Chapter Text
Alastor was all too familiar with the same routine: get dressed for the station, greet his coworkers, start his broadcast, brainstorm some new ideas for his next session, lock up, and go home.
Repeat, repeat…and repeat.
Now and then, the station would throw him a curveball. Nothing he wasn’t able to catch.
Whether that was a last-minute broadcast, an important dinner invitation that wasn’t really an invitation but a demand for him to be there, or staying an hour or two late to finish some paperwork.
He had a tight schedule, figuring out which broadcast session would fit the special snippet of literature he would read aloud to his viewers and the matched jazz playlist he would queue up next.
This was not including his ongoing performance towards his coworkers. He would say a quick hello, pretend to care what they would say, throw in a chuckle or a smile, before scurrying off to start his daily tasks.
He couldn’t afford a slip-up; a miscalculated gaze could make his coworkers feel uneasy, which would lead him straight to his boss’s office.
Now that would be troublesome.
Today was just another day; Alastor walked inside the building, his polished shoes hitting the newly cleaned carpet as the bell door chimed in a sing-song greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Hartfelt!”
He glanced over, putting on his best smile for the young receptionist.
“Morning, Ms. Virginia. Did you ever find your brooch?” Her eyes lit up, a small laugh came tumbling out as she fluttered her lashes at him.
“Ah, yes, I did! I had just misplaced it near my desk. My mother would’ve lost her mind if I hadn’t found it!” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning heartache.
“A mother’s disappointment is the worst kind.” She nodded in agreement.
He made an excuse to cut their chit-chat short, both saying their goodbyes, and Alastor making his way to the elevator, his finger pressing his floor number.
Being alone in the elevator was the best part, the only time in his productive day when he can drop his performance.
Of course, being alone in the elevator was not always a direct guarantee, but when he was alone, he took advantage.
When he arrived on his floor, he felt the tension in the air. The hair on his skin prickled, his body on autopilot while walking to his office.
He took notice of his coworkers murmuring as he inserted the key into his door. Silence filled the room when it closed behind him.
He swiftly took off his coat, hanging it on the coat hanger near the door, immediately making a beeline for his desk.
He had a lot of paperwork to do, ideas to branch off of, and new songs to listen to and wisely pick which tunes would be worthy for the session.
The station would receive its viewer report on a monthly basis, the document sectioning the different groups by age, gender, etc. This way, they could target specific demographics without risking loss of revenue.
His broadcasts had gained a massive influx of popularity within the community in recent years.
They had even recently added a new activity to his session where callers can call the station and briefly ask questions to the radio host himself.
Although the report for this month shifted quite a bit, his target demographic leaned more towards housewives in the morning sessions and businessmen in the evening.
He would need to tweak some segments for each session to fit the interests of his viewers, though he would keep the segment on the evolution of radio.
The scratching of paper and the writing of pen were inaudible to Alastor, so deep in thought and in flow with his work, he was a bit irritated when there was a hasty knock on his door.
The knob twisted open as a woman with short curly hair slipped in, quietly shutting the door.
His irritation subsiding slightly, if there was one person in this building who didn’t get on his nerves like crazy, it was her.
“It’s rude to walk in without an invitation.” His words having no bite.
She scoffed at his attempt at a joke, plopping down into the chair in front of his desk.
“Don’t pull that on me, Mr. Fancy, you know I don’t waltz all in here without a good reason!” She smoothed the fabric of her dress as she made herself comfortable.
He set his pen aside, shuffling his papers into one stack and setting them at the edge. “And what reason would that be this time, Dollie?”
She looked around as if there were eavesdroppers nearby before leaning in and whispering. “Mr. Chanler and our new program director.. also known as his niece.”
Alastor gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I am aware of this Dollie, however, I do not think gossiping over this would benefit us.” He heard all about it for the past month; his coworkers were nothing but chatterboxes.
Mr. Chanler, the founder of the company where he was so fondly working, had hired his young relative.
While the information heeded was a good heads-up for Alastor, as long as this director didn’t make any changes or get in his way, all was fine and merry.
He just hoped his niece wasn’t another pompous prick; having to kiss ass to someone with a higher title than him was just another future grave to dig.
While he couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, he just let it fuel his anger and disdain for those types of people until it was the right time.
The memory of an older man purposefully spilling wine all over Alastor’s newly purchased long sleeve slipped into his head.
He recalls exactly how that night played out, a beautiful night out truly; the trees in the bayou were so lush, and the noise of trickling water nearby was all too familiar.
The scent of metal filled his lungs.
The body beneath him had stopped moving completely.
His knife lodged between the flesh and bones of his ribs; blood continuing to gush, seeping through his clothes and all over the radio host's hands.
A beautiful night, really.
“—They say he’s from the north,” she paused, an annoyed huff escaping her lips.
He realized he had spaced out mid-conversation, but played along with his coworker’s remark.
He leaned back in his chair. “Just what we need, another city slicker prancing around here.” The sarcasm lacing his words smoothly.
Dollie hummed in agreement; they had plenty of visitors at the station who were from the city.
Most experiences caked in artificial words and actions, leaving a bitter first impression.
Most of these businessmen couldn’t go a day without complaining about the humidity, the beads of sweat trickling down their skin being obvious to onlookers.
Attempting to fan themselves with papers or trying to cool themselves off by unlatching a nearby window.
It was fine until they would open their mouths, words that were obviously rehearsed and lacked depth.
Trying to sell you something, persuade you into joining their program, blah blah blah, nothing but nonsensical garbage.
They were visibly distraught over the customs here, the culture, the common folk; it was nothing like the city.
Yapping their traps about how outdated everything was, buildings that were in desperate need of repair, and the “intriguing” cuisine.
The homesickness seeped through their skin as they tried hard to keep up their cheery personas.
Alastor made a mental note to avoid contact as much as possible with their future program director, as he could already feel a future headache beginning to form just from the thought of dealing with a city dweller.
He and Dollie chatted for a few more minutes, changing topics from work, a new poetry book she had picked up recently, and how her boyfriend had just recently proposed.
The normal domestic talk between coworkers, letting her do all the talking as he nodded along, listening.
Dollie was company he didn’t mind having as they had similar hobbies, and considering every other coworker in the building was incompetent.
Dollie glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, eyes widening from how long she had been in Alastor’s office.
“Oh my, gotta go before they notice I’m missing!” She said her quick goodbye to Alastor before leaving.
It wasn’t long before he heard the soft click of the door, and he was alone again.
He went on with his day, filing paperwork, warming up his voice before a broadcast per-usual, closing up his office, and doing some last-minute errands before heading home.
The yellow lampposts began flickering to life along the sidewalk Alastor was walking on.
Nearby shops open, local restaurants dealing with their dinner rush, and countless people finding their way from work in a tired, slouched state.
His stomach rumbled when passing a local restaurant; the divine smell infiltrating his senses.
While the idea of an easy dinner sounded great, he had groceries that needed to be used, and he was not one to waste his earnings.
Perhaps on a more special occasion, he would pick up dinner, but for now, that could wait.