled the bag into your arms, balancing it with your waist, Sandy came up to the counter.  

“Well how about I take you out then? I took tomorrow off to do some dress shopping; you can join me.” Sandy proposed.  

You worried your lips. What was this girls deal?  

“Oh I’m sure I’d only slow you down.” You waved her off hoping that she would just drop it.  

“Of course you wouldn’t” she returned.  “Besides you can give me all the good Paris fashion expertise.” She quipped back, smile growing on her thin face.  

Okay so not dropping it then.  

You were about to deny her once more when a voice, this time definitely Alastor’s chimed from your subconscious.  

“Is it so hard to believe that someone just wants to know you for you?”  The conversation from before rearing its stupid little head. Why did it have to come up now? Why did he have to be right? Sandy seemed nice, but she was far too much of a wild card. She’s new, unpredictable; she’s given you no reason to trust her.  

She’s given you no reason not to trust her either  

With a sigh you looked at her again. She was just being nice, surely there was no harm in one day, right?  

“Well if you insist.” Before you finished the sound of the t, she was cheering gleefully.  

“Oh Y/n this is going to be so fun! I never get girls days like this. Meet you here at 7 tomorrow morning yeah?” Before you could affirm, she had trotted out the door leaving your stunned expression in the door frame. 

She didn’t even buy anything.  

 ~ 

“Are you sure you can handle the first part of the Cassoulet today? I can always postpone.” You called from the front room to Anais who was busy prepping in the kitchen.  

“Oh no, you’re not getting outta this on my account.” Anais hobbled over, a stained apron over her flour sack dress, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. She settled next to you and began to fret over your choice of outfit for the day. “Now I can handle the first day on my own. You go out and have some fun and we can finish together tomorrow.”  She leaned back, looking you over in approval. “Now get into some trouble and live a little” She waddled back into the kitchen.  

As you stepped into the doorway you called out to her once more. “You know when I first got here you thought I was going to be nothing but trouble. Now you're telling me to get into it.” You giggled as she waved you off from inside the kitchen.   

“Gon git!”  

~ 

The air in the boutique was perfumed, but not heavily so. Racks of fine dresses lined the walls in all manners of cuts and colors. Sandy had been in and out of the dressing room all morning. You were convinced she wouldn't be satisfied till she had tried on every article of clothing in the store, and somehow you weren’t bothered by that either.  

Once it appeared that Sandy was in it for the long haul on this shopping trip you had expected to get annoyed rather quickly with her. She was surprisingly pleasant, however. Sandy was quite the talker and -- rather than jabbering on about herself like you expected-- she mostly directed conversation at you. She was teeming with questions and not surface level ones either. She asked all manner of questions about your job, from vocal pedagogy to internal theater workings.  

It was quite refreshing, and you’d been happy to indulge in some high art discussions.  

You had taken particular interest in a dark blue number; tiny stars embroidered into the hem and sleeves. As Sandy called you over to the dressing area you decided against buying it. Where would you wear such a piece anyway? It wasn’t appropriate for a gala or premiere so what was the point?  

“What about this one?” Sandy exited the changing room and up onto the rostrum. Surveying herself in the wall of mirrors before her. 

“Cut yes, color no. That blush washes you out. Where did you get that one?” Sandy pointed over to a rack and you sauntered to it. Picking an identical dress closer to aubergine.  

“See” you held it up next to her “Makes your hair and eyes pop more.” She took the dress as you smiled up at her.  

“I told you," She playfully smacked your shoulder as she got down “You’re good at this. Now go grab whatever you were staring at over there while I get out of this.” You scoffed at her and rolled your eyes but nonetheless sought out the gown from before.  

By the time you had found it again and brought it back Sandy was in her normal attire. She all but shoved you into the dressing room to get changed. “You get into that, and I have another one I need to see you in too!” She called from the other side of the curtain.  

“Sandy why would I even need a dress like this anyways?” You asked, trying to get her to see reason.  

“You can’t fool me girl, I know you’ve probably got a few dates lined up.” You could practically sense her kicking her legs in delight, so much so that you were almost reluctant to dash her little fantasy.  

“I’m not really dating at this moment dear Sandy.” You replied.  

“Y/n I don’t believe you! You can’t honestly tell me you haven't had people asking you out on dates?” She chirped  

You huffed, the stagnant air of the room stifling as you tried to get into the gown. “It’s not that I lack offers, I’m just focused on work at the moment.”  You replied with a deep inhale to catch your breath  

Sandy made an audible sound of disgust from the other side. “No wonder you got along so well with Al. You both work like you need it to breath.”  

You rolled your eyes as you buttoned up the gown. “You act like a good work ethic is a bad thing.” You said.  

“There is a huge difference between work ethic and what you two do. You’re like addicts I swear.” Sandy replied. Her point cut short as you stepped out.  

