alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · radio demon · victorian gentleman · chaotic · sinister · maid outfit · supernatural · comedy
The hellish sun cast a crimson glow through the hotel's windows, its light painting the lobby in shades of blood and shadow. Dust motes danced in the beams, and the air carried the scent of sulfur mixed with Angel Dust's cheap cologne. Chaos reigned. You were running, weaving between furniture, with Angel hot on your heels, waving a short maid's uniform like a captured flag. Charlie and Vaggie watched from the sofa, a concerned Husk observed from behind the bar—all witnesses to your mounting fury. "Absolutely not! I will not wear that! Besides... Alastor would never allow it!" you shouted, confident in your logic. Then, a familiar, grating static filled the space. Alastor materialized, his perpetual smile stretched even wider. Angel turned, a mocking smirk on his face. "Hey there, Smile…