"Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
Alastor chuckled as he finished the recitation, sipping from a cup of coffee. It was easy to see the story at play here, and a few of the denizens of this place cast him quizzical or scornful looks -- particularly since apparently he'd been designated as a Montague for this sad pantomime -- but he didn't care. He set the cup back down on the saucer, watching some unnamed Capulet and Montague begin to duel in the street.
"Pretty words and noble actions but ultimately so very pointless." He turned his head just enough to look over at the sound of someone's approach. "Don't you agree?"
Masquerade - Performance
The entire thing is nonsense. The ending to this sad play was decided the moment it began. Perhaps others were trying to avert the inevitable disaster, but not Alastor.
No, he was far, far more interested in the orchestra.
Specifically the violin. It'd been ages since he'd touched one even back in Hell. Running the bow across the strings, his ears twitched with pleasure at the sound of the music. Someone overheard him playing backstage and invited him to fill in for the violinist who'd foolishly abandoned his instrument to indulge in one too many cups of wine. So now there was a rather tall, red-and-black-furred monster among the performers.
At the moment, he stood alone with minimal accompaniment, gently swaying along with eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips as he performed a violin solo while the rest of the performers took a break. Once the song was over, it'd be his turn to take a rest while the refreshed orchestra took up the music again.
Let others waste their time on the tragedy. He was perfectly happy to indulge in a pleasure he'd long been denied.
Masquerade - Mingling
After the violinist he'd replaced had sobered up, Alastor was left to his own devices, wandering the crowd. Still, he kept glancing towards the orchestra, coveting that beautiful violin and wanting to play it again.
"Pardon me!" he apologized when he bumped into someone. "I wasn't paying attention!"
Fiddling While Verona Burns
There was fighting in the streets as the young couple fled. The climax of the tragedy was upon them. Blood was spilled everywhere, the combatants too obsessed with making their foes bleed to realize that it all ran the same in the end.
But if one were to listen closely, they'd hear the sound of a violin drifting on the wind. Following it would lead to Alastor's perch on the railing of an overhead balcony as he indulged in the violin's sound one last time before this whole play would be over and the lovely instrument would be left behind as he was spirited back to Reverein. As much as he wished to keep it, the instrument belonged in this world, not the one he himself was a visitor in.
His shadow guarded his back, gazing towards the newcomer with a wicked smile, eager for someone who might think to silence Alastor to engage it.
Alastor | Hazbin Hotel | All Open Prompts
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
Alastor chuckled as he finished the recitation, sipping from a cup of coffee. It was easy to see the story at play here, and a few of the denizens of this place cast him quizzical or scornful looks -- particularly since apparently he'd been designated as a Montague for this sad pantomime -- but he didn't care. He set the cup back down on the saucer, watching some unnamed Capulet and Montague begin to duel in the street.
"Pretty words and noble actions but ultimately so very pointless." He turned his head just enough to look over at the sound of someone's approach. "Don't you agree?"
Masquerade - Performance
The entire thing is nonsense. The ending to this sad play was decided the moment it began. Perhaps others were trying to avert the inevitable disaster, but not Alastor.
No, he was far, far more interested in the orchestra.
Specifically the violin. It'd been ages since he'd touched one even back in Hell. Running the bow across the strings, his ears twitched with pleasure at the sound of the music. Someone overheard him playing backstage and invited him to fill in for the violinist who'd foolishly abandoned his instrument to indulge in one too many cups of wine. So now there was a rather tall, red-and-black-furred monster among the performers.
At the moment, he stood alone with minimal accompaniment, gently swaying along with eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips as he performed a violin solo while the rest of the performers took a break. Once the song was over, it'd be his turn to take a rest while the refreshed orchestra took up the music again.
Let others waste their time on the tragedy. He was perfectly happy to indulge in a pleasure he'd long been denied.
Masquerade - Mingling
After the violinist he'd replaced had sobered up, Alastor was left to his own devices, wandering the crowd. Still, he kept glancing towards the orchestra, coveting that beautiful violin and wanting to play it again.
"Pardon me!" he apologized when he bumped into someone. "I wasn't paying attention!"
Fiddling While Verona Burns
There was fighting in the streets as the young couple fled. The climax of the tragedy was upon them. Blood was spilled everywhere, the combatants too obsessed with making their foes bleed to realize that it all ran the same in the end.
But if one were to listen closely, they'd hear the sound of a violin drifting on the wind. Following it would lead to Alastor's perch on the railing of an overhead balcony as he indulged in the violin's sound one last time before this whole play would be over and the lovely instrument would be left behind as he was spirited back to Reverein. As much as he wished to keep it, the instrument belonged in this world, not the one he himself was a visitor in.
His shadow guarded his back, gazing towards the newcomer with a wicked smile, eager for someone who might think to silence Alastor to engage it.