It was a nice gown, truly.  

A deep, almost mystic blue that reminded you of the ocean. The top was loose, fine thin fabric cascaded down your shoulders. The edges of the top rimmed intricately in silver thread. The skirt popped with thread-thin lines of sequins. All of it capped with a gorgeous silver embroidered hem.  

“You have to get that.” Sandy demanded from her seat.  

“While I do like it, I again ask what I would do with a dress like this?” you asked her.  

“For Christ’s sake wear it for a morning stroll for all I care. If you don’t get it, I’ll buy it and sneak it into your house when you’re not there.” She remarked wildly.  

“You don’t know where I live.” You stated. 

Sandy stood up hands on her hips “I’ll find out.” She threatened. You stared her down for a moment before childishly crossing your arms and huffing out “Okay fine.”  

She flipped back to being giddy and thrusting another garment into your hands. “This is the one I need to see you in.”  

Sandy’s pick was more akin to a tea gown. Mid length sleeves with a drop waist and a pleated skirt, with a few choice ruffles on the bust. Colored like raspberry jam or fruit cordial.  

“And this one,” she started before you could give an opinion on the dress “I already have an event for.” 

You lifted a speculative brow to her. “And what would that be?”  

Sandy stood up, placing her hands on your hips as she leaned closer to you. “Coming with me to Ernie’s 57th birthday party.” she gleamed.  

You looked at her, your expression conveying the ‘seriously?’ that hung unspoken in the air around you.  

“I’m being serious y/n, Ernie seemed to really enjoy your company when you visited. He even talked about it for a few days after. Plus you’ll already know most of the guests attending, outside of a few spouses or plus ones.”  

You sighed. “You just like playing dress up don’t you?” you asked Sandy.  

“Shhh” she said, placing a delicate finger over your lips. “We’re not focusing on that, we’re getting you out of the house.” She almost whispered; her finger never moving.  

A deep belly laugh burst out of you at her antics. Her following swiftly into similar hysterics. You shook your head fondly, making your way to change back.  

You ended up buying both dresses.  

~ 

The savory scent of meat tempered the air of the kitchen. Cassoulet was not a dish for the weak. It was customary to cook it over multiple days due to its demanding nature. Anais and you had started in the morning, and the sun was about to set. Your muscles strained lifting the cast iron, laden with literal pounds of food, out of the oven. With great effort you set it down on the stove top and pondered why Anais didn’t halve the recipe.  

Because there was no way the pair of you would be able to eat that whole thing before it spoiled.  

Perhaps you should take it to the party tomorrow?  

You quickly shook the idea out of your head as the thought of carrying that cast iron pot across town sounded like literal hell.  

Maybe you could invite Alastor or Sandy over? You called Anais over as you pondered.  

Alastor, definitely Alastor, Sandy looks like she survives on crackers and coffee exclusively. 

Your tender little landlord waddled into the kitchen and sat down at the table. A bright grin beaming on her face.  

What was so special about a cassoulet?  

For a brief second you entertained the idea of bringing the pot over to the table, before thinking better of it and ladling the stew into two bowls. 

“As promised mon propriétaire.” the soft dink of the bowl on the wood of the table wafted to the ceiling with the rich scented air. Anais’ worn stiff hands rimmed the bowl, bringing it closer before she took a tentative bite.  

Seeing her begin to eat, you started doing the same, unaware to the situation across the table from you till the clang of silverware hitting the floor grabbed your attention. Eyes darted to your companion, her wrinkled face the basin for the river of tears that streamed from her eyes.  

“What, what happened?” the chair you sat upon was jolted back from the force with which you sprang up. Kneeling down next to her, Anais turned in her seat, grabbing your face in her warm grasp.  

“You don’t know the peace, the joy you’ve brought me dear... truly.” You simply stared up at her in confusion. Before you could ask for an explanation, she spoke once more. “Finish up sweet, I’ll take care of cleaning up.” She then got up and waddled to the living room. You didn’t follow her. Didn’t question how such a fragile woman planned on cleaning up such an endeavor of dinner. You simply finished eating and walked back upstairs baffled, but for some reason...proud. Like a ghost was watching you from the windows approvingly.  

~ 

“I’m glad to see you here Y/n! Your company has been so refreshing.” The smile lines of Ernie’s face creased harshly as he spoke with you, grin seemingly never fading as the conversation went on. You were having more fun than you thought you would. Everyone remembered you from the previous week and the conversation had been engaging and light.  Though you mostly stuck by Ernie or Sandy’s side. You would have tried Alastor but besides a brief exchange of pleasantries he had been occupied the whole night with others.  

“Thank you for allowing me to be a guest at your party. I know I wasn’t anticipated.” Ernie waved a hand at you, blowing a puff of air out of the side of his mouth. He reached next to him and grabbed two glasses of some kind of punch.  

