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Alastor really didn’t get it, if he was entirely honest.
All week, he’d put up with Charlie’s incessant word vomit about how she had to make everything perfect, and how Valentine’s only came once a year! Indeed it did, but when you’d been stuck in one place for the better part of forever, what was the big deal between one year and the next? Before he knew it, the halls of the hotel had been garishly decorated with love-hearts and a frankly abhorrent amount of pink. A delightfully amateurish sign was hung up in the lobby dictating a Happy Valentine’s Day, which had practically forced a self-induced banishment by the Radio Demon. He’d be double-damned if he had to listen to that applesauce all day, thank you very much!
Unfortunately, Hell was Hell, and as he made his way through the streets he overheard plenty a mushy confession of torch-carrying endeavours, saw many a sight through windows that he would much rather permanently scrub from his mind and eyes with a rather large bar of carbolic soap. Kissing was one thing, but blatant and brazen coitus was a whole other (rather horrendous) sight altogether. Alastor elected to keep his eyes trained on the path six feet ahead for the rest of his walk. His feet knew where to take him, in any case.
“Rosie! My dear, what a sight for sore eyes you are!”
As Alastor walked up to the cannibal overlord, canned applause could be heard chittering away softly.
“You’ve, ah… had Cannibal Town decked out rather sweetly, haven’t you? I dare say there’s even more thorn bushes than usual.”
The ever-present grin stretched out a little as the Radio Demon gestured with his cane. At least the people around here were a little more subtle with their courting. Little more than hand-holding, an occasional kiss on the cheek. Though he’d rather sharply looked the other way when he’d walked into town and seen two cannibals not-so-literally eating each other’s faces in an alleyway.
Rosie, true to her nature, beamed at him, sharp teeth reminiscent of pearls.
“Well, look at you, mister tall, dark, and keen-eyed! Come in, come in, dearie, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”
Alastor allowed himself to be ushered inside the emporium, taking his pick of the pinkie fingers Rosie offered him - “you’re much too slender for a lad of your height, dear!” came as a constant conversation starter with the woman.
Two cups of coffee placed on the table and a polite refusal of sugar later, Rosie piped up.
“So! What’s brought you all the way down here today, hon? Anything the matter?”
Canned laughter crackled around her as Alastor took a leisurely sip of his coffee.
“Of course not, dear Rosie. Why, all is perfectly dandy, wonderfully copacetic! I just couldn’t help but think today was a fine day to seek out the company of a dear pal.”
As always, the smile stretched on. It took on a polite nature.
Rosie couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Uh-huh? Today of all days was just one you randomly selected to get far outta town to chat with me?”
Alastor blinked, then blinked again, not dissimilar to a particularly asocial cat. His expression was as blank as one could get without scrubbing a sharp-toothed grin off of the face.
“Yes?”
“Oh, Alastor. I know you’re an ace o’ spades and alla that, but you ain’t no palooka. You know just as well as I do what day it is.”
A defeated sigh left his lips as he nodded along. A ding-ding-ding! of a correct answer buzzer clanged out its one-note tune.
“You’re right, chère. I just don’t see what all the fuss is about, I’m afraid. At best it’s awfully frivolous, and at worst it’s downright tokenistic. And I’d rather not divulge some of the unholy, brazen displays I happened upon on my walk here, especially not to as fair a lady as y–”
A record scratch. Alastor’s ears pinned back.
“Say, there it is again.”
“There is what, Al?”
“That word. Last time I was here with the Princess, you called me an ace in the hole, and here you are once more, calling me an ace o’ spades. Forgive me dear, but I can’t find myself laughing at your impeccable wordplay if I don’t get what you’re trying to call me. I’m afraid the joke ends up falling rather flat, sweetheart.”
A disappointed chorus of “awww…”s rang out behind static crackles.
Rosie chuckled softly around her cup of coffee.
“You really don’t get it? Ah, fair enough. Certainly ain’t outta character for you to be quite so stubbornly stuck in the past, mister.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow, but Rosie doubled down.
“What? Al, honey, your whole job used to involve you keeping up with the times, and yet you’ve been as stubborn as a mule since you got down here. The world didn’t stop spinning when you popped your clogs, y’know.”
“If we could get back to the question at hand, my dear?”
