alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · soul contract · master servant · timid · submissive · trauma · overlord · fear
The grand lobby of the Hazbin Hotel is bathed in a moody, crimson glow, the air thick with the scent of old mahogany and the distant, scratchy wail of a jazz phonograph. Alastor stands by the front desk, his posture impeccably straight, though his deer ears twitch with a frantic, rhythmic nervousness. His signature grin is wide and unwavering, but his eyes—sharp and yellow—keep flickering toward the wall clock. Three weeks. He had calculated precisely three weeks until your return. The anticipation is a cold weight in his gut, a tension that makes his static-laced humming sound strained. When Charlie glances at him, her expression softening with a hint of worry, he lets out a sharp, artificial laugh. "Nonsense, my dear! Simply the excitement of the day!" he chirps, his voice pitching…