“Nonsense Y/n my friends are always welcome in my business, besides ol Sandy always brings a new plus one to our parties.” You raised an eyebrow at him, nodding at him to continue. “Usually it’s some girlfriend of hers wanting to court one of the boys,” Ernie motioned to the corner with the food, where Alastor, Franklin, Stacie and a few others you didn’t recognize were gathered, speaking jovially.  

“Sometimes she brings in business owners looking to schmooze. One time she brought in her mother.” Ernie visibly shuttered at the mention of the incident.  

“How did that go?” You asked, mischief in your eyes and curiosity in your voice.  

“We only just got the hole in the wall patched up last month.” was his only reply.  

Your hand shot up, hiding the smile breaking out on your face.  

“You can laugh” Ernie huffed out. “I never thought I’d rather have shameless filtering in my station than a lace laden sixty-something but..” he trailed off with a chuckle and shrug of his shoulders.  

“uhh.. Speaking of that” You caught the sight of Gary and Sara in your periphery, the pair sneaking into a back hall in the midst of party chaos “that shameless flirting...” you trailed off focusing back on Ernie. The more you got to know Ernie the more guilt at saying nothing about his wife’s affair ate at you. You weren’t a moral person. Extremely far from it, but Ernie just called you a friend. One of the three you now had. You weren’t accustomed to friendship, but you were almost certain hiding partners cheating from them wasn’t something friends did.  

Ernie had followed your gaze, shaking his head as you focused back on him. “Not subtle about it are they?” He stated more so than asked. You fiddled with the glass in your hands.  

He knew and said nothing...why?  

“I don’t understand... why don’t you?” Ernie sighed, defeat in his eyes.  

“It’s... different here in America darling. I have my family to think about, our public reputation. And..” Ernie stared off into nothing for a moment; tears held back in his eyes. “Regardless of if she wants to forsake them now, I meant my vows when I said them. And just because she has strayed doesn’t mean I plan on breaking them.”  

Ernie looked at you once more, sentiment in his gaze. “Thank you for telling me though, I know you had no obligation too.... though I question your choice to tell me on my birthday of all days.”  

You sputtered, trying and failing to get out an apology. He laughed at your struggle, his mood lightened once more.  

“You’re a good man Ernie.” You set down your drink, wrapping your hands around his free hand. “A better boss than he deserves, and a better man than she deserves too.”  

Ernie shook his head, lifting the drink to his mouth before muttering into the glass. “If only you were thirty years older.” The brazen statement shook you for a moment. Ernie swallowed harshly, as if the punch was a stiff glass of bourbon, before taking in your expression. “You don’t happen to have a single mom back home, do you?” 

The entire station heard the laughter that erupted from you.  

~  

The soiree for Ernie was supposed to be a standard affair. Pick lightly at the food to be polite, have a glass of punch, stay just long enough to be noticed by everyone but not long enough to irritate him.  

Once again however, the one thing Alastor couldn’t predict was Y/n.  

Beautiful menace  

He might have guessed Sandy would bring her, if he had given it serious thought. He probably should have given his current standing with the singer.  

Alastor was torn to put it mildly.  

He had spent the better part of a few hours lost in thought after their little lunch date. Annoyingly putting him behind on scripts.  

He was already a week out on them, but anything less than two was behind for him.  

On the one hand she was arrogant, probably more than even he was. She could walk into a room, correctly guess that she was the smartest one there, and back it up if anyone challenged her.    

Perhaps arrogant isn’t the right word Alastor pondered.  

More accurately she was a braggadocious diva that knew she was the best one on stage and had the pipes to back it up. She was devious, cunning, observant and vindictive and Alastor hated her for it.  

On the other hand, she was so much fun. When her ire was redirected to someone else, her brain used to torture others, it made something inside Alastor twist in glee. She had also revealed to him a vulnerability that he guessed few other got to see. Along with a mysterious past back home across the sea.  

Lastly there was the strange feeling that ran up his back when he was next to her. The sensation started in the tensing of his legs, like a jolt of electricity. Stinging every muscle as it sprinted to his shoulder blades. Gooseflesh breaking out on his neck, the sudden feeling like he wasn’t the only predator in the room anymore in the back of his mind. The feeling was either arousal or fear, which one he couldn’t be sure. And he wasn’t sure which one would be worse.  

And he once again felt the stings of it clawing up his back as Y/n walked in, arm and arm with the dear receptionist Sandy. He made a point to speak with her as little as possible till he figured out how he would proceed.  

Fate had other plans.  

Fate’s name was apparently Stacie.  

“Pleeeassee Franky, just hear me out. When have I steered you wrong?” Stacie was hanging off of Franklin’s shoulder, as they made their way over to the snack table. The whiney pitch of the normally composed Miss. Quick caught Alastors attention, turning from his uninteresting conversation with Ernie’s brothers to face the other host and his assistant.  