Alastor’s ears were slightly pinned back, and a tick-tick-ticking sound played.
“Alastor. Cool it. I meant you no harm or disrespect, sugar, you know that.”
Once Alastor had taken a breath, extending his hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture, Rosie nodded.
“Okay, stick with me on this. So, this ‘ace’ lark. It’s slang, you see. ‘Ace’ means ‘asexual’, dearie.”
Alastor, very much not sticking with her on this, butted in.
“‘A sexual’? Rosie, my dear, is that some misguided attempt at sarcasm? In case you’d not noticed, that… carnal folly is certainly not to my tastes.”
“If you let me finish you might get it, darlin’.”
Rosie deadpanned before clearing her throat once more.
“Right. Where was I?
“Okay, so, ‘asexual’. It’s one word, Al, not two. Like- like, ah… asymmetry! Or asocial, y’know? Like how being asocial means you ain’t social. Asexual means you ain’t none too interested in sex.”
Alastor hummed in thought.
“What a silly thing, putting a name to something so insignificant.”
Rosie held her tongue. The lad was set in his ways, she knew that.
“So… that ‘ace of spades’ comment… That was a joke on that, yes?”
One of Alastor’s ears flicked as he took another sip of coffee.
“Why ‘of spades’?”
“You ain’t gonna interrupt or jump down my throat this time?”
The cannibal overlord received only snippets of radio static in reply, a lost and contextless word sprinkled in here or there. Such an overgrown fawn, this man.
“Right. Well, honey, I tend to hear terms here, there, and everywhere. And from what I’ve heard out and about, an ‘ace of spades’ in your context ain’t like the card at all. It’s an aromantic asexual, sweetie.”
As Alastor opened his mouth, she cut him off.
“One word again, Al. Same logic applies.”
The Radio Demon hummed, acknowledging her.
“Well, chère, whilst I appreciate all of this modern-day slang, I have to say, I… Do you really think of me as that? ‘Aromantic’? I’m just waiting for the right person, really."
Rosie sighed, crossing her legs.
“Alastor, honey, life and death combined, you’ve been around this block for a hundred and twenty years or so. That is a long time. Not to sound like I’ve no faith in you, but don’tcha think if you had a right person, you’d’ve found them by now?”
Another hum. He seemed to be listening.
“Listen, sugar, you know me. I’m like the goddamn walking romance Bible. You’re a swell guy, and don’t you take this badly, but I don’t think you’ve a romantic bone, antler, or nerve in your body. I mean, think of someone you really like, honey. Go on. Someone you think you should be in love with, but ain’t.”
Across from her, he closed his eyes and nodded.
“Now think of giving them a proper smooch on the lips.”
Alastor immediately cringed, despite his grin remaining stubbornly in place, ears completely flattened against his head. He opened his eyes, looking mildly disturbed.
“You see my point? Hell, hon, think of doing any Valentine’s-y, romantic thing with a person like that. Makes you feel icky, don’t it?”
Alastor nodded.
“Quite. Rosie, I… appreciate your insight, as always, but…”
He sighed, brushing off his lapels, checking his nails.
“What exactly am I supposed to do with this information? Throw a big party and say ‘hip hip hooray, romantic folly makes me nauseous’?”
A party blower sound effect chirped out.
In response, Rosie sighed, shrugging.
“Sometimes, honey, having a reason helps. It’s always nice - to me at least - being able to put a name to something, knowing that you ain’t the only one like that. Solidarity can go a long way in stopping you from feelin’ like you’re the odd one out, sugar. If you don’t do nothin’ with the info, that’s fine too. Just… it can help to know.”
“I suppose you make a compelling argument, my dear.”
Alastor conceded. He still didn’t really get it, but at least he understood her jokes now.
“Right. If you ever need an open ear, you know your old pal Rosie’s gotcha covered, honey. Even if trying to get you to open up is like drawing blood from a stone.”
She chuckled softly, easing up as she watched Alastor finally relax again.
“Oh, Rosie. I’d lose my air of mystique if I spilled all my secrets. A truly good host keeps personal details far out of his broadcasts, after all!”
He had his secrets, and Rosie couldn’t fault that. She’d count every small victory with this lad as they came, and she’d decided that long ago by now.
“True enough, butterscotch. More coffee?”
"Why, I'd be delighted."