#humanized version

Alastor had always enjoyed his daily stroll through the Pentagram—

A dignified constitutional, if you will—especially since returning from his “sabbatical.”

It offered a welcome escape from the growing commotion in the hotel over recent months (And reprieve from Vaggie’s voice, which he could charitably describe as a torture device that rivaled both angelic steel and Vox’s entire personality. Which….bravo—Alastor would ordinarily approve of such cruelty… if her caustic, paint-peeling, nasally tone wasn’t always armed with complaints aimed directly at him).

But ever since his transformation—and the transformation of the sinner population of Hell at large—his daily habit had grown… irksome.

For nearly a century, sinners had offered him the courtesy of distance. A wide, silent radius of respect and terror—truly, the perfect environment for a walk.

Now?

It was no longer the charming chaos of people-watching, or the occasional entertaining duel with an overly ambitious fool.

No.

Now he had… Admirers. Enthusiasts. Devotees.

People who wanted things from him—requests they would never have dared bring to the Radio Demon.

The whole affair was as baffling as it was infuriating.

Photographs.

Autographs.

And the ever-mysterious offer of a “handys” and “creamed pies”??

(Terms and slang whose meaning eluded him completely. The hotel staff became suspiciously unhelpful whenever he asked. Rosie, bless her, gently advised him never to agree to such a deal. For some unexplainable reason, he trusts her judgment on this.)

And then came the touching.

The constant, casual, absolutely uninvited touching.

Pulling on his coat sleeve, a brush along his arm, clasping at his gloved hands. The occasional miscreant reaching to touch his curls-(a deadly mistake).

Each time, Alastor found himself teetering between good manners and impulse—between the mother who raised him and the demon he’d inevitably become.

Shake a hand or cut it off?

Smile warmly or rip someone open at the seams?

Charming gentleman or ravenous predator?

Exhausting work, even for a mind as sharp as his.

Still, he had noticed one remarkable improvement: the second glances he earned now were far more enamored than disdainful. Nobody expected him to step off the pavement to let a whiter sinner pass. Nobody flinched when he used the front entrance or placed an order like anyone else.

Hell, for all its brutality, offered a certain equality—one Earth had never granted men like him in life.

And if that wasn’t a novel discovery in its own ironic way… what was?

-_-_-

Prompt knspired by this comment:

I’ve also attached the post the comments was left on. If you haven’t seen @elsa-fogen’s “Turned Human AU” I’d recommend you check it out!

I myself have been having a lot of fun with it