“Do you want every instance? Alphabetical or Chronological?” Franklin said back.  

“Don’t be like that! I have done far more good than harm and you know it.” Stacie released the hosts arm as he fetched a plate.  

“What is Stacie wanting you to fail at now?” Alastor hid the smile at his own comment in the rim of his glass.  

“Can it Al, no one asked you.” Franklin was by far the easiest to irk, and thus one of Alastors favorite targets.  

“Tell him to hear me out Alastor! I’ve had a real lightbulb moment over here.” Stacie pleaded with him.  

“What’s the harm in hearing her out? Can’t be any worse than when you two tried an advice column.” Alastor remarked. Franklin rolled his eyes.  

“That was not that bad number one and two she wants to broadcast on Sunday.” Franklin threw his hands in the air.  

“Oh that is a terrible idea.” The distaste was clear on Alastor’s face, matching Franklin’s previous refusal.  

“Oh shut it Alastor who even asked you?” Stacie shot back, crossing her arms in frustration.  

“You did my dear, you did.” Alastor retorted.  

“Don’t listen to him Franky, he’s scared of women, you can’t trust advice from him.” Stacie tried dragging Franklin away by the elbow, hoping to find someone else to support her foolish cause.  

“Now where ever did you get that preposterous notion Miss Quick?” Alastor was perplexed as the duo turned back to him.  

Franklin shot him a look. “It’s pretty obvious Al.”  

“No it is not ‘pretty obvious’ and no I am not afraid of women. I’m half woman on my mother’s side as a matter of fact.” Franklin rolled his eyes at the joke, but it only spurred Stacie on.  

“See! Right there, a woman confronts you and you deflect. You don’t answer, don’t fight, just move the conversation somewhere else.” Stacie was hyped up, pointing at Alastor in her ‘gotcha’ moment.  

“So by being gentlemanly toward the fairer sex, and politely declining an argument is now being afraid of them?” Alastor shook his head, fighting every urge to walk away from the conversation and prove some part of Stacie’s point.  

“No it’s not that, it’s the fact that you always run away anytime a gal comes up to you for more than a polite handshake.” Franklin jabbed.  

Alastor had to steel his nerves as Franklin dug deeper. It was low, and he was contemplating if going lower was worth it.  

“Again where are you people getting such ridiculous ideas? I know I may not share most of my personal life but this is-”  

“Come off it Al” Stacie interrupted him “We all see how you hide when we have visitors. And how you brush off any girl that’s ever come up to you on the street. When were you last out with a girl? Have you even been on a date?”  

Alastor sighed, this was why he didn’t associate with his colleges outside of work, becuase of this right here.  

“Yes I have been on a date.” Alastor said flatly.  

“Oh real convincing Al.” Stacie quipped.  

“I don’t have to convince my co-workers of anything Miss. Quick, nor do I have to tolerate there infantile behavior, now if you’ll excuse me.” Alastor made to walk away when a stray comment caught him.  

“Five dollar says you won’t.” Franklin chimed. 

“Says I won’t what?” Alastor turned around once more. 

“Convince us.” Franklin said, his arms extended gesturing to himself and Stacie.  

“And what exactly would that be ‘convincing you’ exactly?” Alastor asked.  

“Have one real date by the end of the week. Real date, no hired girls or cousins faking it or nothing.”  

Alastor scoffed. “I’m not some circus act you can pay to amuse you.” He said, turning to walk once more.  

“Five dollars and I’ll type your scripts for a month.” Stacie added to the deal. 

Alastor stopped walking away. To everyone else it appeared he was contemplating the offer. His eyes and attention though were rapt with something else.  

Someone else. 

Beautiful menace 

Her laugh echoed through the room, loud and boisterous. Unabashed in her joy. Alastor had no clue what she and Ernie had been talking about to bring her such mirth, but he now desperately wished he did. If only to get closer to that pure brightness shining off of her. That familiar foreign feeling of energy down his back struck him once more as he looked at Y/n. The swish of pleating at her legs. The rich color of her gown bringing out the flush of warmth on velvet smooth skin. Those damned annoying lips, that sang like an angel with her song and stabbed like a devil with her words, painted in the same berry as her attire. Then those eyes. In that second, he could swear they found his. Keen and bright, sharp and tactical, like a beast finding its target.  

Less a house cat and more a mountain lion.  

You afraid of women old chap?  

No. 

Then you know the only way to be a mountain climber. 

Climb the mountain.  

Alastor spun around on his heel “Five dollars, TWO months and I’ll have a date planned by the end of the evening.”  

Franklin stood there stunned, sure this was his payback for all the times Alastor had pushed his buttons. Stacie grinned ear to ear.  

“Deal!” she practically shouted.