(The time period is set to the 1920’s — The Roaring Twenties!! Also, this kinda sucks, so I’ll fix it soon. Anyways, have fun!!)

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The night is young in New Orleans; lights in every shop are on, restaurants and bars open and bustling. Music flows through the air, drifting up and down the people flooded streets, passing through ear to ear of everyone.

Alastor was used to the sound and sight, as he’d lived here his entire life. It brought a strange feeling of comfort to the radio host.

He sucked in a deep breath, the warm air filling his lungs. He let it go in an exhale, a sharp smile spreading across his face. Today had been a successful day; the people of New Orleans loved what he’d said on the radio today, he had a lovely time at his mama’s restaurant, and now, it was his time to relax. He lulled over where he could go in his head, beginning to hum a tune as he did so.

A startled gasp snapped him out of his thoughts. His humming stopped, and his smile fell slightly. His head turned, left, right, then back. Where had the sound come from?

Another step, and he was in front of a darkened alleyway. He was met with the sight of two men looming over a poor fellow on the ground, clutching his side as he looked up with fear.

“Where’s our money, ya fiend? Yer weeks late.” One of the men sneered down at the fellow on the ground, kicking him in the ribs harshly. The man on the ground gasped sharply, eyes widening as he let out a wet gasp.

“I— I told you I’d have it by next week! Give a poor man some time, I beg you! I haven’t gotten paid yet, ya see—“

“I don’t recall askin’,” the second man sneered, cutting the poor fellow off. “You’ve long since passed your deadline, and now you’re comin’ up with excuses?”

The fellow scrambled back slightly, his chest heaving with heavy, panting gasps. Alastor felt his jaw clench, his hands tightening into fists. He didn’t know the situation, sure, but he couldn’t let this poor fellow get the daylights beaten outta him.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, catching all three mens’ attention, their gazes snapping towards him. He put on that charming smile he used so well and narrowed his eyes at the standing men.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I couldn’t help but notice your little.. scuffle over here and couldn’t help but step in! Now, why not let the poor fellow go, and nobody gets hurt, how does that sound, hm?”

The men scoffed out laughs, the sound mocking, almost degrading as they took a step towards Alastor.

“Well, well, well,” the first man said with a gnarly, crooked smirk. “I’ll be damned. The little radio host thinks he can come close to hurtin’ us. Ain’t that cute?” The second man chuckled in agreement as he pulled a small knife from his pocket.

Alastor, on the other hand, wasn’t at all intimidated. Instead, he stood his ground and raised a hand to be in front of him, three fingers up.

“I’m going to give you two fine fellows three seconds to run along before things get ugly.” His voice was charming, as always, but it held a deadly edge to it, one that said he wasn’t messing around.