Signed, Alastor (Alastor Fanfiction)

MAIL CARRIERS HAVE IT ROUGH IN LIFE, EVEN MORE SO IN THE AFTERLIFE

You snap back from your reverie, a sigh escaping from your lips, it had been a while since you fell unceremoniously into the postal office that is now your de facto residence. The snake, George as you later knew, took you under his wing and generously gave you a place to stay. At least that's how he puts it, what he doesn't clarify is that you were now under an obligation to work for him, under a binding contract you were eventually informed of which were known as deals. You were none the wiser frankly, it was also partly your fault for naively going along with whatever he said.

"First lesson from your good ol' pal, ain't nobody here with good intentions so don't trust anyone. Not even me."

For a guy who says not to trust him, he isn't all that bad, sure tricking you into eternal employment was one thing but, teaching you the system which Hell followed, what to expect, and how to survive amidst the chaos are a whole separate case. He had his moments here and there, and for a guy who dealt with smuggling opium into the British ports back in the day, he seemed more trustworthy than most. You were comfortable with him, he almost felt like,

"BWAHAHAHA! You are a funny lil' shit, aren't you? Never been to a postal office before? This service ain't cheap pal, especially not with an order that goes that far out." You paused as you heard a bitter laugh from him, you peeked through the doorway, a rather pompous-looking snake demon similar to him flaring his hood.

"How unbecoming of someone who shares the species such as I, how shameful it is to smell the stench of greed all over this place." The snake said, rolling his s's. You've seen George angry before, but what he held right now was barely contained rage held together with a snarky smile.

"Then I suggest you find another postal office and scram." He said, towering over the other snake who was now struggling to keep himself steady.

"Such lowly threats! If you insist, I'll be complying with you out of mercy." He coughed up, eventually paying the right amount for whatever it was he wanted delivered. Of course, he couldn't go to another postal office, the next one would be on the other side of Pentagon City. The snake slithered out of the office, an eye on his hat expressing clear distress and fear.

"Who was that?" You asked out of curiosity, George fixed his tie and lit a cigar.

"Who knows, some up-and-comin' idiot maybe." He replied, clearly with how much he cared for whoever that was.

"Never mind that start your deliveries already squeaks, you're on the clock." He grinned, sharp teeth glinting through the smoke. You rolled your eyes but complied, wearing a custom-made uniform before heading out with a full mailbag in hand. George knew the moment he saw those wings of yours you'd be a lovely thing to exploit, a lightbulb flickering on in his head. What kind of demon is better suited to deliver to far-off locations other than you? You can see that shifty look in his eyes the moment you step out into the lobby.

"Ain't you forgetting something?" You raised a brow at his question, only to look at the parcel haphazardly wrapped in paper.

"No." You flatly replied. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

"Unfortunately this falls under your designated territories. Check for yourself squeaks." You glared at the address the parcel was sent to, you would also glare at the snake that sent in this parcel if you could. Other people are truly what makes Hell torturous, specifically snakes. "Aw come on now, wipe that grimace off your face doll, get to work." He said, waving his hand to shoo you away.

"Hate you." You said, grabbing the parcel and carrying it off with you, George only laughed at you and bid you goodbye, a small comment about staying safe barely catching your ears. You took off for the skies and set off for your deliveries, back then other people used to mess with you during deliveries, throwing bottles, and pebbles, and on rare occasions took you down with an arrow or magic. You slowly learned to evade them all, reflexes honed to the point nothing could kill you in your sleep. The amount of items being thrown at you is eventually lessened, nowadays it is just playful throws from people you already know. A greeting of sorts.

"Morning, you got any letters for me little bat?" Someone asked, a pebble whizzing through you.

"Not this time." You said as you waved goodbye, not every neighborhood was considerate, there were instances where you had to maneuver your way out of somebody's line of sight. Who knows, last time you were almost shot down like a duck, it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last. The deliveries were an adventure of their own, most of the time you were charting through unknown territories, thankfully the overlords were understanding enough to let mail carriers such as yourself through their land. But, it wouldn't hurt to keep your guard up all the time, your uniform is a part of your identification, a part of the ticket that grants you free access to any part of the city, many sinners would kill just to have that uniform.

"Miss Sweetie, your letters have arrived." You knocked, and you heard the woman shuffling as fast as she could, she opened the door and gave you thanks before snatching the letters from your hand and slamming the door shut. There were also people like her, not that you minded, a customer is a customer after all. You set off to the skies to another location, far off in the outer rim of the city, you were in charge of handling deliveries that were too far to reach by foot, and your other coworkers were glad to have you in their merry band of exploited rejects and treated you fairly well.

"I have a parcel for a Mister Lewis?" You asked, the man looked at you for a second with a disgusted expression, asking you to handle his parcel with care before telling you to get away from him. You didn't really understand why but you don't have any plans on staying either.

"Mister Nox, there's a package for you." The man greeted you and thanked you for the good work. He's been a loyal customer for a few years now and was always respectful towards you, but you can catch the stench of blood and death behind his doors and the carefully calculated smile that he always gives you puts you on edge. You politely decline his invitation to eat something with him inside his house, a looming sense of danger laced with his offer, he laughs and tells you that it is worth a try.

House after house, you flew around Hell, if you flew high enough you'd be far enough to not see the bloodshed and appreciate the view it had to offer. You smiled, moments like these gave you some hope, something to look forward to after every morning you wake up. The sound of an engine took you out of your daze however, you moved out of the way to see a plane deliberately go out of its way to try and kill you a second time. A maniacal laughter came from the driver who sped away.

You sighed as you looked through the mailbag, not even halfway through your deliveries.

Better get to work then.

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I imagine reader having a keen sense, almost too keen, like being able to dodge anything type of keen. But can they dodge the inevitable power of the plot?