Signed, Alastor (Alastor Fanfiction)

THE RADIO DEMON DOESN'T MIND GROCERY TRIPS

Can of soup, can of soup, more cans of questionable soup, it was an aisle filled with nothing but canned soup. You sometimes question what that says about the current state of humanity, what with the abundance of premade soups. It helps though, and saves time and money. You took two cans and placed them in your basket, tucking your wings in as you moved to another aisle, George preferred home-cooked meals anyway so you wouldn't need to bother about it so much. You always wondered how the ones who made these cans of soup last so long inside metal cans, aren't they supposed to rust or something? You were mostly sure that the reason why most of these canned goods tasted shit wasn't because of rusting, just that the people who made it didn't put the taste into account more than profit. From one aisle to the next, you trudged on to check everything off your list.

"Well look who it is! A familiar set of wings, and an even more familiar face!" Then there came the jovial tune of a jazz band playing on the radio, you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.

"About time I got bothered again." You mumbled, focused on finding the right kind of seasoning.

"Busy with the groceries?" He asked, you hummed in response, grabbing a random box of spices.

"Ah ah, not that."  He said, taking the bundle out and instead grabbing a bundle of different spices.

"These taste better and for a much cheaper price no less!" You took a moment to stare at him questioningly, that makes for another surprise.

"You seem, experienced. Been here before?" You asked, unsure but made no move to remove whatever he just placed inside your basket.

"Nope! But it's a sure choice of mine! You can never trust a box to deliver something with value after all!" The crowd laughed mockingly, it took you a moment to realize the extent of that sentence's context. You'd never like to cross paths with Vox again, one overlord was enough, and while you certainly could put up with Alastor's antics you doubt you can stand another second with that eyestrain machine.

Were you more terrified of Alastor? Sure. But were you more confident that Alastor wouldn't be as volatile as the other one was? Definitely. That man acted no different than a petulant child who couldn't have their way, and you'd honestly take Alastor's creepiness over it. You can't stand insufferable men, especially if they're more powerful than you'll ever be. It makes the urge to kill them all the more annoying to bear, you know you'll get your ass handed to you yet you can't stand another goddamn word out of his mouth.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Alastor shrugged, returning the box properly to the shelf.

"I reckon he lived and died with a need for attention!" Speak for yourself. You walked over to the next aisle, next on your list were pasta noodles, a request from George.

"What's got him all pissy with you?" Alastor walked with you, examining the shelves, dragging a finger along the edges only for his smile to strain when he saw the dust that had accumulated on it.

"Had to refuse an invitation of his, he didn't take it quite well!" He wiped his finger off with a handkerchief as he observed what you were planning to buy.

"Petty reason." You commented, grabbing a random brand of pasta noodles only to have it snatched and replaced by Alastor.

"You tell me! I never do understand why he insists on making such a show of it!" You glanced back and forth at him and the different brands of pasta noodles in your hands, waiting for someone to explain to you what he just did.

"This one is an insult to the Italians, my friend, I suggest you keep yourself far away from it unless you prefer your pasta soggy and falling apart at the seams." He said, pointing towards the now returned box of pasta. You nodded your head, checking the pasta off your list.