— MOVING.

CRINGEY RIVERDALE STARTERS || OPEN ( @magistreign )

ears flick in interest at the mumble, enhanced hearing picking up the comment with outrageous ease, though …  “ now, didn’t your mother teach you to speak up, darling ? “   it’d be wiser to keep most of his cards close to his chest.  eyes consider his counterpart with a touch of blandness.

despite the increasing possibility the other wasn’t in the least a threat.

he gets closer still, an impish smile on his lips as he jots down his name, then a pensive look crossing his face as his fingers come to a rest.  if the other was so intent on avoiding, then …

the radiomonger pushes the book aside, grin increasing into something less friendly and more voracious while hands cup the receptionist’s face on both sides to drag him closer until their noses were barely a centimeter shy of making contact, hues avidly watching his new passing entertainment as he asks, if a tad waspishly.

“ why don’t you ask what you’re really curious about rather than dance around the subject like it’s the 14th century plague ? “

  YOU only gave a roll of your ruby - reds in return to the remark, gruffly followed by, “ don’t call me that. ” 

  you inched away the closer he got. ugh, clearly the man held no regard for your polite ( you didn’t yell, you didn’t swear, you didn’t get physical - therefore, it was polite ) request. your gaze flickered to the page, shoulders tensing once you fully took in the fresh strokes of ink - Alastor was his name. your name. 

   IMPOSSIBLE ----  

  before you could utter a word hands were cupped around your cheeks & you find yourself directly face to face with the new guest’s malevolent grin, your breath hitching, heartbeats picking up in pace. blood boiled & your skin crawled - get off get off get off get off. why was he doing this ?! ( you were confident at this point he was merely one of Husk’s illusionaries - who else in all the nine circles knew your greatest pet peeves more than that wicked feline ? ) 

   you glared daggers & reached up, fingers closing around those hands, claws digging in & attempting pry them off - not caring if it caused pain. not caring if these actions could potentially drive away the new patient or earn Angel’s grand disappointment or both. 

he can’t help the giggle that escapes him, hues attentive to every little mannerism the creature before him displayed.  baffled, was he ?  can’t fault him really, he’d be as well.

oh, but not his problem !  it w– the blackguard is taken out of his reverie by the… curious namedrop, piquing his interest tenfold and mind filing that for later use.  as customary.  “  do receptionists usually interrogate their prospective guests ?  “  his tone is exaggeratedly puzzled, hand falling to his own chest in faux offense.  there was no intention of making things easy for him unless he directly brought attention to the elephant in the room.

“  my, what a strange little business scheme you’ve got on your hands !  but who am I to question ?  “  a barely suppressed chuckle as he leans into his space, figure canting forward as his voice lowers a pitch or two.  “  a question for a question ?   hmm-!  I’m feeling a bit generous today, why don’t you go first, sweetheart ? “

   EYES narrow, brows knit. you hated the way the man’s gaze was unwavering, the longer he stared - the longer you took in his form ( so well - dressed & proper ) the greater your discomfort. even self - consciousness was threatening to seep through.

   you also didn’t like how he remained unaffected by the strangeness of the situation  - truthfully you were hoping you didn’t have to be the one to address it. claws drumming against the counter’s tacky surface, you mumbled your reply - more to yourself than the other, really - words dripping with the habitual snide, “ not when those guests look exactly like you, no. ” 

  your ears perked up in surprise, your duplicate’s sudden boldness prompted you to lean away yet again, your back uncomfortably pressed against the cheap wood of your seat. a dry chuckle left your throat. 

   You huff as your voice quiets down the second you know you have his attention, though it doesn’t mean you aren’t any less pouty than a child who was scolded and told to be quiet.  No matter, you had a point to make.

   "Y'can drive, yeah? I needa ride ‘cross town, meetin’ somebody n’ I’m runnin’ too late t'walk down 'ere like normal. She’s gonna kill me if ’m late.“

   RUNNING late, are we ? you had to suppress a humorless chuckle. a vibrant red claw presses against your lips, clearly giving it a thought. normally you’d refuse ; certainly not your problem if one cannot follow through their own timetable ! the mention of ‘ she ’ however, holds your interest - how curious ! 

when ur working on bringing back muses u had from yrs ago and